The high priest hangs his pack from a red hook and disappears into one of the many near-identical rooms. I peek in and see the extraordinary woman with hair like sunshine kneeling on the floor, helping a child tie a knot on their shoe.

Matthew sees me and makes a frantic gesture for me to leave and so, with reluctance, I back away from the door and go to explore but before I take a dozen steps, a gray-haired female approaches with the untamed majesty of a bull in heat. "Can I help you?"

"I am Zatyafan."

She scowls at me.

I sigh. "I am the new gym teacher."

Her scowl darkens. "Oh, nobody needs to tell the principal anything, right? Well, you're in entirely the wrong part of the building." She gives me a long look and adds, "And what are you wearing?"

"Armani."

She snorts, enforcing the image of the bull. "Maybe tomorrow you'd be better off in gym pants. Come on, then."

I follow her quick, waddling steps past the doors where we'd entered. We pass a room more colorful than any I'd seen so far. Inside, a woman with a wild shrubbery of red and gray curls sticking out in every direction carries buckets full of wet river clay to long, low tables. Rows upon rows of rectangles like the one carried by the girl on the bus fill another room. I struggle to tear my eyes away. There must be thousands of them. What purpose do they serve?

"You never saw a library before?" the principal asks.

The word tumbles through my mind and settles into place. I shake my head. "It must hold the collected wisdom of all the ages."

Her gaze narrows on me. "Yeah. That and Captain Underpants, all sorted in alphabetical order."

Sorted? Oh, no. That would never do.

Ahead of us, a sign over a set of double wooden doors reads, Cafegymnatoriam.

"You'll have two morning classes—eight twelve and nine oh two. After the second one, you'll need to pack away whatever mess you've made and pull the tables from those niches so the children can use the room for lunch. The last lunch period ends at twelve eleven and you'll have twenty-three minutes to wipe the tables and put them away and set up for your next class. Gladys will help you with that. On Wednesday and Friday, you're the playground supervisor, so you don't actually get a lunch break on those days. You can take a sandwich outside with you. Take it to the union if you've got a problem with it. The school board has my hands tied."

A man in gym pants and a tee shirt is sitting on a row of rising ledges at one end of the room. When we stand directly in front of him, the principal jerks a thumb in my direction. "Mr. Zatyafan is your replacement. Mr. Zatyafan, this is Mr. Brueller."

"I got five days to go before I'm vested and if you think you're going to get rid of me—"

"Oh, stuff it, Wyatt. Nobody's getting rid of you. Does he look ready to teach gym class today? I'm sure he's just here to meet you and ensure an orderly transition."

The man scowls.

The principal declares, "I have other things to do."

Wyatt and I watch her waddle away.

"This is the gym," Mr. Brueller says. "That closet over there holds all the balls, hula hoops, and so forth. Your budget is jack. The equipment is worn to nothing. These children would rather stare at a screen than play in a park. You got one in fifth period who isn't actually potty-trained. Anything else you need to know, you'll have to figure out as you go. Now get lost. I don't want anyone trying to say I bailed a week early and didn't finish the term of my contract."

I give him a polite bow and happily leave his dour presence behind me.

In the library, I turn the pages of a dozen books, gathering thousands of words. I make sure to leave each book I take in a different place; open, upside down, balanced atop a tiny house on the top shelf.

"What are you doing?" a wide-hipped woman in heavy brown clothing asks.

"Reading."

"Just who do you think you are?"

"I'm Zatyafan, the new gym teacher."

She gestures with a pointy-nailed finger. "The gym is that way."

"I just came from there. Mr. Brueller told me to get lost."

"Well, you can't hang around in here."

I prop the book in my hands open on the floor like a small tent and leave.

The woman in brown gives me a few new interesting words as I depart. I forgive her. She doesn't yet understand how helpful I am.

A self-guided tour of the building tells me all I need to know about this sad new age. Children sit in straight rows, listening silently to what adults tell them. When they want to speak, they raise their hands and wait for permission. When they leave one room and go to another, they walk quietly in single file lines. Adults clutch cups of something that is like tea but not tea and check the clock compulsively.

Surely, Fate led Matthew to awaken me. I am desperately needed.

Still, I sense it would be best to wait for the priest's instructions before acting within the school building. It seems to be his primary domain, as he spends most of his daylight hours there. To pass the time while I wait for him to be available, I take a walk through the neighborhood.

Behind the school is a good-sized river that rushes over what appears to be a man-made beaver dam. I wonder what would happen if the artificially smooth stone were to crumble and fall away, but before I explore that thought much further, I'm drawn toward a row of homes where several small dogs peer up at me, barking and wagging their tails. This is what humans have made of the wolves who wandered into their hunting parties hoping for the scraps left behind? Talk about chaos. Even I have never taken a natural thing to such bizarre new horizons.

In one of the books I read, I saw pictures of dogs driving cars and wearing party hats to a celebration held amongst the treetops. Nothing so exciting happens with the dogs in the school neighborhood. Perhaps because they are separated from one another by the fences. I open gates and delight in watching them run free. Chaos and unrestrained freedom are close companions.

The day has grown quite warm. Taking pity on the panting animals, I use a small portion of my power to crack open one of the short yellow pillars that pulse with the power of a contained geyser. The water sprays into the air, shooting up as high as the treetops and several of the happy, free dogs come to play in it and lap up the cool, refreshing liquid.

A black car with flashing blue and red lights pulls up, and a man gets out and stares at the blissful scene.

"What the devil happened?" he asks.

"Oh, there are no devils on earth anymore," I assure him. "They've been contained for some time."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Zatyafan, the new gym teacher."

"Why aren't you in school?" he asks.

"The old guy still has five days left."

"You see what happened here? This is going to cause chaos down at city hall."

I grin. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, I know so." He speaks into a box on his shoulder and I turn back toward the school, happy in the knowledge I've done a good thing for the people at city hall.

Back at the school, the busses are lining up at the curb. Curious, I go to see what's happening and just as I arrive, the children burst forth. Their squeals and whoops of joy ring in the air. I spot Matthew's red shirt and make my way over to him.

"We need to talk," I say.

He shrieks and runs, laughing to the bus.

My admiration grows. His every action embodies pandemonium. I follow him and the bus man greets me as I climb the steps. "Let me guess," he says. "You sobered up and realized your car is still at Wanda's place."

"I don't have a car. I would like to return to that neighborhood. I have business there."

He shakes his head. "Yeah, alright. Don't let it get around that you're riding my bus, though. It's not exactly on the up and up for teachers, you know?"

"I understand. Thank you." I stroll past thirty or forty pairs of upturned eyes until I find Matthew in the same seat as before. Sitting beside him, I say, "I'm not sure that you—"

He shrieks again and then laughs so hard he falls off the seat onto the floor.

The girl with the enormous book watches all this with her wide eyes. She scoots over. "You can sit here if you want. I'll help you know when to get off so you don't get lost."

"Thank you, but I will stay with my priest."

From his spot on the filthy bus floor, the priest holds up a palm full of fruit snacks. Several particles of dirt and a single hair stick to them, but I'm in no position to refuse an offering. I smile. "Thank you." I hold them in my hand and close my eyes and breathe in new strength.

He emits a short squeak.

"Why do you refuse to speak?"

He squeaks again.

"He's being a dinosaur," the girl explains.

"This is not how dinosaurs behave, nor how they sound."

Matthew squeaks again.

"Hey, kid!" the bus man shouts. "Get in your seat and stop that noise or I'll give your mom a pink slip."

Matthew scrambles up into the seat and gazes at me. "You can't come to my house. My mom's gonna think you're a total weirdo and she'll kick your ass."

The girl gasps. "That's a soap word."

Matthew rolls his eyes. "You're a soap word."

"We should begin building our following," I whisper to the boy.

"I can't. I gotta clean up the dog poop today."

The bus shudders to a stop and I follow the boy down the steps, but when it pulls away, I let him walk on ahead of me. His mother could not truly harm me, but I'd prefer not to go through the motions of an ass-kicking. I have other things to do.