Lion

Classrooms have a reputation of being boring places. Glorified prison cells filled with the scent of sweat and boredom, silent students staring slack-jawed and dull-eyed at the front while a teacher droned on and on.

And sometimes, that reputation is true. But not in the case of this particular one: art class.

Ms. Daw, the art teacher, did her best to make it as warm, welcoming, and as vibrant a place as she could. It was held in a large, open space, more of a studio than a classroom. Big, old desks, long since stained with paint and clay; high ceilings and large, bright windows; walls coloured in all manner of paintings and drawings, colour charts, perspective diagrams; the air thick with the smell of acrylic and the chatter of children.

It was a light, playful atmosphere; at least, until said chatter was suddenly silenced when the school PA system crackled into life. First it blared three, long warning tones. Then the principle's voice came on. "Students, staff, and anyone present in the school; please go immediately to a classroom and stay there. Repeat: leave the hallways and go immediately to a classroom. Lock the doors and remain there until further instructions are issued."

The announcement ended. There was silence; then chaos.

The students erupted into noise. Whispers, shouts, questions, rumours, the occasional scream...

"What's going on?!" said a girl, Josephine.

"Is there a shooter?" asked one boy, Joey.

"Maybe it's a fire!" cried Sarah.

"Don't be stupid. If it was a fire, they wouldn't have told us to stay inside," pointed out Tamika.

"Maybe it's a prank…" said Yu Hin.

"Quiet, everyone, quiet," said Ms. Daw, the art teacher. She was already on her feet, heading to the door. It was closed, but it would need to be locked. As she went, she grabbed a knife from a nearby table. It was a safety knife intended for cutting nothing than harder, but it was better than nothing. Just in case.

She tried to be subtle about it, but a few students noticed, prompting another roar of fierce whispers to go up around the room.

"Do you know what's happening, Ms. Daw?" asked Joanne, who was holding her paintbrush to her chest, apparently not noticing that she was splattering green paint all over her shirt.

Ms. Daw turned the lock. "No," she said, honestly. "But I'm sure we'll get an explanation soon enough. For now, let's continue with the projects. I still want to see completed still lifes from everyone by the end of class!"

Her voice was as calm and commanding as always, but privately, Ms. Daw was as troubled as her students. She had no idea what could be happening that would prompt such an announcement. It didn't fit any of the standard emergency protocols. Surreptitiously, she peered through into the hall through the small slitted window in the door, to see if she could work out what was happening.

At first, nothing looked amiss. It was a regular, normal school hallways. Empty, aside from lockers and trashcans.

Then a student turned the corner, running at full tilt.

He was a young boy, someone Ms. Daw had never taught herself, but recognised from conversations as something of a joker. He didn't look like he was joking now. His face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear, and he was running like his life depended on it.

"LION!" he screamed. "HEEEEELPP!"

The story of 'the boy who cried wolf' (or rather, in this case, lion), flashed briefly through Ms. Daw's head. She abandoned it immediately. Maybe the boy was lying; maybe he wasn't. Fact was, all students were currently required to be inside a classroom, and she was not going to leave this boy in danger.

She unlatched the lock, threw open the door, and shouted, "In here!"

The boy charged towards her with desperate relief. And then, around the corner, came the lion.

It was also, incidentally, pink, but that didn't really seem to matter at the moment.

Ms. Daw swore under her breath. Behind her she could hear students standing up, pressing forward, eager to see. "Get back!" she shouted at them, not looking away. The boy had a good lead on the lion. He'd reach the classroom in time, no problem.

But would the door be able to hold, if the lion decided to try and get in?

The boy dashed through the doorway. Ms. Daw moved to slam the door shut and lock it— another shape dove past her, into the hallway.

Ms. Daw blinked at the figure, taking in the green shirt, the brown skin and black hair. Recognition jolted through her. "CONNIE MAHESWARAN," she screamed, "GET BACK HERE!"

Connie didn't even listen, just kept running forward, right towards the lion.

Ms. Daw felt the knife in her hand, so small and light, and wondered whether charging in would accomplish anything but getting them both mauled.

Seeing her, the lion gained speed. It bounded towards her, and just when it seemed as though it might tackle her, stopped. And then Connie did something almost as unexpected: she started talking to it.

"Lion! What are you doing here?" she asked. "Where's Steven?"

The creature made a noise. Not a growl, but something close to it, irritated and impatient. It sounded like a house-cat waiting to be fed.

"Is he in trouble? Do you need my help?"

The lion hissed.

Connie nodded. "O- okay." Ms. Daw couldn't see the girl's expression, but she saw the way Connie seemed to steel herself, the way her fists clenched. "I need the sword."

Ms. Daw could feel the press of students crowed around her, staring, muttering, but she was too stunned to order them back. Because at that moment, the lion stepped backwards, dipped its head as though in a bow, and began to glow.

His eyes, his mane, they burned with the most brilliant, dazzling light. It beamed like a star, blinding, filling the entire hallway. Connie didn't even flinch. She just reached forward, stuck her hand into the thick fur of his mane—

— and pulled out a sword.

Not a toy sword, made from plastic or wood. Not a fencing sword, lightweight and dull. Not even the kind of sword you see in history books, all grey worked metal.

No. This was the kind of sword from myth. Bright pink, shimmering in the ethereal light, almost as long as the girl was tall. It made the knife in Ms. Daw's hand seem pitiful in comparison.

And Connie slung it casually over her shoulder, as though it weighed nothing.

Connie. Connie Maheswaran. Connie Maheswaran, who sat near the back of the class and barely ever spoke to anyone. Connie Maheswaran, who always had a book under her arm. Connie Maheswaran, who wasn't much of a visual artist, but who was clever and creative and always did her homework.

Connie Maheswaran, who, Ms. Daw suddenly realized, was ripped.

The lion's light faded. Connie turned to look at the assembled onlookers. "Ms. Daw? Could you please tell my parents that I've gone to help Steven, and that I'll be back as soon as I can?"

Mutely, Ms. Daw nodded. What else could she do?

Connie didn't do well in crowds. Ms. Daw knew this— knew that Connie hadn't having to give class presentations or school dances. But now, despite all the people watching, she didn't seem nervous at all. She walked forward calmly, and with her one free hand, gripped the lion's mane. She pulled herself up and swung herself smoothly onto its back.

She pulled and swung herself smoothly onto its back.

Somebody whistled in amazement. Connie looked at them with surprise, apparently only just noticing everyone else. Then, her serious expression faltered, just briefly, as she shot everyone a proud, confident smile.

"Lion," she cried, "AWAY!"

And on queue, the creature sprang into action, running straight down the hallway. It roared, and from its mouth shot a beam of light, which transformed into a portal. It leapt into it; for a moment, everyone caught briefly caught sight of a swirling vortex of shifting, dizzying lights.

Then the portal vanished, girl and lion along with it.

For a long, long moment, there was nothing but stunned silence.

Then, slowly, Ms. Daw turned to face her students. "Just to be sure," she said, "You all saw that too, right?"

A chorus of nods.

"Good," said Ms. Daw. She was gonna need all the backup she could get when she explained this to the principle.

oOoOoOo

Author's Note: Alternative Chapter Title- "Connie Lives Out That YA Classroom Fantasy We All Had At Least Once"