Daria had scoped out Fielding like it was hostile territory. A life of crappy schools and bullies ready to prey on the weak had taught her a few things - scope out wherever the scum are likely to hang out, and don't go there, because fools gain strength in numbers. Daria figured that as long as she was in an open area free of "attractive nuisances" she could remain relatively unmolested.
Not that Daria worried about being beaten up at Fielding - although Elsie had told Daria a few stories that would have given anyone pause. Rather, today was the day of The Knowledge, when any upperclassman could target any new student and ask them any question from the manual "Your Place in Fielding", a small book with illegible type containing a veritable wealth of useless historical Fielding trivia. The manual was given to all new students, who learned to prize it. In addition, there were certain obscure subjects not written in the book that were also part of "The Knowledge", so memorizing the book was no guarantee of success.
If the target couldn't answer the question, then the upperclassman could impose a penalty. The target could be asked to verify the answer if the upperclassman was in a good mood - and could be asked to do something humiliating if the upperclassman wasn't. And the upperclassmen were rarely in good moods.
Only juniors and seniors could ask Daria questions, and she was certain that they'd try. Daria didn't expect to avoid humiliation, but she decided that The Knowledge would not be her only armament that day.
(* * *)
Mr. Goodlett was an imposing figure at Fielding, but would never have been an imposing figure anywhere else. Definitely not in the black community where he grew up, where he was a figure of derision. He was a large pyramid-shaped man and looked as if a smaller triangle had been set upon a larger one. Bereft of facial hair, he had a squeaky voice that betrayed some sort of hormonal imbalance. His fingers were small sausage links.
The large man tilted like a top. "Now, Ms. Gauvin, why would Odysseus wish to kill the suitors of his wife, hm? Can you tell me?"
Melissa Gauvin stood up. "The arrival of the suitors are an affront to Odysseus's honor. They want to marry his wife, they have horribly abused his hospitality, and they attempted to kill his son. It is a matter of honor. Odysseus must kill them."
"True, too true. But you forget that Tiresias had commanded the death of the suitors. Odysseus is bound to kill the suitors, for Tiresias speaks on behalf of the gods. In Oedipus the King, Tiresias plays an important part and that tragedy is worth reading."
"So why other advice does Tiresias give Odysseus? Let's ask our new student. Ms. Morgendorffer, why does Odysseus select a black sheep to be sacrificed to Tiresias?"
Feeling the pressure, Quinn was forced to stand. She answered, "I'm afraid I don't know, Mr. Goodlett." She smiled.
"Hmm...yes...let's see, now I've received five 'I don't know's' over the course of your arrival here at Fielding. But I am not without mercy. Let's ask...something simpler. Which of the Greek gods has a grudge against Odysseus? After all, knowing the name of that god explains why it took Odysseus so long to get home."
Quinn was turning red. She looked for support among her fellow students (Patty Clark!) but they were all desperate to avoid any eye contact. "I don't know, Mr. Goodlett. I'm sorry."
"Hmph. All right. Then answer me this one. Where the hell is Odysseus going? Athens? Sparta? The name of the city, Ms. Morgendorffer? Maybe you can name the country. Or, perhaps, if Odysseus is a man or a woman. Or a chimpanzee."
Silence. Before Quinn could stumble out an apology, Goodlett said, "I suppose there's no point in asking you what in medias res?" means.
Once again, a brief pause, before Goodlett answered his own question. "No. There is no point in asking, none at all. If you can come to this room at 2 pm, please do so. If not, I shall speak to you after classes are concluded. Be seated, Ms. Morgendorffer."
Quinn still didn't know why Odysseus wanted to sacrifice a black sheep to Tiresias, or if he was a god, or if so, what kind of god. What she knew was that if she had a black sheep and a long enough knife then a sacrifice to some god - any god - would soon be in order.
(* * *)
Daria had made it to lunchtime unmolested. There were no junior or seniors in her beginning classes. She planned on making a beeline straight for the lunchroom.
"Morgendorffer! Daria Morgendorffer!
Daria turned, rapidly, as if expecting a disaster. Sure enough, it was an older boy, accompanied by two of his friends. "Are you ready for The Knowledge, Ms. Morgendorffer?"
"Lay it on me, soul man," said Daria, somewhat facetiously.
"How many seats are there in the Pasquier Auditorium?"
"There are eight hundred and seven general admission seats."
Another boy asked his question. "Name the last victory by the Blue Jays against Grove Hills."
"The last time the Fielding Blue Jays defeated the Grove Hills Bears was on January 24, 20- in girls' basketball. 43-36."
"Bitch sports don't count," said the third boy. "Let's talk real sports. Football."
"The last time Fielding beat Grove Hills in football was eleven years ago, by a score of 41-21. It took place at Aleph Field at the Grove Hills campus." Your Kung Fu is weak, boy. Daria smiled. What idiot wouldn't ask a question about football?
The three departed, but Daria interrupted their journey. "As a part of The Knowledge, I get to ask each of you one question regarding a Fielding campus fact. My understanding of The Knowledge is that you're required to give that answer, without any penalty against you if you don't know it"
The three weren't aware of this fact, but acquiesced. "All right, Morgendorffer. You get your question. What do you want to know?"
"The same question, for all three of you. The Fielding Motto has five nouns. Which of those nouns is the most important?"
"That's easy," said the leader. "Tradition. That was a wasted question."
"Not quite," said Daria. "Thank you." With that, she went on her way.
(* * *)
Quinn arrived at 2 pm in Goodlett's classroom. Patty Clark said that she didn't know what Goodlett would want. "I've done the best to stay away from the beastly man, myself. I'd help, Quinn, but I board so I'd be unable to assist after class." Quinn knew that non-boarders had to be off campus by 6 pm except for visitation - which could only take place once a month.
The other Tops told horror stories. "The first year that Goodlett was here," Patty Clark said, "he had sixteen students in English. He gave two Cs and he flunked the rest. Some parent tried to sue him, but they lost. Fielding backed him up. The Heads let Goodlett do what he wants. I just try to work a fact that I know into any answer I give. Trust me, everyone's afraid of him."
"I asked him for help after class on Julius Caesar," said Sue Bentley. "He looked at me with those beady little eyes and said," Sue recounted, mimicing Goodlett's high-pitched voice, "'I am not a draft horse, Ms. Bentley. I shall point you to the path of knowledge, but I will not carry a lazy student down the road on my back.' Bastard. Whatever he wants, Quinn - it can't be good."
"I suggest apologizing," said Misha Jannison. "A lot, for whatever it is."
Quinn entered the empty classroom. Goodlett was not there waiting for her. She waited a good fifteen minutes before she wondered if he was coming at all. She decided to answer some of her text messages while waiting on him.
Just as she was typing a response, Goodlett entered the room. "Very ill manners of you, Ms. Morgendorffer. I take time out of my busy schedule, and I find you here texting. Pray that I don't see that Blackberry come out of that purse in any of my classes, do you hear me?"
"Yes sir." Quinn's mouth had suddenly become parched. She put the Blackberry away.
"I decided to bring evidence to this inquiry. There's no point in asking you anything, because the answers to my questions in class tell me I shall never get an answer." Goodlett handed over three papers to Quinn, papers that looked photocopied. Upon closer examination, they were the three papers Quinn had turned in for homework.
"Do you know what this is, Ms. Morgendorffer? That's a rhetorical question and there's no need to answer it. This is garbage. These papers are utter drivel. I cannot bear to recount the crimes listed on these papers. Now, I'm going to ask you a simple question, Ms. Morgendorffer. There is no wrong answer to it, but I don't want to hear a word out of you. You shall merely nod your head appropriately. Answer honestly: have you read any of the assigned reading?"
Quinn slowly shook her head back and forth.
"My initial conclusions have been confirmed. Ms. Morgendorffer, I shall no longer be calling upon you in class discussion. You simply waste the time of your fellow students...and you waste my time. That's unforgivable."
Good, thought Quinn, it's not as if anyone wants to answer your stupid questions about Homer and the Odyssey.
"Ms. Morgendorffer, I am short-listing you."
Goodlett expected a response...but received none. "Hm? Do you know what that means, Ms. Morgendorffer?"
Quinn was too scared to open her mouth, so she shook her head again. Goodlett did the talking. "Oh. You are new. I will tell you. New students are evaluated by the faculty during their first semester. If a faculty member concludes that a new student might not be up to the standard of Fielding, that student's name may be sent to the Headmaster as a prospective case of academic deficiency. Which means that if you receive a grade in any class below a 'C' during your first fall semester - then your presence will no longer be required at Fielding in the spring semester."
"Wait a minute," Quinn cried out, "you mean...you're flunking me?"
"No," said Goodlett. "Undoubtedly you shall do that all by yourself when the fall class grades are released. Dismissed." Goodlett turned to leave.
"Wait!" cried Quinn. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Too late," was Goodlett's only response as he left the room and left a shocked Quinn alone in an empty classroom at Fielding.
(* * *)
Daria had made it through three inquiries that day. Each time she answered the questions correctly, each time she asked the same question in response about the Fielding motto, and each time she got the correct answer back.
"Daria!"
Daria turned in the hallway, ready to face the next inquistitor. Instead, she faced Tom Sloane.
"Oh..uh...hi Tom." Pause. "How are you?" It was the only thing she could think to ask him.
"I'm cool. So, how are you making it through The Knowledge?"
The two were interrupted by three third grade boys pulling a senior through the hallway in a red wagon. "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" he cried, stroking with an imaginary paddle.
Daria turned back to Tom. "Well, I'm not been asked to pull a wagon yet...but the day isn't over?"
"I heard that you keep asking students about the Fielding motto and 'Tradition'."
"Really?" Daria asked. "I plead guilty."
"Some of the juniors were talking about it in lunch. They think you've got some devious aim in mind."
"Possibly."
"Care to share it?"
"Oh Tom," said Daria. "A new Fielding student can trust no one."
"Well, whatever it is, I hope it's good." Tom wished he could be there, but he had also heard that some of the seniors were preparing a particularly heinous question with a punishment to match. Whatever the boys try, thought Tom, the girls will match.
(* * *)
Quinn sat under a tree on the campus quad, alone. She didn't dare tell any of her new friends, the Tops, that she had been 'short-listed'. If she didn't pass Goodlett's class - if she didn't pass all of her classes that semester - then that was it at Fielding. Her dreams of being the most popular girl on campus would be dead before they even started. And passing Goodlett's class would be impossible.
She pulled out The Odyssey from her bookbag. The spine of the book cracked as it was forced open. So that's what they mean by 'cracking a book' . No one else opens their books in Goodlett's class. How did I become the stupid one?
Figuring that she had better start reading, Quinn sailed into Book I:
TELL ME, O MUSE, of that ingenious hero who traveled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy. Many cities did he visit, and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he could not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer folly in eating the cattle of the Sun-god Apollo; so the god prevented them from ever reaching home. Tell me, too, about all these things, oh daughter of Zeus, from whatsoever source you may know them.
Troy? Cattle? Zeus? Which daughter of Zeus? Oh, this is hopeless! When Quinn reached the words 'hecatomb of sheep and oxen' Quinn closed the book in despair. It was all Greek to her.
She wondered if there was some way to cheat. No, not in a room with just twelve people in it. And there the the take-home assignments to do.
A tutor. That's what she needed. All she had to do was to get her Mom to pay for a tutor. Preferably one who spoke Greek and had dark, curly hair. Who would know more about Zeus and Odysseus than someone who spoke the language? Besides, since they all worshiped Zeus it would be just like reading the Bible to them! She resolved to have her Mom pay for a tutor - and she'd never have to open that horrible book again once she learned all the tutor tricks.
(* * *)
It was four o'clock. Daria left the natatorium, where she had been practicing her diving. Or rather, she had been practicing her practicing for her diving.
Where the rest of the members of the Fielding Swim Club had been performing laps, Daria had been standing on the platform, with her arms over her head and her fingers locked together in a rather uncomfortable posture. The goal was to for her palms to rest completely flat over her her arms fully extended. The pose was to allow one to steer and maintain a perfectly vertical posture in mid-dive, although Daria suspected that the exercise did nothing.
The chilly natatorium only added to the discomfort. The shouts through a bullhorn of "Concentrate, Daria! Extend! Tippytoes!" did little to help. The entire hour consisted of stretching, shouts through a bullhorn, and Daria's frozen nipples. Frankly, Daria was glad to be outside.
At four thirty her mother - or most likely, Marianne, her mother's secretary - would pick up Daria and Quinn from school. Sometimes, Marianne was late, other time's Daria's mother Helen was late. Daria's goal was to get from the natatorium to the curb, taking a straight line, and avoiding the entire prospect of The Knowledge altogether. There was yet a hope of rescue.
No such luck. Instead of the younger students waiting for their rides, or even worse - Quinn - there was a bevy of senior students. It seemed that there were ten of them.
"Well, well, Ms. Morgendorffer," said one of them. "How-do-you-do? Jo Lyon here. The day has gone by, but it is not over yet. Is your Knowledge ready?"
"It is."
"What did Mark Garrett die of in 1912?"
"He died from the bite of a squirrel. Infection set in."
Another boy stepped forward. "What athletic skill was required of every graduate of Fielding in the first class?"
"Skill with the longbow."
"Name the quarterback on the very first Fielding football team," said one boy with a particularly wide grin on his face.
Daria tried not to swear. Not only was that question not in "Your Place in Fielding", but it wasn't one of the traditional questions asked that was not in the book. This was the Silver Bullet that would trip Daria up.
Daria sighed. "Can I answer the question about the Fielding motto, instead?"
One of the girls pulled out a container of honey from her blazer pocket. "Not that one," said the boy. "The answer, by the way, is 'Tradition' as you've been so eager to let us know."
"Then by tradition, I ask the right to have the question reasked. You do believe in tradition, don't you?"
"Yes," said Ms. Lyon. "And it's a tradition that wrong answers are punished. So I hope you believe in that tradition, too." The other girls were pulling various bottles of condiments out of their jackets.
"Then please reask the question."
"Name the quarterback on the - "
"I should have made myself clearer," said Daria. "My apologies. But if my understanding of Fielding tradition is correct - and the 1976 edtion of the Fielding Boarder writes of the requirement that in 1921, any student could ask that such questions be repeated - in Latin."
"Huh?"
"All students at Fielding in 1921 were expected to be fluent in Latin. It was the language of the classroom. All third-grade students were expected to be proficient in conversational Latin. And this included The Knowledge, where all questions in The Knowledge were supposed to be asked in Latin. It was tradition that if a question was not asked of a professor - or anyone on campus - in Latin, then that question could be ignored. So I'm ignoring your question until you ask it properly."
"That's utter bullshit," said the boy. "Answer the question or not, or face the consequences."
"It's also tradition that disputes regarding The Knowledge can be appealed to the Headmaster, who will take time out of his day to handle any disputes. Which reminds me of another question from The Knowledge - what was Headmaster Henry Michaelas's academic major?" Daria pulled out some papers, with the appropriately laminated articles.
Everyone knew the answer. Ancient languages. Michaelas had been pushing the alumni for an ancient languages requirement for years, instead of merely an elective. They all knew how he'd judge such a question.
"Who cares?" said Lyon. "Blast her!"
As the condiments reached firing position, Daria smiled. "And any punishment administered against the rules of The Knowledge falls double against those who break the rules. My mother and I will go to the headmaster's office tomorrow. And I'll have a wide array of condiments ready after I win my appeal." I played your stupid game. Now play mine.
There was silence. Then one girl asked, "Did anyone here take Latin?"
More silence. "However," said Daria, "I would never sacrifice the traditions of Fielding to my own whims. Maybe there's someone else you could ask."
(* * *)
Helen finally arrived at 5:30. By that time, Daria was the only person left at the curb.
"Daria?" asked Helen. "Where's Quinn?"
"She's been detained. But she's only a few yards away. You can park here." With that, Daria walked away expecting her mother to follow.
There was a crowd of students gathered around a building, pointing and laughing. Among them were Jo Lyon and some of the other seniors. Helen heard a sound from the top of the roof.
"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!"
Helen looked up to see her daughter, Quinn, flapping her arms as if they were wings, and screaming, "COCK-A-DOODLE DOO!" at the top of her lungs, doing her best imitation of a rooster. One student was capturing the moment on his cellphone camera.
"What...on...earth?" asked Helen.
"Oh Mater," said Daria. "If you were a Fielding student...you'd appreciate the value of tradition. Why you'd never convince Quinn otherwise..."