Avalon High Part 17

But this didn't seem to have the desired effect, since Mr. Morton blanched even more.

"He knows, then? About them?"

"Well," I said. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what was going on here. Since when did a teacher care so much about whether or not a high school's It Couple had broken up? Then again, this was Mr. Morton, the most beloved teacher in the school-to some people, anyway. The ones who didn't want to kill him, the way Marco had.

"Um," I said. "Yeah. I mean, yes. Will knows. He found out yesterday. But"-I added hastily, when Mr. Morton's face crumpled-"he's fine with it. Really."

Mr. Morton sank slowly back into his desk chair. He sagged there, a look of hopeless desolation on his face.

"We're doomed," he whispered, to the wall.

Which was when I decided that this? Yeah, this was probably not normal. Even for Mr. Morton.

I didn't know what to do. Mr. Morton appeared to be having some kind of breakdown right in front of me.

But why? Why should Mr. Morton care so much about who Jennifer Gold was dating?

Then I remembered where I'd last seen Mr. Morton. At the game.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Well, sort of.

"Really, Mr. Morton," I said. "I think you're overreacting. Lance and Will are good friends. They'll probably only emerge stronger because of this. And, you know, you really shouldn't worry so much about it."

Mr. Morton lifted his head to look at me. His lips, I saw, were moving, but no sound was coming out. Then, slowly, he seemed to find his voice.

"I tried," he wheezed, his face as white as the chalk marks on the board behind him. "They can't say I didn't try. I did my best to bring the two of you together. But we were simply too late...too late...."

His expression was one of the bleakest I had ever seen.

"They've won," he continued. "They've won again."

"Mr. Morton," I said, in what I hoped was a soothing voice, "I really think you're making too big a deal out of this. Avalon's still got a very good chance at making the district football finals. Will and Lance'll work it out. You'll see."

I smiled at him brightly...

...but my smile faded as he stared at me coldly.

"Um," I said. "You are talking about football, aren't you, Mr. Morton?"

"Football?" Mr. Morton looked as if he were about to choke. "Football? No, this isn't about football, you stupid girl. This is about the never-ending battle of good versus evil. It's about one man, born with the capability of saving this planet from ultimately destroying itself, and the forces of darkness that are keeping him from doing so."

I had no idea whatsoever how to respond that. Mr. Morton had leaned forward. His gray-eyed gaze seemed to hold me transfixed. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even breathe.

"It's about all of us being plunged once again into the Dark Ages," Mr. Morton went on, in that same raspy voice, "and this time having no light to lead us out again. It's about us being forced to stay there until another can be born, grow, and rise to take his place...if we can get to him before they do next time, that is. It's about failure, Miss Harrison. My failure. For which everybody else on this planet will suffer for the rest of their lives. That is what it's about, Miss Harrison. Not football."

I blinked.

"Oh," I said.

Well, what else could I say to all of that?

Mr. Morton sagged back in his seat and dragged his hands over his face.

"Get out, Miss Harrison," he said through his fingers. "Please. Just go away."

I picked up my backpack. I didn't know what else to do. He obviously didn't want me there. Whatever he was going through-whatever he was talking about-it didn't have anything to do with me. It was likely it didn't have anything to do with anyone...anyone but Mr. Morton and whatever he was keeping in a bottle in his bottom desk drawer....

Because he was clearly unhinged, poor man. n.o.body in his right mind talks about the forces of darkness taking over the planet. n.o.body.

Except that...

Well, he'd seemed so sane up till then.

Then, just as I reached the doorway, something that he'd said struck me-reminded me, in a strange way, of the words of another....

I turned to look back at him.

"Mr. Morton," I said.

When he glanced at me-his face still a mask of utter despair-I went on. "Does this have anything to do with...with the Lily Maid of Astolat?"

I'll never forget the look that came over his face then. Never for as long as I live.

"How-how did you know about that?" he breathed-so raspily, it was clearly an enormous effort for him to speak at all. "Who told you?"

"Um," I said. "I'm doing a report on her. Remember?"

Mr. Morton looked visibly less tense. At least until I added, "And, uh, Will's stepbrother, Marco, mentioned something, too...."

And there went the color from Mr. Morton's face.

"The stepbrother." He shook his head, looking bleaker than ever. "Of course. If only...if only-"

And then, I could have sworn he said, "If only I had stopped him when I had the chance...."

"Stopped who, Mr. Morton?" Except that I knew. Or thought I did, anyway. Marco. He could only be talking about Marco.

Except that I thought he had stopped Marco. Stopped Marco from trying to kill him. Isn't that how the rumor went? That Marco had been trying to kill Mr. Morton, and Mr. Morton had stopped him?

"Mr. Morton." I stood irresolute in the doorway. What was happening? What was going on? It was true I had fantasized the other night that Jennifer was Guinevere and Lance was Lancelot, and that Will was Arthur, and Marco was Mordred....

But that was only because...well, of what Marco had said about me being Elaine of Astolat. Not to mention the fact that we all go to Avalon High, home of the Excaliburs. I hadn't thought-I hadn't even dreamed-it could be remotely real.

Because it couldn't be. All of that had happened-if it had really happened at all-hundreds of years ago. As the daughter of two historians, I know better than anyone that history can-and often does-repeat itself.

But not like this.

And no one-no one in his right mind, anyway-would believe it could.

Except...

Except for a member of the Order of the Bear, the group I read about who believe King Arthur is destined to be reincarnated one day, to lead the world from the dark ages....

But Mr. Morton couldn't be part of something so ridiculous. He's a teacher. A good one, from everything I'd heard. Teachers don't believe in silly things like that a medieval king is going to be reborn and save the world.

I was letting my imagination run away with me while Mr. Morton, over by his desk, was still suffering. There had to be something I could do for him. The poor man was clearly in need of...something.

"Mr. Morton," I said. "Won't you...won't you let me get the nurse? You don't look well. I think...I think you might be sick."

Mr. Morton did something strange then. He lifted his head and smiled at me. It was a sad smile. It didn't come easily, either.

But he smiled, just the same.

"I'm not sick, Elaine," he said. "Except at heart."

I fingered the strap to my backpack. "Won't you tell me why? I might be able to help, you know." I had no idea how, of course. But I had to ask.

Mr. Morton seemed to understand, since he spoke more kindly than he'd ever spoken to me before.

"It's too late, Elaine," he said, in the same defeated voice. "Thank you all the same. But it's far too late. And better for you, in the end, not to know. After all, your part in it was over before it could even begin this time."

"What do you mean 'this time'?" I shook my head. "What do you mean by my part in it?"

But just then the bell rang.

And Mr. Morton sighed tiredly and said, "You'd better get along to cla.s.s, Elaine."

"But what about Lance? Don't you want to reschedule?"

"No." Mr. Morton took the newspaper from his desk and dropped it, unread, into the trash can. His tone, when he spoke again, had a knell of finality to it. "It doesn't matter now, you see."

And with that, I knew I was dismissed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

And down the river's dim expanse-

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Seeing all his own mischance-

With a gla.s.sy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.

I told myself I was being crazy. I told myself I was being ridiculous.

I told myself lots of things.

But I did it, anyway. Instead of joining Liz and Stacy-who'd informed me my "initiation" had been scheduled for the upcoming weekend-for lunch, I did what I always did when I didn't know what else to do: I called my mother.

I didn't want to. But after my strange meeting with Mr. Morton, I'd moved through my morning cla.s.ses in a sort of daze, feeling more and more uneasy with every pa.s.sing minute.

Your part in it was over before it could even begin this time. Mr. Morton's voice rang inside my head. My part? This time?

If only I had stopped him when I had the chance.... Stopped who? Marco? Stopped Marco from doing what?

None of it made any sense. It was like the ravings of a lunatic.

But I'd looked into Mr. Morton's eyes, and I hadn't seen a hint of insanity. The only thing I'd seen in them was despair.

And fear.

It was stupid. It was impossible.

But when the lunch bell rang, I was on the nearest pay phone anyway.

"The Order of the Bear?" my mother echoed wonderingly. "What on earth-"

"Come on, Mom," I said. "I know you know it. It was in one of your books."