Chapter Text
Dr. Hopper held the door open for the petite creative writing teacher. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Miss Mills. I know what I’m asking is very irregular, but I think it will make sense to you once I explain the situation.”
He guided the woman to a comfortable chair. “Before we get started, would you like coffee or tea? Miss Bell, my secretary, does her daily Starbucks run about now.”
She leaned back in the chair letting the wingback hold her erect posture. “A caramel macchiato would improve my day. Thank you.” Her red lips twisted in an unsure grin. In her brief time at the Storybrooke Preparatory Academy, she had little exposure to the school psychologist. The gears in her mind sifted through what little could be gleaned from what he had said in his email. “I understand this is about Henry Swan.”
The nervous red-headed man straightened his tie and then steepled his fingers before speaking. “Yes. Henry has been one of our students for the last six years. As a young boy he was happy and one of the top minds of his grade. Then, in the winter of the second year, he grew more reserved as the year went on until mid-February. Imagine that shy boy coming to school dirty and in his pajamas. He didn’t speak a word. Covered in dried blood, he wandered into the office half frozen. We called the police. While Miss Bell and I cleaned the boy up. We put him in warm clothes and found him some food. He was clearly in shock. A few hours later his Aunt Lily checked him out of school after informing us that his father had beaten his mother into unconsciousness. Mrs. Swan stayed in the hospital for weeks. Neal went to jail. Unfortunately for Henry, his father hung himself in a cell that same night. He left a note stating he was sorry for the damage he had caused.” Timid and slightly embarrassed, Dr. Hopper removed his glasses, wiped a stray tear from his face and made a show of cleaning his glasses using his necktie.
A soft knock interrupted the tense moment as Miss Bell carried in two coffees. She smiled at the two of them and snuck out the door after giving him a supportive squeeze to his shoulder.
“I believe this one is yours. Now, I guess you have realized that the little notes Henry has been leaving you are highly unusual. Up until now, he has chosen to speak to almost no one at school. He has a few friends. On occasion, he has asked to go to the restroom or the library, but he shares nothing about himself with anyone. We assigned him to your creative writing class as a sixth grader even though it is usually reserved for those in high school courses because quite simply the boy asked to be put in your class. Do you have any idea why he might have asked that?”
Regina sipped her coffee contemplating what she should share. When she decided how to approach it, she set the cup down on the table next to the chair, crossed her legs and laid her hands on her lap. “Dr. Hopper...”
“Archie.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Hopper, Henry, and his mother moved in a few houses down from me a little more than a year ago. Though I have only nodded to Ms. Swan in passing, Henry has often come to help me in my garden. He rarely speaks, but he loves apples. He adores apple pies. And, I dare say the boy is obsessed with Harry Potter and almost anything science fiction. Last week he complained about the lack of characterization in a show called the Killjoys. I suggested he start watching Star Trek. I didn’t tell him that I didn’t feel the other show was age appropriate so I suggested something that was. Maybe he will drop in this weekend while I am trimming the rose bushes and I will find out.” She watched Dr. Hopper’s eyes widen with each admission. She felt strongly that though her revelations were news to him, they didn’t deter him from whatever his request would be.
“Miss Mills, I know you objected to having him because of his age. But, could you consider allowing him to continue taking your course? If you feel you aren’t up to the task, by all means, tell us, and we will have him removed. But, the chance that Henry is finally ready to engage in sharing of himself with someone is an opportunity I don’t want us to reject lightly.
The young teacher nodded. “I wasn’t aware of the boy’s history. It explains why it took months before he spoke the first time. He followed every direction to the letter when we trimmed my apple tree, but he never spoke. I received shy smiles until the first bite of an apple turnover. Then suddenly he said it tasted like a dessert from a feast at Hogwarts. It was an awkward first conversation, but we have had many since then. I was afraid that since we spend most of my class time developing a novel that he would feel incapable. I don’t want him ever to feel inadequate.”
“Why don’t we see what he writes? He might surprise both of us.”
She nodded, worried but curious. ‘What would Henry Swan feel like creating?’
****
Two weeks went by, and every day Henry wrote diligently during class. His pen bounced with speed across each page before he turned the page in his spiral notebook. He took notes when she spoke but covered his writing, so she had no idea as to how much or little the boy produced. Would it have merit or would he write the shallows and silly stories created by most children his age? She worried about today’s submissions. Would he put something in the box?
“All right class, that’s it for today. Don’t forget that today you should be giving me the first chapter of your book. I can’t wait to see what each of you has created.” Miss Mills stood at her desk in the front of the room making eye contact with as many students as possible. Confidence in their writing didn’t come naturally to most students. The annoying suckups, Mary Margaret and Sydney, turned in what appeared to be typed and bound pages before anyone else managed to get out of their seats. A few more turned in typed drafts that were stapled together. Then she noticed Jefferson slipped his manuscript to the bottom of the stack while Ruby dropped a sloppy pile of pages held together by a hair tie in the bin. As the older kids shuffled out, Henry waited patiently in his seat.
“Henry that was the bell to go.”
“I know. I didn’t want them to see mine.” He extracted a large manila folder from his backpack and handed it to her. “You were right. Star Trek is awesome. I hope you don’t mind that I created a ship of my own.”
She smiled at the boy as her hands curled around the half-inch thick envelope. “I look forward to reading it, Henry.”
“Thanks, Miss Mills. I gotta go. Mom supposed to pick me up today. It’s her first day as a deputy.” His grin spread from ear to ear. “Maybe she’ll let me wear her badge.” He darted out the door before she could respond. She blinked. Her brain locked. How could the woman who appeared afraid of her own shadow be a deputy? Regina had waved or tried to gain her neighbor’s attention on multiple occasions. Every time the blonde’s eyes latched on hers fear filled those beautiful green eyes. The woman disappeared quickly whether she went behind a door, a different aisle at the store or she took off at a sprint for her morning run. Emma Swan remained a mystery.
****
Later that evening Regina fluffed the pillows on her bed and spread out the manuscripts across the covers. She read the titles and debated. Should she start with Henry’s so she wouldn’t compare him to the older kids or begin with the least imaginative? In the end, she chose to grade Mary Margaret’s story first. She read, then skimmed before losing interest somewhere on the third page.
Although your description is vivid and very detailed, few readers will ever have the patience to read a minute by minute account of a Blue Jay’s day. Birds aren’t that interesting. Please consider finding something that has emotional resonance for your next attempt. R.M.
Sidney’s paper read like a Daschell Hammett knockoff. It held promise.
Dear, you are off to a nice start, but your detective feels too trite. Can you consider all the great detectives of the past have something that makes them unique? Dekker might be a simulant. Sherlock Holmes had an opium addiction and was arrogant. Poirot’s arrogance is only outdone by his intelligence. Miss Marple is a dowdy spinster that sees nuance and detail where no one expects it. I’m not concerned about your mystery, but your detective needs a distinct voice. R.M.
The hours of her evening chipped away as her mind and eyes grew weary. Finally, she dared to open the envelope that had laid beside her through the older kids’ work. She smiled at the SS Storybrooke in bold italics across the top of the page.
Stardate 1815.5 This is the starship’s log for the SS Storybrooke. Captain Regina Mills continued her summary of the day’s adventure. She sat in her office staring out the window. She longed for a friend. Her first officer, Mr. Locksley. He was boring. He had the well built good looks most women wanted, but the personality of a brick. He followed the captain around on her daily duties. He habitually ignored it when she turned down his offer to take her to dinner, so he frequently dropped by her table in the ship’s cafeteria. Unbelievably he never noticed the blank expression on her face as she tried to enjoy her evening despite the intrusion.
One night the captain strolled along the corridor when she noticed a crying boy. She bent down and sat next to him where he leaned on a door.
“What is your name?”
“Henry.”
“Why are you crying, Henry?”
The boy shrugged not knowing how to explain the gnawing ache in his heart. His daddy, an evil man, had been drug away to jail leaving behind a battered woman, Emma, who had no idea how to care for herself or her son. See, her husband had kidnapped her as a teenager and forced her into a life of slavery. She knew how to wash, cook and iron. But, she didn’t know how to do much else. She was scared to go outside, but she had to go find work. Her foster sister, Lily, forced her out of the apartment one day to help. She got her a job, but Emma hated cleaning houses. It reminded her too much of the evil man. She tried being a secretary, but strangers terrified her when they asked too many questions. She couldn’t work at the supermarket or as a waitress because she wasn’t very good at math. Then, an old friend of hers took her to meet with the chief security officer. Her friend, Mulan, remembered her from her teens when she was a formidable fighter. She said she just needed to find that spark again.
Regina dropped the page feeling burned by the truths she found on it. She didn’t know Henry knew about the creepy civics teacher stalking her especially since his wife was the school librarian. But, the revelations about his mother worried her far more than she wanted to admit.
She immediately opened an email to Dr. Hopper. “Archie, I believe we need to have a parent meeting with Ms. Swan. Henry’s writing may be revealing more about them than she is aware or is comfortable with us knowing." She stacked the stories and placed them on her bedside table. Mental and physical exhaustion overwhelmed her, she rolled to her side. Immediately she drifted off into another universe.
By mid-Saturday morning, the brunette cut away the excessive branches of her favorite rose bush. The work took hours, but every year it rewarded her with new buds and a tantalizing aroma.
“Good morning, Miss Mills.”
She dropped her pruning shears and turned to face the boy. “Good morning, Henry.”
He rocked back on his heels and peered at the ground avoiding eye contact. She’d never seen him as withdrawn. “My mother says that I have to ask for my story back. She read it. She isn’t happy with some of the details I included.”
“I can see why.” She pushed off of her knees and stood before him. “Come inside. Let’s drink a hot chocolate and discuss the merits of your story before you take it home.”