A Lion in a Flower Field

Working together, the three of them transported Magic from the hallway to a cot in the nurse’s office.

Well, Mira would have liked to say that she helped. But she couldn’t bring herself to do much of anything aside from stand awkwardly at a distance while the two older women took the reins, watching from her seat on one of the chairs.

She watched them twist tiny earplugs into Magic’s ears and layer the buffer with folded towels. Miss Barrister produced a worn out, scratched up pair of olive, metallic headphones from her desk drawer and placed the drivers on the makeshift cushions, tightening a dial on the side to make the fit more snug. Miss Flannise was digging through a cooler at the nurse’s order, handing over ice packs from its depths.

The adults had entered a kind of unspoken agreement, a rehearsed rhythm as if they’d done this sort of thing before with practiced hands. It made Mira nervous. She wasn’t used to other people doing things like this for her. Normally, monitoring Magic—and keeping note of his moods, his outbursts, and his habits—was her job. Outside of both of their parents, anyway.

Giving away the responsibility made her feel awkward. More than that, it made her feel useless. Had she not been so intimidated by the seamless nature of the two women, Mira might have interjected to offer assistance. But there was no place for her help.

She knew that now.

Thanks to the new pair of headphones, broken and raggedy as they were, Magic slept through both bells—marking the end of seventh period and beginning of eighth period. The only time he awakened in a frantic daze was when Miss Barrister placed the ice packs along the back of his neck and the palms of his hands to revive him as well as bring the swelling down.

He jolted with a start, legs thrashing, head whipping left to right. Mira got to her feet and was about to make her way over until she saw the nurse waving her hands to get Magic’s attention. When the motions—which Mira realized were repeating themselves—registered, Magic stilled. It was as though Miss Barrister were asking the same question over and over again asking for a response.

To her surprise, Magic responded.

Not with his voice, but with his hands.

He replied back to her in short gestures and the nurse responded back. Mira glanced at Miss Flannise to see if she understood and took a bit of satisfaction from knowing that the other teacher was just as clueless.

No one in the room made a sound as Miss Barrister stepped away and returned with a bottle of amber colored liquid that made Mira wince upon seeing it. The nurse handed it over to Magic who, sitting up on his forearms, unscrewed the cap, poured the sap-like medication into the cap, drank from it, and repeated the process one more time before laying back down on the cot.

Mira recognized the anxiety relief medication from some of the cabinets in Magic’s house. Created from aerityne plants known for their medicinal properties, the medication was a pain reliever and a mild sedative all at once. Magic used it for his panic attacks growing up to calm his nerves.

It was a fast acting drug and within moments Magic was peacefully asleep and unaware, the squeaking of breaths through his nose the only indicator of his rest.

Mira felt her chest clench.

How much better would this situation be if she was just able to hit something? Or someone?

Her brother shouldn’t be there on that cot. They shouldn’t have had to be in this situation, period. He shouldn’t have had his headphones taken from him, been left to the mercy of the bells …

And at the end of the day there was only one person to blame.

Mira heard voices around her but didn’t register them clearly enough. Before she was consciously aware of it, her feet were bringing her outside the room and she was sitting in the hallway, arms around her knees, forehead resting against them. She resisted the urge to hit her head against the wall.

Shoes clacked on the ground beneath her, followed by a long sigh as Mira registered the shift of color out of her peripheral vision. Silence passed between them for several long minutes until Miss Flannise cleared her throat and said, “Tell me what’s happening.”

But what was there to say?

Mira lifted her head, rubbing at her eyes which were puffy from silent tears. “Someone took them,” she said instead, not confident enough in her words to express herself yet.

“Took what?”

“His headphones.” Even the thought of it was enough for her to start seeing red. Mira clenched her jaw. “He wouldn’t be so careless with them. He needs them. He knows he does.”

“Is this why you came into my room looking like you’d run a mile?” asked the woman. “Because of this?”

Mira nodded, resting her chin on her knees. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—it wasn’t supposed to happen at all.”

Miss Flannise tipped her head against the wall. “Plans are great, Mirabel—when they work. But plans are just that. Plans. Not all of them will work.”

“This one was supposed to.”

The art teacher hummed to herself and closed her eyes, as though she wanted to say something, but decided against it. Mira was glad. For once, she didn’t think she was capable of speaking. Another bout of silence left Mira to seethe on her own, tempered only by the presence of Miss Flannise. She enjoyed having another person around and, though there were no words appropriate enough to express the violent storm in her chest, Mira found it comforting.

A tap of nails on the doorframe snagged her attention, along with Miss Flannise.

The nurse was standing against it, nodding in the direction of something further into the room. “I think he’s looking for you,” she said.

Mira scrambled to her feet immediately, rushing inside the room. She sat back in the seat she had been in before, scooting it closer to the cot where her brother lay deliriously mumbling half to himself. She wondered if he was aware of the thoughts coming out of his mouth, the way they fell away from him like water out of a faucet; a stream of consciousness, untethered and unrestrained. Magic's hands were wrapped, gauze wound tightly around his palms and between the spaces of his fingers to make the patchwork equivalent of a fingerless glove. The makeshift headphones Miss Barrister and Miss Flannise had covered his ears with were discarded, resting unceremoniously on the nurse’s desk.

He was covered with a thin sheet—the illusion of safety—and his eyes, though closed, fluttered rapidly, gradually opening wider with each passing second. Mira dragged the chair she’d been sitting in earlier over, sitting by his side as Magic’s eyes seemed to focus. “Mira?” he mumbled, his voice heavily slurred from the medication.

She was glad she didn’t have to be the one to start the conversation. “Hey, Mags. How do you feel? You sound a little … tired.”

“I am tired.” He dragged his arm up, draping it over his forehead like he was shielding away the sun. “Tired and my hands hurt. I can feel them moving.”

“I would hope you could feel them moving. If you didn’t, then we’d have a few problems.”

“No. I can feel the inside of it moving. Like my heartbeat is in them.”

A pulse. The compression of the gauze. “That’s normal,” she reassured him, hoping it would be enough to satisfy his fascination. “When you take the wrapping off then it won’t be there—”

“Do I get to go home now?” he interjected.

Mira bit her lip, looking around the room. Miss Barrister pulled something from the drawers of a nearby cabinet—two thick, black gloves—and set them on the foot of the bed, motioning with her hands in the universal sign that meant Keep talking. “Not right now,” Mira went on, “but soon. Miss Barrister still has to make sure you’re okay and then after that you can. And just think, when you leave, I’ll even do you the favor of dragging Mabel out of her hidey-hole.”

“Mabel?” he asked, sounding like he was five minutes away from falling back asleep. His expression brightened, his eyes clear. Magic simply perked up at the mere mention of the cat and never had Mira been more thankful for the existence of an animal in her life. “Where?”

“By the alleyway,” she said with a smile. “You doofus.”

Her brother frowned. “You’re doofus.”

Mira allowed a silent laugh and ruffled his hair with a playful smile. He closed his eyes, bringing the sheet higher up his face. “Dingbat,” he murmured.

“Jackass,” she quipped.

“Dumbass.”

Mira’s grin widened. “Not nearly as much as you—especially when you’re this high on your own medication.”

“I want Mabel. I miss petting her; she’s soft and cuddly. And I like holding her …”

“You will. We’ll find her once you can go home. I promise. And I don’t break my promises.”

Magic stared at her for a long moment, blinking slowly until the words finally registered and he fell back asleep against the cot. He adjusted himself on his side, one arm in front of him outside of the covers, knees tucked to his chest. Mira saw him shudder—it was irritatingly chilly in the room—before he nestled his head against the pillow and went still again.

Gnawing at her lip, she realized that, looking at him this way, he reminded her a lot of the timid, scared boy who lived his life hiding from people. Even now he was small despite his newfound height, huddled into himself for security.

And he was vulnerable.

Magic was an open target, someone who could be easily harassed if they didn’t solve the problem of his missing headphones. While her brother couldn’t name the people responsible for stopping him in the hallway, Mira didn’t have a doubt in her mind that the Harsyle twins—or at least one of them—was at the very least partially responsible for making Magic’s life hell.

And if she could find them, either of them, she would make them pay for it. Personally.

Someone tapped her shoulder, drawing Mira from her thoughts. Miss Flannise was sitting beside her now, Miss Barrister sliding the gloves onto Magic’s hands and Mira found herself squinting in awe as the nurse kept hold of one of her dozing brother’s hands. The ginger-haired woman looked up, a smile in her gray and brown eyes before she spoke.

“They’re compression gloves,” said Miss Barrister. “Normally, people use them for weight training to help them build muscle in their fingers, but I had them repurposed by a contact in the capital for … a more therapeutic use. They compress the hands and remove the sensation of touch. All he can feel is what’s inside the gloves, but he can still make contact with other people with them on.”

Mira raised a brow. That was impressive. “It’s like the weighted blankets we have at home. When he gets stressed and panicky at my house, we have two weighted blankets for him to use because they make him feel safer. We had to give them to Amelia the other week because she felt like he needed them.”

She didn’t miss the stiffening of Miss Flannise’s posture and the way her hands clasped together with such force that her knuckles whitened.

Even the nurse paused, sitting at the other side of the cot, all humor vanishing from her features. “The other week?” she pressed.

Feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable like she’d spoken something she should have kept quiet, Mira only nodded.

“When specifically?”

“Back in late September? Early October?”

Miss Barrister heaved a sigh and Miss Flannise looked down at the floor, jaw twitching. An unspoken thing—Mira couldn’t quite name what it was—passed between the older women and Mira was vaguely reminded of the strangely mechanical system between the two adults when they had first carried Magic into the room. Like they’d done something like it before.

He never made it to his afternoon classes.

Now the dots were connecting and Mira understood.

The other women knew exactly what had happened that day. Mira felt a twisting sensation in her stomach that made her nauseous but she reached over, grabbed hold of her brother’s hand as tightly as she could and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to know. But she needed to. Needed to know what happened, what hell her brother could have gone through to keep him out of school.

Because whatever it was, came a vindictive voice in her head, you’re going to give it back to them tenfold.

“What happened?” she whispered, unable to will her voice louder. “In late September?”

Miss Barrister sighed and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with her eyes closed. “From the middle of the month, there were a few students wandering in here complaining of headaches. I’m familiar with the … ‘tradition’ of some students finding their way inside their own lockers, but this year felt like more than usual—”

“MJ,” interjected Miss Flannise, who was sitting upright now, hands neatly in her lap. Mira straightened. It was odd to hear the teachers refer to each other by name. “Let me handle the rest of it.”

“Amberly—Miss Flannise.” The nurse’s words sounded almost like a warning.

A warning that the art teacher ignored and Mira turned, listening intently as the young woman continued. “I had a student in Grade Six come to me during my free period. It’s very odd that the younger students come into my room during those—usually it's kids in your grade: seniors or juniors that stop by just to say hello. But this girl was terrified and convinced she’d heard something from the lockers upstairs, so she wanted me to go with her to see what it was. I didn’t realize whose locker it was until I heard the screaming.”

Mira felt her eyes widen. “Did he have—?”

“Yes, he had the headphones on. I think it’s the only reason I was able to get him to calm down until the same girl left to get a janitor to cut his lock. He tumbled and rolled right out of it; he was shaking so hard the only thing I thought to do was give him a hug. And then after that …”

Miss Barrister was frowning, as though she were annoyed by the interjection, but once it was clear that Miss Flannise had said her piece, the nurse spoke. “We wheeled him down here and Miss Flannise helped me calm him down and get him situated. He wouldn’t speak to either of us, not even through signs. Once his mother got here, though, it was all waterworks.”

“So that’s why? That’s why he was gone for so long?”

The nurse nodded sagely. “Correct. Granted, he wasn’t physically harmed by the act of being thrown inside of his locker, but I imagine the emotional stress was what kept him away, if your earlier statement is anything to go by.”

“It feels a bit better than last time,” mumbled Miss Flannise, eying the nurse warily. When Miss Barrister didn’t say anything, she went on. “He was so pale after the locker incident and I don’t think I’d ever seen a student be that white in the face. Now, he was at least able to communicate, which was more than what we got in September so that’s progress, I guess.”

Mira frowned, tightening her hold on Magic’s hand. She’d seen that progress during Art Club watching her brother communicate in small bouts. “He trusts you, though.”

“He does now. It wasn’t like that early on. The only person he truly trusts in this building is you, Mirabel. Before that incident, I was lucky to get even a ‘good morning’ from him. Between what I’ve heard from myself, Mister Orre, Mister Prolla, and Miss Barrister”—she waved in the direction of the nurse, who nodded again—“we’ve all had varying degrees of success when it comes to having a conversation with him. Very hit or miss some days.”

She could at least understand why those four have had the most success. Those were his teachers for Art, Math, and Science, respectively, and those were the classes he liked the most. As for Miss Barrister, Mira imagined that small trust came from her assistance after Magic gained an intimate knowledge of what the inside of his locker was like.

On top of that, the nurse’s words struck a chord. Sure, Magic trusted her, and she wore that trust like a damn badge. But where did his trust in her get him? Stuck on a cot in the nurse’s office because of an episode she didn’t know how to help him from.

Mira let go of her brother and, as though he felt a disconnect, his eyelids fluttered, struggling to open. Incoherent noises left his mouth and Miss Barrister sighed, pushing to her feet. “Afternoon, Magic,” she said, tapping her side of the cot to get his attention. Once his focus was on the nurse, Miss Barrister spoke not only in words, but in sign. “I hear you’re ready to go home?”

Magic made no response. He just took in the scene, looking from Miss Barrister, to Miss Flannise, to Mira.

Mira tapped her brother on the shoulder. His eyes, which had wandered a little, found hers immediately, a dazed fog in the green and hazel. The light created a glare in his lenses that made it hard to see. “Mags,” she said, “are you ready for Amelia to come get you?”

The words took a minute to process. When they did, Magic’s eyes widened, eyebrows so far up his head that she was surprised they hadn’t fallen off his head. “Don’t tell her,” he whispered, the words stuck together in a mass. “Don’t tell her this.”

“Why?” she asked, squinting. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Miss Flannise rise to her feet and pull the nurse over to the side, engaging in a silent conversation Mira wasn’t privy to. She wanted to know, of course, but she doubted they’d even continue the conversation if she asked, so instead, Magic was her primary focus. “What does it matter if they tell her now or when she gets here? She’s going to have to be here to take you home.”

“Can Benji?”

“My dad could take you home, but only in an emergency. This isn’t an emergency.”

Magic groaned long and hard in what she assumed to be frustration.

“What’s with the evasion, bud?” Mira asked. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“She can’t worry,” Magic replied, shaking his head against the small pillow beneath his head. “She worries too much, I can’t have her do that more. Not over this. Please—please promise me, Mira, you won’t—”

“I can’t promise that, Mags.” He made a small whine and she took hold of his hand again, tightening her grip to give him a solid handshake. She held Magic’s gaze and in his eyes she could see the fear lingering in them but beneath that layer, the shame of having to be dotted on like an insufficient child who couldn’t function on his own. The very same thing he expressed to her before school started and after the very first day.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel bad for him, but there was nothing that could be done about it. He’d simply have to deal.

“I can’t promise that,” Mira repeated. “Miss Barrister is required to call your mom.”

“Stay here?” he pleaded, a pitiful noise coming from him. “Please?”

“Until Amelia gets here?”

“When she’s here. While she’s here.”

“Mags, I have—”

“Mira, please I need you here.”

Time paused for a moment. Of all things she’d heard Magic say this year, she didn’t think she’d hear words of admission from him—confirmation that he needed her around which he would normally never do. In fact, Mira couldn’t remember a time where Magic had expressed the same sentiment in words.

When she didn’t respond, Magic doubled down, mistaking her shock for refusal. “I need you to stay while she’s here. Please, I can’t—I can’t make her worry … Please, Mira I—”

Mira clamped down on his hand, bringing his gloved hand in front of his face to show him. Magic paused, his mouth in a small ‘O’ as she pressed his knuckles against her forehead. “If it’ll help you calm down,” she said, “I’ll stay here with you. I’ll even walk with you to the alleyway to grab Mabel if you’d like.”

Tears gathered in the corner of Magic’s half-lidded eyes. “I want to pet Mabel, Mira. I want the cat …”

A ghost of a smile twitched on her lips. “I’ll grab her for you after Amelia gets here. You want to close your eyes and rest a little? You sound like you're still a little loopy from the medicine.”

“I’m tired … I’m so tired, Mira …”

“So get some sleep, then. Watching you stare at me like that is making me tired. How’s this for a plan: we get Mabel when Amelia gets here to pick you up and then you can keep her for a bit until you feel better. Does that sound good to you?”

Magic said nothing, but he reciprocated her hold on him, squeezing her hand back as Mira dropped their clasped hands onto the mattress. She pulled her chair closer, listening to the incoherent chatter of the older women as she stacked her hands atop Magic’s and rested her head at his bedside.