The House in the Cerulean Sea(41)

Linus understood that wholeheartedly. He absolutely believed that Lucy was capable of everything he’d shouted.

Linus sat in a chair at the back of the parlor. He’d been offered a seat much closer, but he’d shaken his head, saying it was best if he sat out of the way to observe. He had his notepad and pencil ready, set atop his copy of RULES AND REGULATIONS (something he’d thought to leave in his room, but decided against; one should always be prepared should the rules need to be reviewed) when the first child had stood in front, but it’d been quickly forgotten. He reminded himself that he needed to take copious notes so his reports weren’t lacking, especially since there was nothing in the RULES AND REGULATIONS about children expressing themselves in such a manner.

And since Lucy was finished, that meant five children had expressed themselves.

Which left—

“Sal?” Mr. Parnassus said. “If you please.”

Sal slumped lower in his chair as if he were trying to make himself smaller. It was almost comical, given his size. He glanced back at Linus quickly before jerking his head forward again when he saw he was being watched. He muttered something that Linus couldn’t make out.

Mr. Parnassus stood in front of his desk. He reached down and tapped a finger on Sal’s shoulder. He said, “The things we fear the most are often the things we should fear the least. It’s irrational, but it’s what makes us human. And if we’re able to conquer those fears, then there is nothing we’re not capable of.”

Theodore chirped from the top of his desk, wings fluttering.

“Theodore’s right,” Phee said, chin in her hands. “You can do it, Sal.”

Chauncey’s eyes bounced. “Yeah! You got this!”

“You’re made of strong stuff on the inside,” Talia said. “And it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

Lucy tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “My insides are rotted and festering like an infected wound leaking pus.”

“See?” Mr. Parnassus said to Sal. “Everyone here believes in you. All it takes is you believing in yourself.”

Sal glanced back at Linus again, who tried to give what he hoped was an encouraging smile. It must not have gone over very well, as Sal grimaced, but either he had found the courage or resigned himself that he wasn’t getting out of it, because he opened the lid to his desk and pulled out a piece of paper. He stood slowly. He was stiff as he walked to the front of the class. Mr. Parnassus sat on the edge of his desk. His slacks were still too short and revealed socks that were a brightly offensive shade of orange.

Sal stood in front of the class, staring at the paper gripped tightly in his hands. The paper shook slightly. Linus sat statue-still, sure that any movement from him would send Sal running.

Sal’s lips started moving, his murmur barely audible.

“A little louder,” Mr. Parnassus said softly. “Everyone wants to hear you. Project, Sal. Your voice is a weapon. Never forget that.”

The fingers tightened around the page in his hands. Linus thought it would rip.

Sal cleared his throat and began again.

He said, “I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”

He hurried back to his seat.

Everyone cheered.

Linus stared.

“Wonderful,” Mr. Parnassus said approvingly. “Thank you for that, Sal. I particularly liked the scratches as a history. It spoke to me, because we all have that history, I think, though none are quite the same as the others as you so deftly pointed out. Well done.”

Linus could have sworn he saw Sal smile, but it was gone before he could be sure.

Mr. Parnassus clapped his hands. “Well, then. Shall we move on? Since it’s Tuesday, that means we will begin the morning with maths.”

Everyone groaned. Theodore thunked his head repeatedly against the surface of his desk.

“And yet, we’ll still proceed,” Mr. Parnassus said, sounding amused. “Phee? Would you hand out the primers? Today, we’re going to return to the wild and wonderful world of algebra. Advanced for some, and an opportunity to refresh for others. How lucky are we?”

Even Linus groaned at that.



* * *



Linus left the guest house after lunch, preparing to return to the parlor for what was promising to be an exciting discussion on the Magna Carta when Ms. Chapelwhite appeared out of nowhere, startling him to the point where he almost stumbled back against the porch.

“Why would you do that?” he gasped, clutching at his chest, sure that his poor heart was about to explode. “My blood pressure is high as it is! Are you trying to kill me?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I know many other ways to go about it,” she said easily. “You need to come with me.”

“I shall do no such thing. I have children to observe, and a report that I’ve barely begun. And besides, the RULES AND REGULATIONS state that a caseworker mustn’t let himself be distracted when on assignment and—”