Middle School: Get Me Out of Here! (5 page)

“… and then ask a few questions about some of your drawings.”

“After that, you’ll be asked to leave the room, and they’ll take some time to consider your application.”

And before I even know it’s happened, I’m at the point of no return. The door to the office is already swinging open. They’re waiting for me inside.

“Anything else I should know?” I ask Ms. D.

Except, Ms. D. isn’t Ms. D. anymore. Her eyes have re-formed into yellow slits, and her breath has turned to smoke. She paws at the big black folder I’m holding. “Everything you need is right in there,” she says.

When I look, I see that she’s hidden my old sword inside the portfolio. Amazing! The Dragon Lady, once my enemy, is now my ally.

But she’s also taken me as far as she can go. Whatever’s waiting on the other side of that door, I’m going to have to face it alone. The only question now is whether I’ll be coming back alive…

… or not.

T
he inside of the interrogation room is cold. I can see my breath in the air, but none of the three strangers sitting across from me seem to notice.

They all look human enough, but I know better. It’s a careful disguise, meant to make me feel comfortable, so I’ll drop my guard.

“Khatchadorian, is it?” says the tall one in the middle. He smiles and beckons me closer.

“That’s right,” I say. “Rafe.”

“Ms. Donatello tells us you were named for Rafael Sanzio, the great painter. Are you a fan of his work?”

I play along, for now. “Sure,” I say, but I keep my eyes moving around the room. There could be hidden traps anywhere, just waiting to spring.

“Well, let’s see what you’ve brought with you,” another one says. I can see the warts just under her fake human skin as she puts out a hand to take my portfolio.

This is it. If I’m going to make my move, now’s the time. I reach inside—and my sword comes out in a flash.

Chairs go tumbling. Skins fly off. Claws extend. In less than two seconds, I’m facing down the ugliest set of triplets you’ve ever seen. They stretch into their new bodies and bare their fangs. One of them lets out a long, angry growl.

No. Not angry, I realize.
Hungry
. That was someone’s stomach.

Then all at once, they attack. I keep my head down and follow my instincts.

I swing!

I weave!

I dodge!

A trapdoor opens under my feet, and I jump out of the way just in time.

I thrust!

I thrust again!

And again!

So far I’m holding my own, but I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to keep this up. Meanwhile, they keep coming—one at a time, and then all together, screaming to each other in their secret language.

I lose a little ground and back up. Lose a little more ground and back up some more.

Then, before I even know it’s happened, I’m cornered. Exactly where I don’t want to be. They’ve got me on all sides now.

I keep my sword raised, waiting for them to close in. But instead they hold their ground—and it doesn’t take long to figure out why.

The walls behind me start to rumble. I hear the ceiling crack overhead. It’s another trap!

By the time I look up, it’s too late. All I see now is a shower of boulders headed my way as the whole place caves in around me.

That’s it.

I had my chance and I blew it.

This interview is over.

I
’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think,” Mom said afterward.

“It was worse,” I told her. “Even
I
wouldn’t let me into this school.”

It’s like the whole Cathedral interview was just a blur. I showed them my portfolio and gave a bunch of dumb answers to their questions, but I couldn’t even tell you what I said.

Now we were stuck out in the hall again, waiting for them to come out and give me the bad news.

“Don’t worry, kiddo. If they don’t want you, it’s their loss,” Grandma said.

“Why don’t we just wait and see what they say?” Ms. Donatello told me.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Georgia said.

I didn’t want to talk anymore, so I just made like Leonardo the Silent and kept my mouth shut after that.

Finally, the office door opened, and Mr. Crawley, the director of the school, came over to talk to us. I tried not to look like I wanted to disappear. Or self-destruct. Or both.

“First of all, Rafe,” he said, “you should know there are three things we look for in an applicant. One of those is experience. A lot of the students at Cathedral have been studying art since before they could write.”

“Sure,” I said. “I get it. No problem.”

But he wasn’t done yet.

“The other two things we look for are talent and persistence,” he said. “Not only is that portfolio of yours full of artistic promise, it’s also just
full
. When I see that, I see a boy who would probably keep drawing whether anyone was paying attention or not.”

I looked at Mom, trying to see if she was happy. I still couldn’t tell if this was good news or bad news yet.

“All of which is to say—”

Mr. Crawley put out his hand for me to shake, and I felt like everything was moving in slow motion.

“—we’ve approved your application.”

I couldn’t believe it. Like maybe it was a joke, or they had the wrong Rafe or something.

“Are you serious?” I said.

“Serious as Picasso’s Blue Period,” Mr. Crawley said, and Mom and Ms. D. cracked up while I shook his hand. “Welcome to Cathedral!”

And even though it still didn’t feel real, I’ll tell you what else. Those were the three best words I’d heard in a long, long time.

B
ack at Grandma’s place, I got up my nerve to do something absolutely terrifying: I wrote a note to a girl.