Avalon High (12 page)

I was the first one into Mr. Morton’s classroom the next morning. Not even Mr. Morton himself was there yet. I sat down in a seat in the front row, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was seven forty. First period started in twenty minutes.

So where was Lance?

When Mr. Morton rolled in, at seven forty-five, Lance still hadn’t shown up. Mr. Morton, neat in his bow tie and herringbone jacket—too warm, I thought, for Annapolis, this time of year—put down his steaming mug of coffee, his newspaper, and his briefcase, and pulled the chair out from behind his desk.

He sat, but didn’t open the paper or sip his coffee.
Instead, like me, he stared at the clock.

Though I doubt Mr. Morton was thinking the same thoughts I was. I was having a not unpleasant time remembering the evening before…the way Will, done with his own homework, had leaned over and swiped mine and started doing logarithms for me. The way he’d smiled when my dad had finally come downstairs and said, “Kid. It’s eleven o’clock. Go home already, will ya?” The way Will had said, “See you tomorrow, sir,” to my dad…which could only have meant he was planning on coming over again.

Seven fifty.

“You told him, didn’t you?” Mr. Morton wanted to know. “Mr. Reynolds?”

“Of course I did,” I said. “He’ll be here.”

Except that I was beginning to think that maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d forgotten. So much had happened since the day before…not just to me, but to Lance, as well. After all, he may have gained a girlfriend, but he’d also lost his best friend…or so he probably thought, anyway, since I assumed Will hadn’t called him up and said,
No hard feelings, buddy
.

At least, as of eleven o’clock last night, he hadn’t.

Not that Will wasn’t going to. He’d talked about it the night before, between logarithms. He didn’t feel he could exactly hold a grudge against Lance and Jennifer if all he’d felt, upon hearing that the two of them were involved, was relief. I’d commented that this would be a grave disappointment to the rumor-mongers of the
school—Liz, in particular, though I didn’t mention her by name—who would be expecting some dramatic snubbing in the cafeteria.

Will had just laughed and said that he would never do anything that might deprive the student population of Avalon High of their right to be entertained, so maybe he’d wait a day or two before publicly forgiving the pair.

But Lance, of course, didn’t know this. I knew he cared about Will, and that the guilt over what he’d done to him had to be eating him up inside.

Considering what had to be going on inside his head at the moment, it wasn’t likely Lance was going to remember a meeting with a teacher.

“Maybe I should have called to remind him,” I said apologetically to Mr. Morton. “He’s, um, got a lot on his mind right now.”

“What he’s going to have,” Mr. Morton said severely, “is another flunking grade in this class, to match the one he got in it last year.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” I couldn’t help crying out. “He’s having a really hard time right now.”

“I’m not interested in hearing about the trials and tribulations of Avalon High’s star guard,” Mr. Morton said, in a tired voice. “I’m sure he’s very sorry for what he let happen to Mr. Wagner during Saturday night’s game, but that isn’t any of my affair.”

“I’m not talking about that,” I said. “I mean, there was this whole blowup with his best friend and his girlfriend, and—”

“I would imagine any blowup between Mr. Reynolds’s best friend and his girlfriend would hardly be any of Mr. Reynolds’s concern.” Mr. Morton raised one gray eyebrow. “And certainly would not excuse his absence here.”

“That’s just it.” I felt stupid telling a teacher stuff that really wasn’t any of his business. On the other hand, I really did feel Lance had a legitimate reason to have forgotten our meeting. “He
caused
the blowup. Lance did. I mean, it’s not really his fault—well, I guess it sort of is. But I don’t think he could help it any more than Jen could.” Then, seeing that Mr. Morton was staring at me sort of incredulously, I realized I was babbling, and said, “Look, the whole thing’s this huge mess, and he probably just forgot. Is there any chance we could reschedule for tomorrow? I swear I’ll—”

I broke off, because Mr. Morton’s face had suddenly gone as gray as his beard.

He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Mr. Morton?” I rose from my desk in some alarm. “Are you all right? Do you want me to get you some water or something?”

Mr. Morton had risen from his chair. Now he stood clutching the edge of his desk like it was the only thing keeping him upright, murmuring something. When I hurried up to him and leaned closer to hear what it was—I thought maybe he was whispering for me to call nine-one-one—I was surprised to hear him saying, “Too late. Started…so soon. I had no idea. We’re too late. Entirely too late.”

I glanced at the clock.

“We’re not too late, Mr. Morton,” I said confusedly. “There are still five more minutes until the bell—”

Then he looked up.

And I stumbled back a step. Because I had never seen as much despair—coupled with a strong dose of fear—in anyone’s eyes as I saw in Mr. Morton’s at that moment.

“It’s happened already, hasn’t it?” he rasped. “She’s with him? With Reynolds?”

I swallowed. I’d expected there to be some gossiping about what had happened between Will and Jennifer and Lance. When I’d climbed onto the bus that morning, I’d heard a few people murmuring that Avalon High’s It Couple had broken up, although no one—at least if Liz’s very direct questioning of me was any indication—appeared to know why.

But for a teacher to take such an interest in his students’ love lives? It seemed a little bizarre. Mr. Morton looked positively suicidal. His pale gray eyes, peering out from beneath slightly craggy brows, had a beaten look to them, as if they’d seen something almost too heartbreaking to bear.

“Um,” I said. “Do you mean Jennifer Gold? Because she and Lance are…well, they’re together now.” And then, because it was what I’d told Will he should say to everyone, if he wanted to prove he really was relieved, like he’d said, about the two of them being together, I added, “And Will is really happy for them.”

But this didn’t seem to have the desired effect, since
Mr. Morton blanched even more.

“He knows, then? About them?”

“Well,” I said. I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out what was going on here. Since when did a teacher care so much about whether or not a high school’s It Couple had broken up? Then again, this was Mr. Morton, the most beloved teacher in the school—to some people, anyway. The ones who didn’t want to kill him, the way Marco had.

“Um,” I said. “Yeah. I mean, yes. Will knows. He found out yesterday. But”—I added hastily, when Mr. Morton’s face crumpled—“he’s fine with it. Really.”

Mr. Morton sank slowly back into his desk chair. He sagged there, a look of hopeless desolation on his face.

“We’re doomed,” he whispered, to the wall.

Which was when I decided that this? Yeah, this was probably not normal. Even for Mr. Morton.

I didn’t know what to do. Mr. Morton appeared to be having some kind of breakdown right in front of me.

But why? Why should Mr. Morton care so much about who Jennifer Gold was dating?

Then I remembered where I’d last seen Mr. Morton. At the game.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Well, sort of.

“Really, Mr. Morton,” I said. “I think you’re overreacting. Lance and Will are good friends. They’ll probably only emerge stronger because of this. And, you know, you really shouldn’t worry so much about it.”

Mr. Morton lifted his head to look at me. His lips, I
saw, were moving, but no sound was coming out. Then, slowly, he seemed to find his voice.

“I tried,” he wheezed, his face as white as the chalk marks on the board behind him. “They can’t say I didn’t try. I did my best to bring the two of you together. But we were simply too late…too late….”

His expression was one of the bleakest I had ever seen.

“They’ve won,” he continued. “They’ve won again.”

“Mr. Morton,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing voice, “I really think you’re making too big a deal out of this. Avalon’s still got a very good chance at making the district football finals. Will and Lance’ll work it out. You’ll see.”

I smiled at him brightly…

…but my smile faded as he stared at me coldly.

“Um,” I said. “You
are
talking about football, aren’t you, Mr. Morton?”

“
Football
?” Mr. Morton looked as if he were about to choke. “
Football
? No, this isn’t about football, you stupid girl. This is about the never-ending battle of good versus evil. It’s about one man, born with the capability of saving this planet from ultimately destroying itself, and the forces of darkness that are keeping him from doing so.”

I had no idea whatsoever how to respond that. Mr. Morton had leaned forward. His gray-eyed gaze seemed to hold me transfixed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t even breathe.

“It’s about all of us being plunged once again into the Dark Ages,” Mr. Morton went on, in that same raspy voice, “and this time having no light to lead us out again. It’s about us being forced to stay there until another can be born, grow, and rise to take his place…if we can get to him before they do next time, that is. It’s about
failure
, Miss Harrison.
My
failure. For which everybody else on this planet will suffer for the rest of their lives. That is what it’s about, Miss Harrison.
Not football
.”

I blinked.

“Oh,” I said.

Well, what else
could
I say to all of that?

Mr. Morton sagged back in his seat and dragged his hands over his face.

“Get out, Miss Harrison,” he said through his fingers. “Please. Just go away.”

I picked up my backpack. I didn’t know what else to do. He obviously didn’t want me there. Whatever he was going through—whatever he was talking about—it didn’t have anything to do with me. It was likely it didn’t have anything to do with anyone…anyone but Mr. Morton and whatever he was keeping in a bottle in his bottom desk drawer….

Because he was clearly unhinged, poor man. Nobody in his right mind talks about the forces of darkness taking over the planet. Nobody.

Except that…

Well, he’d seemed so sane up till then.

Then, just as I reached the doorway, something that he’d said struck me—reminded me, in a strange way, of the words of another….

I turned to look back at him.

“Mr. Morton,” I said.

When he glanced at me—his face still a mask of utter despair—I went on. “Does this have anything to do with…with the Lily Maid of Astolat?”

I’ll never forget the look that came over his face then. Never for as long as I live.

“How—how did you know about that?” he breathed—so raspily, it was clearly an enormous effort for him to speak at all. “Who told you?”

“Um,” I said. “I’m doing a report on her. Remember?”

Mr. Morton looked visibly less tense. At least until I added, “And, uh, Will’s stepbrother, Marco, mentioned something, too….”

And there went the color from Mr. Morton’s face.

“The stepbrother.” He shook his head, looking bleaker than ever. “Of course. If only…if only—”

And then, I could have sworn he said, “If only I had stopped him when I had the chance….”

“Stopped who, Mr. Morton?” Except that I knew. Or thought I did, anyway. Marco. He could only be talking about Marco.

Except that I thought he
had
stopped Marco. Stopped Marco from trying to kill him. Isn’t that how the rumor
went? That Marco had been trying to kill Mr. Morton, and Mr. Morton had stopped him?

“Mr. Morton.” I stood irresolute in the doorway. What was happening? What was going on? It was true I had fantasized the other night that Jennifer was Guinevere and Lance was Lancelot, and that Will was Arthur, and Marco was Mordred….

But that was only because…well, of what Marco had said about me being Elaine of Astolat. Not to mention the fact that we all go to Avalon High, home of the Excaliburs. I hadn’t thought—I hadn’t even dreamed—it could be remotely
real
.

Because it couldn’t be. All of that had happened—if it had really happened at all—hundreds of years ago. As the daughter of two historians, I know better than anyone that history can—and often does—repeat itself.

But not like
this
.

And no one—no one in his right mind, anyway—would believe it could.

Except…

Except for a member of the Order of the Bear, the group I read about who believe King Arthur is destined to be reincarnated one day, to lead the world from the dark ages….

But Mr. Morton couldn’t be part of something so ridiculous. He’s a
teacher
. A good one, from everything I’d heard. Teachers don’t believe in silly things like that a medieval king is going to be reborn and save the world.

I was letting my imagination run away with me while Mr. Morton, over by his desk, was still suffering. There had to be something I could do for him. The poor man was clearly in need of…something.

“Mr. Morton,” I said. “Won’t you…won’t you let me get the nurse? You don’t look well. I think…I think you might be sick.”

Mr. Morton did something strange then. He lifted his head and smiled at me. It was a sad smile. It didn’t come easily, either.

But he smiled, just the same.

“I’m not sick, Elaine,” he said. “Except at heart.”

I fingered the strap to my backpack. “Won’t you tell me why? I might be able to help, you know.” I had no idea how, of course. But I had to ask.

Mr. Morton seemed to understand, since he spoke more kindly than he’d ever spoken to me before.

“It’s too late, Elaine,” he said, in the same defeated voice. “Thank you all the same. But it’s far too late. And better for you, in the end, not to know. After all, your part in it was over before it could even begin this time.”

“What do you mean ‘this time’?” I shook my head. “What do you mean by my part in it?”