My Soul To Keep

Chapter 2

The mirror had to be playing a practical joke on me. This couldn't be me. This was never something I would be caught dead wearing, but here I was. It was the entire dorky package of prim and proper cardigan, blouse and pleated skirt, complete with the knee high socks and those strap Mary Jane shoes. I grabbed my backpack off my bed and set out for the first day of torture, thinking that I would have a series of strict teachers at this place.

My first class was Music Appreciation and History, and thanks to the orientation paper, the buildings and room numbers were all color coded and highlighted. It would be easy to have a no-brainer elective class first thing in the morning.

Applewhite Prep was like a tiny college, with the academic buildings grouped together along with common buildings like the library and athletic center. Dorm houses were located according to grade, 7th to 12th. I read that some of the houses were for individual student groups too. As I passed the buildings, I saw several of the student masses trickling out, all presumably headed to different classes. Everyone wore the navy cardigans and pants and gray pleated skirts, all packing together like sardines, like the parts of one big, controlled brain.

I got to class and immediately sat down in the first empty seat on the right, not wanting to draw any attention to myself. I realized it was a stupid thought, since everyone looked exactly the same, and even though in this elective it was both 7th and 8th grades, I could not tell who was who. Except for the three girls seated at the back.

I turned around to loop my backpack around the chair and dropped it. I only saw the uniform skirts and stocking legs underneath the desk, but seated at the desk were three long black hooded cloaks. Their heads were bent down so I couldn't see their faces, but they were talking softly. They looked like three Ghosts of Christmas Yet to Come, waiting to point a ghostly finger to someone's doom.

The teacher walked in then. "Good morning!" she said.

My first teacher looked like any other teacher—a middle aged woman dressed in business-like attire with her hair neatly tied back. I didn't know what I was expecting. A nun maybe? "Ladies in the back," the teacher said, folding her arms. "I don't believe those cloaks are uniform. You need to take those off."

"We can wear them," one of the girls said defiantly, looking at the teacher as though she had no control over what the student could do.

"No, Iris, you cannot. They are not uniform."

"Mitchell says we can." The one named Iris stuck her nose up, and for a moment, she and the teacher had a stare-down.

"Mr. Brooks," the teacher snapped. "We do not call teachers by their first names!"

"Mitchell wants to be called Mitchell. And these cloaks are uniform because they are a part of a student group. It's for spiritual reasons. Our faith is offended if we can't wear them."

The teacher visibly struggled with this, then threw her hands up in defeat. "I will talk with him about this."

She turned her back and proceeded to write some things on the chalkboard. I turned slightly to look at the girls, instantly regretting it. Iris looked straight at me in another attempted stare-down.

***

The teacher of my next class was a middle-aged man of short stature with graying hair, but he held the class's attention. Standing at his desk in the front of the room, where he could see and be seen by all, he observed each one of us come in. His look alone told you he was in charge of the classroom and you'd better pay attention.

"Welcome to English. I am Mr. Brooks, though I prefer being called Mitchell. While I will be doing a considerable amount of talking in this class, you will too."