Late May. The warm, sunny weather was perfect for being outside. The
birds were singing in the warm sun, and the lilacs were in bloom all
over the block. It was the sort of weather that always made adults wish
they were young again, as they watched their own children run around,
playing in the mud or catching fireflies. Adults hated this weather
because they usually spent their time drinking double espressos in a
downtown café and talking about how terrible it is that children
today "have absolutely no cares at all." But people who get
nostalgic about childhood were obviously never children.
Everybody in town under the age of nineteen knew exactly how terrible
springtime could be. It was the sort of weather that usually signaled
the beginning of the dreaded final exams. Lily, 16, hauled herself out
of bed one Monday morning, and walked to school. She knew that there
were only two weeks until finals, so she was in an unusually depressed
mood, even for her. To her surprise, her first six classes didn't go
badly. She had studying to do of course, especially in math, but she
was a lot better off than she had expected. Her seventh and final class
was English, but she knew that class would be great - English finals
were always very, very easy. In fact, she might be able to blow off
studying for English altogether, and she could then focus on her other
classes.
As Lily settled into
a seat in the back row of the ridiculously humid classroom, she pushed
back her thick, red hair and steeled herself for an hour of boredom.
Mrs. Drexel, their English teacher, was probably the meanest person
in the school. She was sixty-three years old, and she always wore her
white hair pulled back in a tight bun behind her head. She hated children,
as did all English teachers, and she was her meanest in the Spring,
because she loved to make children wish they were adults.
Mrs. Drexel droned on and on for forty minutes, but she made sure to
stop five minutes before the bell. "One more thing," she said,
with her famous know-it-all leer. "I will expect each of you to
write a story. Make it interesting. It will be due in one week, so I
suggest that you start thinking about ideas." She smirked at the
class.
"Hey, that's not fair; you can't do that!" Lily broke out
angrily.
Mrs. Drexel turned on her like a hawk. "Listen," she said,
in a quiet, evil voice. I don't know who you think you are, but no one
tells me what to do in my classroom. Understand? I suggest you start
thinking about ideas for your story."
Lily immediately started thinking of ideas. Unfortunately, she did not
start thinking about what to write, she started thinking about how to
get out of writing. Like all teenagers, she was creative and imaginative.
But like all teenagers, she used her talents in what most adults refer
to as "the wrong way."
~
Lily spent the
next few days trying to think of good excuses, but she really didn't
have a clue what to do. She supposed she wouldn't have to write if she
was drafted, but she didn't know how to get herself drafted.
She considered running
away, but she always wanted to live in a condominium, and she didn't
suppose she'd find one in the middle of the street. She sighed as she
resigned herself to the inevitable - she would simply have to hire someone
to write her story for her.
The first person
she thought of was her best friend Elizabeth, but Lily knew better than
to ask her. Even though Elizabeth and Lily were best friends, and even
though they did everything together, Lily knew it was impossible. Elizabeth
would never cheat unless her life depended on it, and Lily reflected
that lives almost never hung in the balance .unfortunately. (And even
then it would depend on whose they were.) Lily's parents flatly refused
to write it for her, so Lily was forced to ask her sister. This seemed
like a good plan, except for the little fact that her sister was only
six years old.
The night before her story was due, Lily took the finished product from
her sister and stuffed it roughly into her backpack without even looking
at it. Then she drifted off into a troubled sleep. She was standing
all alone in a courtroom facing a sour-looking judge.
"Isn't
it true," he began, "That you deliberately conned your sister
into writing your English story for you?"
"No, I just," she began.
"YOU were too lazy to do your own work!"
"No, I was only--"
"If you had only worked on it, you would have been finished in
only a few days. Instead, you cheated a six-year-old into working. You
will be punished."
The room went deathly silent. Lily struggled hard to breathe, but the
judge didn't seem to notice.
"Wait," Lily said. "You can't punish me. You're only
a dream. Yeah, that's right. A dream."
The judge looked at her with a cruel smile. "When you wake up,
you will spend the next three hours writing your own paper by yourself.
You will never do anything like this again. Is that understood?"
"Who are you?"
The judge practically shouted "Is that understood?!"
"Yes," Lily whispered.
"Should you refuse, I will not be so kind."
Lily looked
up angrily. "Oh, yeah? What can you do, anyway? And who are you
to tell me what to do with my homework? I don't have to listen to you!"
"I would
redo my homework if I were you," the mysterious man said calmly.
"I really don't think you want to hand in a story entitled Winnie
the Pooh meets Clifford, the Big Red Dog. Especially considering that
most of the story is about Curious George. And that's saying something,
as she only wrote three paragraphs. But do you what you want."
He let his voice trail off.
Lily glared at the judge, but she said nothing.
"We're not only giving you one more chance," the judge continued,
"but we are giving you the inspiration to write a very creative
and amusing story."
Lily might have picked up on the hint and realized that it would not
take long to write about her real life (which at this point would have
been more interesting that Pooh suing Clifford for Curious George's
custody rights), but her attention span was too short, even for a teenager.
She wasn't thinking about her homework at all. In fact, the only thing
she could think about was Viggo Mortenson, who just might have been
the sexiest human being on Earth. She sighed, and didn't even notice
that the courtroom was fading.
When Lily woke up, she read through her English story for the first
time, and she saw that everything the judge said was true. But she didn't
care. She certainly wasn't going to waste any more time on it. What
did she care, anyway? It was so much harder to be afraid, now that she
was away from that terrible courtroom. However, her troubles were far
from over.
When Lily went back to bed, she was instantly transported back to the
courtroom.
"We gave you a chance," the judge said. "Now we have
no choice but punish you."
"Yeah, sure. Look, you crackpot, I don't know who you are, or where
you came from, but NO ONE orders me around. Got that?"
The judge grinned.
"Of course I do. In fact, we will put you in a situation where
you get to order other people around. Good night."
~
Lily woke up
in the morning in a very good mood, but she couldn't explain why. All
over the block, children sat outside while the adults drank coffee and
complained. But Lily knew that none of them were happy. And for some
inexplicable reason, Lily didn't care. She was happy to ignore the world
as she reached over to a table and fumbled for a hairbrush. Lily was
brushing through her long, white hair when a terrible realization hit
her.
White? Lily's hair was red. Panicking, she looked around the
bedroom and realized that she was in a strange room. As she ran downstairs,
she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, and was horrified to see
none other than Mrs. Drexel staring back at her.
~
As Lily walked
into school that day, feeling miserable, she realized that she had been
turned into her own worst nightmare. She was just resigning herself
to her new life when she saw a glimmer of hope: Elizabeth. Elizabeth
was at her locker, pulling out her books. "Elizabeth," Lily
called out. "Elizabeth!"
Elizabeth looked up. "What's the matter, Mrs. Drexel?"
Lily figured that the only way she could leave her teacher's body was
to find the person who was in her own body. "Elizabeth, have you
seen Lily this morning? It's really important."
"Lily?" Elizabeth's confusion showed on her face and in her
voice. Lily's heart leapt. Maybe her best friend could help after all.
But whatever hopes Lily had were dashed by Elizabeth's next two words.
"Lily who?"
