George Martin - The Way of the Wizard

“Oh, excuse me,” said Laudon, looking at the roll. “Yep, I checked, and right here it says that I’m the teacher here. Who are you? ”

“Jam Fisher.”

“Jam? Oh, I see. That’s a nickname for Jamaica Fisher. I’ve never heard of a boy named Jamaica.”

Some titters from the class, but not many, because in the lower grades Jam had been through bloody fights with anybody who said Jamaica was a girl’s name.

“And yet you have the evidence right there in your hands,” said Jam. “Doesn’t the roll have a little M or F by our names?”

“It’s gallant of you, Mr. Fisher, to try to rescue Miz Jones, but she will pick up that stone.”

Jam knew he was committing academic suicide, but there was something in him that would not tolerate a bully. He got up, strode forward. Laudon backed away a step, probably afraid Jam intended to hit him. But all Jam did was reach down under the desk where the stone had rolled and reach out to pick it up.

The next thing he was aware of was somebody slapping his face. It stung, and Jam lashed out to slap back. Only has hand barely moved. He was so weak he couldn’t lift his arm more than an inch before it fell back to the floor, spent.

The floor? What was he doing, lying on his back on the floor?

“Open your eyes, Mr. Fisher,” commanded Laudon. “I need to see if your pupils are dilated.”

What is this, a drug test?

Jam meant to say it. But his mouth didn’t move.

Another slap.

“Stop it!” he shouted.

Or, rather, whispered.

“Open your eyes.”

With some fluttering, Jam finally complied.

“No concussion. No doubt your brain is in its original condition, despite having hit the floor. You — the two of you — help him stand up.”

“No thanks,” murmured Jam.

But the two students delegated to help him were more afraid of Laudon’s glare than Jam’s protest.

“I’ll throw up,” Jam said. Or started to say. But the last part came out in a gush of lunch. By good fortune, it landed between desks, but it still got all over Jam’s shoes, and the shoes and pantlegs of everyone near him.

“I think he needs to go to the nurse,” said Rhonda.

“Need to lie down,” Jam said. Whereupon he fainted again, which accomplished his stated objective.

He woke up the next time in the nurse’s office. He heard her talking on the phone. “I can call an ambulance for him,” the nurse was saying, “but school policy does not allow us to transport a sick or injured student in private vehicles. Yes, I know you wouldn’t sue me, but I’m not worried about getting sued, I’m worried about losing my job. You don’t have a job for a fired nurse, do you? Then let’s not argue about the policy. Either I call an ambulance, or you come get him, Miz Fisher, or I keep him here to infect every other student who comes in here.”

“I’m not sick,” murmured Jam.

“Now he’s saying he’s not sick,” said the nurse, “even though he still has puke on his shoes. Yes, ma’am, ‘puke’ is official nurse lingo for vomitus. We speak English nowadays, even in the best nursing schools.”

“Tell her not to come I’m okay,” whispered Jam.

“He says for you not to come, he’s okay. Weak as a baby, probably delirious, but by no means should you leave work to come get him.”

Within twenty minutes, Mother was there.

So was Mr. Laudon. “Before you take him, I want it back,” he said to Jam.

“Want what?” asked Mother. “Are you accusing my son of stealing?” Jam didn’t even have to open his eyes to see his mother right up in Laudon’s face.

“He picked up something of mine from the floor and he still has it.”

Jam noticed that Laudon didn’t seem to want to tell Mother or the nurse that what he was looking for was a stone. “Search me,” Jam whispered.

Mother immediately was stroking his head, cooing at him. “Oh, Jamaica, baby, don’t you try to talk, I know you don’t have it.”

“He offered to let me search,” said Mr. Laudon.

“So this boy of mine, this straight A student who comes home from school every day and takes care of his handicapped brother and prepares dinner for his mother, this is the boy you want to treat like a criminal?”

“I’m not saying he stole it,” said Mr. Laudon, backing down — but not giving up, either. “He might not even know he has it.”

“Search me,” Jam insisted. “I don’t want your philosopher’s stone.”

“What did he say?” said Mother.

“He’s delirious,” said Laudon. Jam could feel his hands now, patting his pockets.

Jam opened his hands to show they were empty.

“I’m so sorry,” said Mr. Laudon. “I could have sworn he had it. It wasn’t in the room when they carried him out.”

“Then I suggest you take a good hard look at some other child,” said Mother. “Jamaica, baby, can you sit up? Can you walk? Or shall I have Mr. I–Lost-My-Rock-So-Somebody-Must-Have-Stolen-It help you out to the car?”

Rather than have Laudon touch him again, Jam rolled to one side and found he could do it. He could even push himself into an upright position. He wasn’t so weak anymore. But he wasn’t strong, either. He leaned heavily on his mother as she helped him out to the car.

“What a great first day of school,” he said.

“Tell me the truth now,” said Mother. “Did somebody hit you?”

“Nobody hits me anymore, Mama,” said Jam.

“Damn well better not. That teacher — what was that about?”

“He’s an idiot,” said Jam.

“Why is he an idiot who’s already on your case on the first day of school? Answer me, or I’ll tell the principal he touched you indecently when he was patting you down and that’ll get his ass fired.”

“Don’t say ‘ass,’ Mama,” said Jam.

“Ass ass ass,” said Mother. “Who’s the parent here, you or me?”

It was an old ritual, and Jam finished it. “Must be me, cause it sure ain’t you.”

“Now get in that car, baby.”

By the time they got home, Jam was recovered enough that he didn’t have to lean on anybody. “Maybe you should take me back to school, Mama, I feel a lot better.”

“So does that mean you were faking it before?” asked Mother. “What’s so bad that you want to get out of it and jeopardize your whole future by skipping school, not to mention jeopardizing my job by making me leave all in a rush to take you home?”

“If I could’ve talked I would have told the nurse not to call you.”

“Answer my question, Jamaica.”

“Mama, he was passing around a stupid stone, talking about alchemy as the forerunner of chemistry, and claiming it was a philosopher’s stone. Only it picked up a static charge and zapped Rhonda Jones’s hand and she dropped it, and Mr. Laudon was having a hissy fit, trying to make her pick it up even though she had already touched it and what’s the point anyway , he was just going to tell us that alchemy doesn’t work but chemistry does, so why should we all touch the stupid rock?”

“Let me guess. You saw injustice being done so you had to put your face right in it.”

“I just bent over to pick up the stone and I must have passed out because I woke up on the floor.”

“You didn’t pick it up?”

“No, Mama. You accusing me of stealing now?”

“No, I’m accusing you of having something seriously wrong with your health and having visions of getting called out of work next time because you turned out to have a faulty valve in your heart or something and you keeled over dead on a basketball court.”

“The only way I’ll ever get on a basketball court is if I’m already dead and they’re using me for a freethrow line.”