Wingspan Chapter 8

Out of all the classes I had physical education was by far the worst.

When Ms. Pratt told everyone in the locker room that we were to take part in a distance measure run I didn't hold onto unrealistic expectations. My stamina wasn't outstanding but that didn't mean I was slow neither.

The daunting physical activity seemed like a nightmare but with the proper form and attitude I could make it much easier. So far as evaluations went my only interest was in getting by. Even though I wasn't great I'd wanted to compete with the rest of them and chances were that wouldn't happen if I'd cramped up.

While the rest shot out in a flurry, I had maintained one practical singular focus in mind to make things easy as possible for me.  

Running counter clockwise I concentrated on the form above my waist keeping my shoulders relaxed and not wrapped up around my ears. Breathing through my diaphragm, I kept my elbows at about ninety degrees or less so that when I swung back my hand was at hip height or a little higher.

With short quick strides I maintained energy going toward a nice running form.

It wasn't the most effective strategy but I did okay.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and puffed an exasperated sigh. I used the wrong hand. Great, now I had ink on my face.

"Wow!! I'm impressed. You have really good stride." Turned out Mya was in the same class as me which ended up in my favor since it meant I didn't look like a loser who had no friends. When really I was a nobody who didn't care about creating associations. First impressions mattered and the girls here didn't bother me once they saw who I was with. Although, it was Mya's immaculate neat bun that put me to shame. How she'd managed to perform the same activity and still look great was beyond me.

I grin. "Thanks." I wave at her. "You're not so bad yourself." Truth was, Myas' form was excellent and I'd wondered if, perchance, she ran for sport.

Mya laughs. "I'll see you at the other side." she winks my way.

I watched as Mya passed me by to the finish line and wondered how she did it so effortlessly. This was unlike anything I'd done in a long while and it had kicked my butt.

My heart beating, I was in no hurry to catch up.

I glimpsed down at the smeared ink on my hand.

I recounted the lengthwise crisscross lines not tallying the smear. Two fairly spaced-out blue marks deliberately put there by Ms. Pratt; a tough strictly speaking athletics educator who was not big on the craft and technique of illustrating cohesive straight lines.

The numbers were jot down as a record to keep check of the total so that once the number got up to five Ms. Pratt would then replay our individual stats and time performance history. I snickered. Yeah, OK. No performance angst Here, Anybody.

I wasn't in great shape and my body was suffering because of it. Too bad nothing stuck with me long enough to get lasting results. I didn't act like it but I was still a girl that wouldn't mind a pair of killer toned legs.

I lived a sedentary lifestyle and was conditioned from a young age to have healthy eating habits thanks to those classes they offered during the summertime. Instead of bringing me with her like all parents did to their kids, my mom dropped me off at the local Recreational Center. Guess it was easier to answer phones at the Parish when I was learning about the difference between vegetables but I'm not complaining because I'd learned how to make smoothies out of them.

Nutrition and Wellness had a seminar about portion awareness and if I compared protein to the size of a deck of cards then I had the right amount. Likewise, if I'd used the middle portion at the base of my palm below the base of my middle finger I could determine the estimation of approximately anything from cooked vegetables to roasted honey nut peanuts, then I didn't have to wield the measuring scale to round off numbers.

Sauces, beverages, condiments had calories, too, everybody so use those sparingly. What I'd never told the instructor was that I had a carnivorous sweet tooth like all the women in the Striker household and so guilty conscience won over each time and I would cut back the next few days until the cravings were just too overpowering.

Posture upright I pushed the track behind me and made sure that my foot landed underneath my knee so that it supported my body and helped me maintain forward momentum. Keeping a nice relaxed hand I ran.

As I went, the tug of war waged on. My lungs, now flammable, ignited into a class k combustion and it didn't take much for both of my legs to grow into heavy marshland stumps. I shed a tear silently. My heart hurt and the obvious you're new observations that didn't take long to reach the halls of Starkhouse wasn't helping. Classmates had stared at me and wondered what my deal was. I didn't have clothes like them and I certainly didn't try to make friends.

I pushed away my personal agitations but after a short span of breath that turn-my-brain-off and disappear because I was about to get burned impression never came.

Where was Chanel and how come I hadn't seen her for the past few days? What was I doing here, I didn't belong in Starkhouse and everyone knew it, so why did the Headmistress come and find me? And again it went. Why did my grandma, who had nothing but good things to say about Starkhouse, insist that I was at the right place when I was so off balance and out of my comfort zone.

These were not my people and it showed. Every time I had thought I was adjusting I saw handbags in Chanel, Prada, Armani, and Marc Jacobs that reminded me that I was in a different alternative reality. The questions build to the point of no return so I let my frustration out on the court, dog-tired legs not halting for a break, limp broken-down feet hitting the gleaming linoleum with each movement forward.

My ponytail fell down between my shoulder blades but I didn't fix it. I kept plugged in.

While the shaky unstable reins bumped off by mistake I ran. Suddenly that familiar ache in my belly was back again. So what if I was fatigued and sluggish. I harnessed all the resentment that I had suppressed at everybody that seemed to know more than I did, letting it flow until I was vacuum-packed frozen. Solid as a rock.

I couldn't think of any place worse than crying in the gymnasium. God, what was happening to me.

These days I was like one of those dolphin water fountains, the trigger circuit giving rise to jetting water for dramatic effect.

This wasn't me. I wasn't this person. I didn't cry.

Then that familiar repulsive voice snickered: Do you think you're mom is crying about you? It asked me.

I didn't say anything.

Of course not. That same loathsome voice answered for me. Toughen up and get a grip before somebody else sees you!

Now...Silence. I couldn't hear the obnoxious hideous voice yelling at me anymore.

I was done with hospitals and even more tired of Dr. Cambridge. They would give me "voluntary" standardized questionnaires that weren't so voluntary. I just wanted my life back, what was left of it anyway.

The Doc was nice and had offered me trail mix, the kind that people actually ate with the candy chocolate pieces inside, and so I would eat that during our sessions but there were only so many appointments that I could take.

I knew what I saw I wasn't crazy. But when my mom admitted me to the hospital and because I'd lived under her roof at the time, I couldn't say no. At least grandma had my back, not much good that did since those two never got along. I couldn't remember a single photobook worthy commemoration when they had to be in the same room together. Probably when grandpa died.

Toes under my nose I listened to my feet slapping the court flooring surface of the gymnasium to see if I was running too hard and putting myself at risk for injury.

I quickly rounded another corner and that's when I'd noticed the boys all reved up as they made their way on to the basketball court. I listened as they tore up the safe, high performance black and red surface that reduced shock and delivered excellent traction.

Coming from a public school system I was used to PE not being gender differentiated. All of my classes had both genders so I wasn't fazed when the boys hit the ground running. Two more laps then I was done.

I grazed the outer lane and once the coast was clear of all passerby's I carefully raised my arm out to the side and waited patiently for Ms. Pratt to walk up to me and duplicate another crooked line on my hand. "Keep going!!! You're almost done!!" Ms. Pratt told me as she brought the fat uncapped marker over my hand and with a steady grip drew half a line that didn't make it all the way down because the ink had dried out.

Face blooming into an overwhelming shade darker, Ms. Pratt yells after me to get out there and kick ass.

I ran back on the track and made sure not to bump into anyone that was coming my way. Swinging my arm forward, I reached toward a center line, but never crossing over in front of my body.

Ms. Pratt was pregnant but she didn't act like it. I took another lap around the basketball court with the hopes that Ms. Pratt would take it easy for a change and stop with all that bended knee movement that unnerved and alarmed everyone besides her. Woman with child did not understand the concept of going easy.

Shaking my head, I relaxed my hand grip and looked behind me, shocked to see there were only two girls left from my class going around the court at the same time as me. When did that happen? As it went, the one in the high pony kept me from slowing down. Yeah. She literally kept me on my toes alright.

I only had one more lap to go. I could do this no problem.

Toeing off the opposite foot I kept my eye on the horizon. I made sure not to overextend my forward leg in front of me because then that would have put extra strain on the knees and hamstrings. With more people dominating the floor than I could have initially anticipated, most of them from the other class, there wasn't enough arm room for anybody to make significant recovery.

For the moment I didn't worry about the girl with the sleek ponytail; so long as I didn't get the longest time imaginable in the history of Starkhouse then I didn't view her as a threat. Some naturally athletic people liked to set records and it just so happened that I hated to finish anything last.

"It's unfair." said an unfamiliar voice.

I looked to my left and saw a guy of average build with honeysuckle hair coming up beside me. Alarm bells rang in between my ears. Who was he and what did he want?

Since we were the only ones drifting on the outside lane I felt obligated to speak back. It was either talk to him or get a nice visit from Dr. Cambridge because I wasn't developing any social skills. Dr. Cambridge wanted me to make friends and if I wanted to keep her at arms length then I had to play her game. It was a no brainer. Short of breath I look at my unwanted companion. "What is?" I reluctantly ask him. I was rusty at this and the hesitation in my voice spoke volumes.

The male runner lifted his hands and crooked his fingers in the air while he ranted. "The 'Athletic Division' does nothing but stand to the side and talk amongst themselves while we -more air quotes- 'The Students' are forced to endure strenuous labor pains. Where's the equality in that?"

I stayed quiet because I wasn't sure if he was asking me or telling me. Was he serious? Nobody used quotations to invoke their opinion anymore. That was so blasé'. I casually turned my head and looked over at the back of the gym, my eyes sticking to the long line of stacked basketball bleachers. I hated pep rallies and I was glad that I'd missed homecoming. A pride banner hung over both teachers on the wall next to the indoor roll aluminum bleachers.

The friendly blonde was right about one thing: both coaches were standing off court and stood close babbling like good buddies did. The guy's sports trainer, a tall muscular man with spiked hair, Coach Cooper something or other, kept Ms. Pratt laughing during the entire class.

I wasn't big on exercise but I knew what a difference it made to people if you had a toned healthy body. I swiveled my head back. "Isn't that the point." I tell the boy next to me.

Human interaction. Connection. That's why you're doing this. I had to remind myself before I clammed up or else I'd brush him off like I did everyone else. If Dr. Cambridge wanted, she could request in-house treatment and if I didn't play by her rules I was handing over my golden ticket.  After weeks of not speaking to other people, and Dr. Cambridge didn't count because she was trying to help me get past my avoidance of people, my dialogue was a bit rusty when I spoke and casually bordered on the sarcastic. What could I say? It was hard to flat out reject the talking body next to me.

"I'm Wesley." he introduces himself, grinning at me like we were chummy with one another.

I took a sidelong glance at him. He was trying to keep up with the rest of us or just humoring me. "Aislin." I say, panting for breath. Either way, I couldn't ignore him just because I was having trouble picking up a vibe.

Whether a new approach was successful or not I had to except the fact that I wasn't at my old school where people hadn't taken notice of me and treated my presence as if they were stepping on already streaked glass. Taking Dr. Cambridge's advise I was undergoing a new set of healthy thought patterns, or at the very least I'd managed to convince myself that I was trying.

Together we went around the court without saying anything.

I didn't mind the long oval stretch so much as the change in thought that I had a trouble adjusting to. It was the sudden pull zapping all mental energy that shot off in opposite directions like a hot fourth of July, fireworks equivalent to the speed of thought like spokes going back to the hub is what made it difficult to keep focus and not sprain my ankle. Run, idiot. You can think about your crappy life later.

Not far away I picked up a light trail of footsteps closing in on my imaginary separate lane. Geez. Did they think I had a stash in my locker and was hoping I could sell a few ounces Or What? Without looking back I made a signal for the other jogger to, you know, go around me because I wasn't going to speed up for anyone unless that person was Ms. Pratt, and she wasn't participating with the rest of us.

Sighing, I was about to tell the guy off when all of a sudden I felt someone's presence along the side of my back. Prickly bumps on my arms told me I was a little too late for that. The guy that was behind me caught up to us like greased lightening. Before I could motivate him to leave us alone a hand seized Wesley by the neck and patted his shoulder in a bear hug with the other.

Lenny Kravitz The Un-Dread lookalike slapped his arm around Wesley's shoulder. "Please forgive my friend here. He's got low blood sugar." Boy with the dreamy green eyes tells me. "I hope he's not bothering you."

Oh yeah I was pretty boy crushing all-right.

Maybe this getting to know people wasn't so bad after all.

I found myself grinning back.

Wesley snorts. "We're trying to have a conversation. If anyone's bothering her it's you." Wesley looks at me. "Don't listen to him, Aislin."

Like usual I hadn't recognized the guy but his goofy smile had an endearing quality. One that instantly gave me the desire to find out more about green eyes.

"I'm Mason, best friend and kick ass ally."

"Aislin-" I say at the same time as Wesley.

"Riiight." Wesley drawled rolling his eyes. "Now that you and Aislin met you can go away now." Annoyed, Wesley ushered Mason to beat it.

"Don't wanna." Mason stuck his tongue out, grinning.

They were friends who could harass each other but at the end of the day there was nothing but love.

"Ugh!" Wesley huffed, rolling his eyes.

I laughed awkwardly at how bizzare it was to have both boys on either side of me bickering at one another like a bunch of starving Magma Sorority Chicks throwing spikes to bleed. Unlike the intense spur-of-the-moment gut reaction to bail a scene whenever the dispute with two girls had gotten bad, the typical fights that my kind were so famous for having started, their bickering didn't bother me. On the contrary, it made me forget about my troubles for the short while it lasted.

As if automatically and with no self control I'd noticed when Wesley's thick wavy hair parted to one side. It would have looked good like that, I thought objectively, but only if he used a styling gel product to keep it from moving and then his hair would look perfect.

Wesley groans. "Oh for the love of."

Thinking he was talking about me I blushed, my neck splotching red. Stupid white skin. Whenever I got embarrassed it showed.

Did Wesley know I was watching him and that's why he was repulsed? Not sure, I looked away from Wesley and over to Mason, second guessing myself.

Staring for too long could get a bad stigma taged on my back and I wanted to make it through graduation without any hiccups. Sure, they were nice to me now, but if one of them came to the wrong conclusion and thought I was 'In Like' they would make things a living nightmare for me. There was a reason I stayed away from guys who thought they were the salt of the earth.

I calmed right down when it became obvious that Wesley hadn't noticed me. Neither did Mason for that matter. They were too busy glaring hate at one another. The color of my face retreated to its natural shade.

-Ugh! Whiplashed, I shook my head. Following their back-and-forth reactions while I ran had backfired on me. They were arguing and because I'd been distracted I had no idea why.

Wesley furrows his eyebrows and shoves his friend on the shoulder. "The only thing irritating me is you, Mason." He spits.

Nervous, I widden my eyes like a squirrel catching air time.

Reaching around me Wesley grabbed a hold of his friend by the neck crew...

The shriveled logo crumpled up and in between his clawed fingers, black lettering folded in with the lines created by the forceful clutch as Wesley pulled on the shirt, knocking Mason forward.

Wesley pushed Mason with enough force to nearly fall head first on the black tiled flooring.

The Immediate Power That Was would not take blood spill delicately and with a circle full of terrifying rich tycoons breathing down the Headmistresses back the blame would go to the guilty parties involved and just by standing close to them I could get written up for a little stunt I had nothing to do with.

No snarky words were exchanged as Wesley left us behind. Not bothering to check on the state of Masons physical condition Wesley made a run for it and didn't look back.

Concerned, I went over to Mason, but really what could I do? I was one hundred and ten pounds on a good day and Mason topped me with all muscle. What was happening was terrible and sure I'd wanted to help but I wasn't fast enough and Mason was already plunging head first-

Stumbling, Mason braced both arms in front of him to crush the impact of the blow before his lips smacked the customized flooring, his butt raised in the air like he were four seconds into plank position when his locked arms took most of his body weight. The red tee shirt he'd worn now slid past his narrow taught back and hadn't stopped exposing his brown marbled torso until Mason's elbows finally caught the hem of the sweaty shirt before it had a chance to fall off his head, completely baring his upper body naked. Using the core muscles from his abdomen Mason curved his stomach, oblique's and lats tightening into a crunch and did a full bodied one-eighty.

Mason pivoted around and settled himself back on the track.

I ran beside him and followed his lead. And just like that nothing was awkward. I was still hanging out with Mason who didn't feel the need to explain anything to the new girl. Pumping my arms I ran with short quick strides.

Mason beamed at me, winking.

I was totally gone. In spite of the manner Wesley had left things, what took me by surprise was that I heed-hawed so rabid I saw an episode of comedy central roast sprout from memory. The only other time I'd ever laughed for so long and that hard was when I'd changed the channel and up popped Roseanne Barr doing a celebrity roast special with roast master Jane Lynch. For the final surprise of the night Barr chose to close out the show by legitimately singing the last two lines of The Star Spangled Banner, in an effort to finally redeem herself for her infamous and controversial rendition of the American anthem at a nationally broadcast game in 1990.

Laughing while jogging wasn't exactly my best judgment, especially when I was supposed to be loping around the court for reals, but Mason had this infectious laughter that bellowed deep from his underbelly and tickled your funny spot until you could no longer stand it. It made being concerned about Masons' wellbeing impossible. He didn't get hurt. Mason was fine. Finally, I could breathe.

Victim-less humor aside, Mason didn't say anything and I didn't ask what that was all about. We'd met on the basketball court. I hadn't known him for long, I wasn't his friend, so it was impossible to probe his mind for answers. And I couldn't just ask him what was wrong because I hadn't earned that privilege.

His sometimes blue but mostly green eyes focused on me. Already I could tell when he found certain things off-the-charts hilarious.

And, oh boy, when did he never. We would start to giggle and could not stop laughing. In the short time we'd met it was my sudden impression that through Mason's uniquely set of baby doll eyes, practically nothing was taken seriously. So when Wesley had started to get angry, Mason was being Mason. Telling jokes and sidelining the important stuff. Still, I could tell hurting Wesley was not his intension. That was why I urged him to forget about me and go take care of his people.

"Sorry about that. Wesley's having one of his moods. He'll be okay." Mason tells me.

I grin. "Don't be." I push him forward. "Seriously, I'm good. Go check on your boy!" I laugh at the silly expression he made. His slicked eyebrows landing on the middle part of his forehead. The tip of his tongue sticking out from his wide-spread smile. Saucer-eyed blinding orbs gazed into me.

I didn't say it right out loud but I could sense there was a lot more going on that wasn't being expressed. I was a sovereign state: the unbiased in-between factor that had witnessed the entire meltdown as it happened and I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was tasting sour in my mouth.

I knew in my bones things would easily get fixed if both of them had worked on resolving their issues together instead of letting the moment pass them by, only to have had created more irreversible damage later on in the future. Which was way I'd opted to stay back and let them two figure things out.

Mason saluted me before he jogged ahead to console his more-than-upset friend.

I knew how lucky I was to have someone that could put me at ease with only a few sempahtic words of comfort. I was worried, though, because it was totally out of character for Chanel to just decide out of the blue not to come by and help me pack.

We were the best of friends I had thought, until time ran out and mom said we had to get going before the snow dropped and had blocked all roads. Still, I was convinced that surely no matter what she of all people would be there to help me say goodbye. That's why it never crossed my mind that she wouldn't. Maybe she was busy and forgot and simply lost track of time but it was me that couldn't stop wondering.

Why? What was it that Chanel was doing that had made her so thoughtless and insensitive to let me go just like that. Out of love I was ready to forgive Chanel and pardon her bad timing but when mom closed the trunk to her blue impala I knew that Chanel hadn't made it because she wasn't planning to.

The whole time I wondered just how tolerable the ride to Starkhouse could have been if only Chanel were there to lessen the tension with mom. The drive was a screaming match and whoever had finished their totally one-sided match got the last word. Our fights were only escalating towards the more hurtful scale so much so that neither of us had even cared to stop and actually listen to what the other person had to say. Chanel knew that. So how come she wasn't there for me?

Without pulling myself out of the race there was nowhere I could go to get rid of the pain I felt. I chocked on unformed tears. That complicated stuff lodged inside my chest, that spot right there in the middle of my sternum, that clogged matter that tightened my throat and constricted my windpipe from expressing true emotion wouldn't budge and made the feeling all the more real. There was no hiding from it now. I was deep in it....feeling things that I had no right to feel, thinking about dumb stuff from the past that, if I could, I would wipe out for good with one of Mr. Cleans magic erasers. And none of it helped my situation whatsoever.

Dr. Cambridge was still checking in on me as if I couldn't deal with life's circumstances. As if I was one minor step from completely loosing my marbles but I wasn't. I was at Starkhouse pretending to be someone other than myself. Laughing when it was convenient and smiling when I didn't want to. So maybe the motion wasn't supposed to Feel Right...maybe nothing was when you wanted something SO badly that was out of your hands.

I was dealing with it the best I could and under the circumstances I was doing a pretty damn good job of faking it, if I could say so myself. Six months and then I was free to sign myself out of Dr. Cambridge's care and move out of my parents house for good.

That crafty insidious voice retreated to the recesses of my awareness and hissed. Don't you dare. Of all the places not now. Certainly not in front of my classmates and teacher.

As much as I hated that cunning treacherous voice I knew without a doubt that if I didn't obey it, I would end up regretting it....and myself.

So I did the next best thing. I ran.

Without any hesitation, without any doubt, I used what leftover energy I could summon and kept running till my throat burned. There was no stopping now. Not when I could see Mya cheering my name at the finish line.

If I sat down now my over-used, worn out body would put a stop to it all: a reckless move I was confidant that would take more than a hateful look and a derogatory word from Ms. Pratt in order for me to scrounge up the willpower to urge my feet to push me off the floor and finish this race. I would need a harness with the help of a forklift and say what you wanted about the plush extravagant Academy, I was banking that Starkhouse hadn't saved up for commercial property coverage.

I couldn't afford to stop for a quick break. If I let that happen my weak unstable legs would collapse straight under me and I would fall over, violently throwing up chunks of the last meal I ate 12 to 18 hours ago.

Gasping for breath I crossed the finish line.

Fortunately Mya came over to congratulate me just in time.

I choked at the sweet petal fragrance of her body splash and grimaced at how the whole activity seemed to have produced the opposite affect on her. Was it just me or did Mya have a glow? I was dripping loads of sweat whereas Mya's skin had a healthy shine to it as if she'd set herself up in a suite at the Villas of Grand Cypress.

As if I wasn't ashamed enough by all the comparisions, Mya high-fives me; hairline free of perspiration. Honestly could the girl look any more rejuvenated. Mya smiles. "Way to go!! You did great." Without asking she dragged me to the fountain.

What a doll I thought numbly. With her as my guide I used what leftover powers of endurance I had and pushed myself beyond what I'd once conceived impossible. I grimaced. Now all I wanted to do was sit and never stand back up but Ms. Pratt wasn't done and I had a feeling that was not good.

One clumsy step after the other I raised both feet and thanks to Mya showing me the way, crossed the basketball court without embarrassing myself in front of the entire senior class.

The highly distinctive drinking fountain was very much in the Gothic Revival style and the triangular upper part of the front of the structure was built in a classical style surmounting a portico of columns. The teeply pitched gabled pediment that was flanked by gabled end piers had a band of five-petalled floral ornaments in the molding of the pediment; a circle divided by four arcs in the middle, the eight peddled stylised flower inlaid with colored hard stone.

Like a "Return To Tiffany's" key in sterling silver beneath that was a trefoil headed arch inlaid with a green glazed tile mosaic. In the direct center at the second lobe was a metal cross and water spout.  With a shaking hand I took my hair in one piece and bent over the whitish-grey limestone and red sandstone basin drinking fountain. The resemblance was striking.

The bowl with a scalloped base was made of marble, and hitting the toe cap of my smudged grey converse, the paneled pedestal on its granite base was reminiscent of a baptismal front. Wheezing and asthmatic, I looked up at the band underneath the circle and exhaled as a rush of blissful unbridled peace struck me with the most divine sensation as if a pastor had thrown holly water on my face.

"Here we are. When you're ready I'll push the button." Mya tells me patiently.

All I could do was nod.

Still overcome with His Holy Presence, I smiled and for the briefest moment could swear I felt something move through me, in me, until whatever it was had rested above me as if it were my guiding angel come to keep me close. Once upon a time and in a different life misery had gotten in the way and held back my happiness. Maybe it wasn't real and I'd made it all up because I was dehydrated but I didn't want life to be bleak and lacking and I didn't want to let my loneliness hold me back from the joy and gratification that I was entitled to.

I stared at the band underneath the circle as if it were holding all the important parts of me together. With great care I studied the band as if the verbalization somehow held all the answers I was searching for. 

I bowed my head and when I'd closed my eyes I saw in relief the words, "For I Will Pour Water On Him That Is Thirsty" in Gothic lettering.

Under British Listed Buildings and if I'd tagged William Dyce in the Victorian Web toolbar like I sometimes did when I was bored and had nothing better to do, the back would have that same banding, and even though I knew there was only one in existence my interest piqued.

If I were on the computer right now I knew by distinct memory that if I'd looked any closer I would have seen ERECTED / BY PUBLIC SUBSCRIPTION / A.D. 1862 followed by the name of the rector and the two churchwardens- one of whom was Dyce himself- a band of flowers beneath the pediment, and a stylized rose below that.

The whole drinking fountain was quite striking and served as a memorial to its devout Anglo-Catholic designer. It's a noted piece of street furniture, used as an emblam of the Streatham Society, a local amenity group. So the question remained.

How long was the water fountain in the gymnasium passed off for the real deal and did the headmistress know her ridiculously overpriced interior designer falsified papers to cut corners and jipped the Academy Board of Trustees into buying an imposter knockoff just so he could keep the pruning's and trimmings all to himself. Too passible for a fake. This was done by a professional with a good eye for British historical items. Could be a twin no one knew about, I'd supposed. When checking the authenticity for a timeline anything was possible of course.

The prestigious Academy could afford ridiculous expensive lavish things so why that one? What did the Board of Trustees think was so special about a fake? So many questions and there was only one person I'd figured I could talk to about it but I wasn't too sure if she'd let me.

Bonkers and totally fruity, I had the insane idea to tell Mya all about what I'd just discovered.

I looked-for and had wanted to ask Mya about the fountain but mid-stride a vital force had stopped me from saying anything. No point in doing that. She would look at me like I was plain nuts.

The comparisons were instantaneous and I could hear that snide voice taunting me again.

Fashion wise, Mya was a Model Booker and I was worlds apart from Street Style with my bizzaro socks that were in no way cool and limited vintage sunglasses collection. Maybe it was self-seeking but I liked talking to Mya and I didn't want her to catch on to what I really was. A freak that could see things she couldn't explain. I'd gotten used to keeping my mouth shut.

Unless people were open and receptive to the idea I couldn't tell anyone who wasn't ready to listen. I'd evolved into a pattern and was okay with having all that knowledge to myself and I certainly never wondered what it would be like if other people asked me about my Mediumship. That would have been like someone asking me to watch them eat Oreos inside out.

"Did you say something?" Mya asked me

Laughing, I told her to go ahead and press the thing.  

If I admitted that I preferred architecture in place of people Mya would cast me off as plain vanilla and then everyone would know I wasn't right upstairs. I had dealt with that at one high school. History recapturing itself was a vicious cycle I was careful to not let happen again.

While Mya pushed down the bar I curved my lips ready to catch the refreshing tap water.

Not long afterwards both remaining girls passed the finish line and after replaying our final scores Ms. Pratt gave us permission to go ahead and clear on out. The day passed on pretty much the same with me all bummed out that I didn't see Wesley or his perfectly nice friend, Mason, either.