Un-bridled Rage (Malereader x Clarisse la rue)

Three Old hags

Percy and I walked out of the museum, It had started to rain. Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt." I deadpanned, "Excuse me who?" "Our teacher. Duh!" I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about. She just rolled her eyes and turned away. Percy turned to Grover and asked about Dodds, "Who?"He answered but he paused first, and he wouldn't look at us, so I thought he was messing with Percy and me.

"Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious."  I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved. I went over to him. He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson." I looked over and saw Percy confused while handing the pen over. He stared at me blankly. "Who?" "The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher." He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Y/N, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twentyfour/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me and Percy. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr-a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip-had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas. Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

I just about believed them, but Percy knew as well as I...something stunk to hell at Yancy. Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat; I could remember vividly the punched that sent her flying across the room. The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. 

One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in Percy's dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year. I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. My grades slipped from Cs to Ds. I got into more fights on the field during training.

Finally, when our Coach, Mr. Franks, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazyto Lift weights on my own time, I snapped. I called him a "Foul smelling twit not even a mother could love!" I wasn't even sure what it meant, but it sounded good. The headmaster sent my foster mom a letter the following week, making it official: I would not beinvited back next year to Yancy Academy, Football star or not. Fine, I told myself. Just fine, but I knew the beatings would start again.

And yet... there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Percy, who'd been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I'd miss Latin class, too-Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well. As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him. The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I put my fist through my desk. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.