Curling Blue, Ohio
August 2004

"Myth is reality," Mrs. Luster says as she writes the same message on the white board in front of me. "Now, I know what you are thinking. It certainly is true that there are no Greek or Norse gods, or that the Loch Ness Monster is a hoax, or that the lunchroom will never serve fast food at lunch instead of what's on the menu. Those are just straight facts."

She taps the dry erase marker on her desk. "But language arts is not about straight facts. If you wanted facts, you would be wise to major in journalism in college. The language arts are about communication, passed down from one generation to another. Over the centuries, we lose the specific facts, and we are left with myths. Myths are stories. Stories reflect reality. Therefore, myth is reality. You will be wise to consider this as you take this class. There is always a hidden truth to a story, otherwise the story itself has no purpose."

She drones. I push my book to the side and doodle in my margins. First day at school, and this is boring. Who hired this teacher? The staff at Hilliard New Rome would have kicked her out ages ago.

"I know that I had some of you for your freshman language arts," Mrs. Luster continues. "I teach many classes here at Curling Blue High School. So some of you have an idea of what to expect, while others of you may have heard your own myths about me." Her eyes land on me. "And some of you might be completely brand new to this school."

I want to hide behind my book, but I'll settle for no eye contact. I refocus on the elaborate flower design I am doodling.

"Yes," Mrs. Luster asks, presumably calling on someone.

"Okay, but don't get me wrong, teach," an incredibly charismatic voice rings out across the classroom. I look up to see a guy with long curly brown hair tied back in a ponytail, with a sport coat on and nice pants. Who wears that to a high school in the middle of nowhere? Is he dressing for a job interview? Because with that ponytail, he's not gonna get it. But there's something about his charisma that's cocky, and his face is cute. In fact, he seems to have the attention of the whole class.

"Wouldn't it suffice to say that facts are still important when telling a story? What if we wanted to go into journalism? If I showed up at college and didn't know how to write a paper based on facts, then wouldn't I be woefully underprepared for college? And isn't your job to prepare me for that?"

The class laughs.

"I have heard about you, August Davidson," Mrs. Luster says, shaking her head. "And I was prepared for this. Very well. If you are so interested in facts, you will write a five page paper over the weekend on the importance of fact-checking. You will have at least five sources, cited in MLA format, and you are not allowed to use Wikipedia. Do I make myself clear?"

This mysterious August tsked and sat down with a laugh. "Okay, teach, just gotta tell you now. It's gonna be awesome."

"12 point font, Times New Roman, double spaced, and yes, I will measure with a ruler." Mrs. Luster sighed. "Where was I? Oh, yes. Over the next half of a year we will be diving into stories from all around the world, English and non-English, to see the truths they carry over to reality. And in turn, each one of you will have a Greek myth of your own, a character from long ago that you will be tasked with reporting on."

"Yeah, but we're not studying Greek," the same long haired August kid says in the back.

"Would you like more work to do, Mr. Davidson?" Mrs. Luster's voice rings out. The class laughs again, and I can't help but giggle. Maybe this won't be so bad. I don't know a single person here now but him, and well, he's made a great first impression. Nice eye candy. Doesn't care about getting in trouble.

I wish I had his confidence.

"I have already assigned your myths to you," Mrs. Luster says, taking out a pad of paper. "Please write down your myth when I state it. I will only say it once. If you have to ask me for it again, I will deduct points from your grade. I will start with Mr. James Anderson. You will have the myth of King Midas, and his golden touch."

A stocky kid in the back -- tall, blonde hair, has to be on the football team -- raises his hand. "Uh, Mrs. Luster?"

"Yes, Mr. Anderson?"

"Can I be called J.P. please? Everybody calls me that."

"As I was expecting. I had your sister Annie in class three years ago. Thank you for letting me know." It seems that Mrs. Luster doesn't mind you doing things, as long as you ask permission first. I turn back to my doodle, since I know I will be near the end of the list. But I secretly listen in for August's name, because I'm curious as to what this charismatic dude will end up with.

"August Davidson, oh, I should have known better. You have the myth of Heracles."

"Yes!" August yells, pumping his fist in the air.

"And you will receive five points off every time you spell it 'Hercules.' It is 'Heracles.' End of discussion."

"Yes, teach."

I giggle again and turn back to my doodling. The only sounds in the room are Mrs. Luster droning on about what myth everybody in class is getting, and a pencil tapping next to me. I finish the flower petal I am working on, then catch a glance.

She's skinny, a total stick. She has long red hair that has to be dyed, and the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. But they're caked with makeup, and they look bored as hell. She's leaning her head on one hand, and the other is tapping out some odd message with her blue pencil.

"Amber Riggle," Mrs. Luster says, and the girl stops tapping. "You have the myth of Crete, and the minotaur." The girl, presumably Amber, writes it down.

Mrs. Luster goes through a few more names, and I listen for mine. I know this is gonna be bad. With a last name that begins in W, I've historically been at the very bottom of most alphabetical lists. Plus, since this is literally my first day at this school, nobody's going to know me. Which means everybody is going to be staring at me. I at least have to smile or something.

The moment finally comes. "Emmaline Wheaton, you have the myth of Orpheus and the lyre."

"Thank you," I say, nodding, then writing the words down beside my doodle. Orpheus and the lyre. I have no clue what that is --

"Jaewon Wright." Wait. There's someone after me in the list?

My head jerks up. That name doesn't sound white, and it's not. I've been in Curling Blue a grand total of five days, and everybody seems to be as generic as the cornfields around us. I figured I'd have straight up white classmates while I dragged myself through this place for the next two years. I've already missed Hilliard New Rome and its natural diversity.

The kid in question is Asian, which is a surprise. He looks up from his book. From the hoodie he's wearing and the way he's slouching, he looks like a skater boy, or maybe emo without the makeup. He looks like he just woke up from a nap. I hadn't been expecting anybody to have a last name after mine, so he's got my attention.

Mrs. Luster nods at him. "Your myth is Icarus, who flew into the sun. Good luck."