School of Deaths by Christopher Mannino Page B

class.
    It was.
    Cronk stuttered his way through the introductions, before giving them free time to start a pen drawing. Draw something that made them happy. Suzie glanced around the room; most of the Deaths drew crude stick figures. Jason’s picture seemed to be a house, probably his home in the Living World. Suzie turned to her own canvas. She let the pen loose, letting the ink find its own shape. Mom’s face emerged first, followed by her father and brother.
    “G-g-g-good S-S-S-Suzie,” said Cronk, walking up behind her.
    “Thank you. I love to draw.”
    He put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes.
    “Enjoy this c-c-c-class,” he said. “You’ll n-n-n-need it.”
    “Thank you, Cronk. Are you all right?”
    Cronk wiped a tear from his eye and walked quickly away.
    “Jason, is that your house?” she asked.
    “Yeah. Your family?” He pointed to her canvas.
    “Yes. You’re a good artist.”
    He laughed. “Not nearly as good as you.”
    “Thanks.” Their pictures did seem better than most of the Deaths around her, though she couldn’t see everyone’s. The class came to an end too soon. This would be the best part of each school day.
    When they left the room, she walked up to Cronk. The class was a welcome change from her first two.
    “See you tomorrow,” she said. He nodded, but she sensed sadness in his face. Did he regret bringing her to the World of Deaths? It was only his job. She glanced at her schedule again. Applications next, her final class.
    “Meet you at dinner,” said Jason. He had a different Applications class.
    She walked to a mound near the twisting mountain of West Tower. The sky had grown cloudy, and a light rain fell on her head as she entered the massive classroom.
    She realized at once that this class would be trouble. The room was an enormous stone arena. Forty Deaths stood around the room in their robes. Luc, the boy from History who had teased her, stood off to her right next to a taller boy who looked similar to him.
    Frank and Billy came over.
    “Welcome to Applications,” said Frank.
    “You’re here too?”
    “Applications is always mixed-level and always the end of the day. It’s the focus of what we learn here. They’ll put you in a group with older kids like us, and we’ll practice.”
    “Practice?” she asked. “Practice what?”
    “Reaping souls,” said Billy. “Bringing the dead to the Hereafter.”
    “Oh.”
    “We are training to be Deaths.” He shrugged. “Sounds crazy, but it’s actually interesting.”
    “Quiet down,” said a deep voice at the front of the room. The Death who entered the room glowered at the class. Hann scowled, pulling at his thin goatee. His presence seemed to grow into the entire room, extending into every crevice. He wasn’t another Death, he actually resembled Death , the Grim Reaper Suzie had seen in movies. The distrust Suzie had felt when she first met him returned. He stood menacingly in the front, daring anyone to speak. In his right hand, he held a scythe gleaming in the light of the large room.
    “My name is Hann, and I will be your teacher this year. To begin, form groups of three or four. I don’t care who’s in your group, but at least one member must be an older student. No groups of only first years. Go.” He said the last word softly, but it was a powerful command. The students hurried to form groups.
    “We lucked out,” said Frank. He put a hand on Suzie’s shoulder. Billy copied the gesture.
    “Is everyone in a group?” called out Hann. No one answered and he continued.
    “Good,” he said. “This will not be a fun class, or an easy one. Yet this will be your most important class, the only class where you’ll learn anything that actually matters. Raise your hand if you are a first year.”
    Suzie and about two-thirds of the class raised their hands.
    “You are the learners. The fresh meat. You must look to the older students for guidance. Second years?”
    Frank and Billy, along with