According to Marissa
Chapter Two: Part Three

Ashton huffed.

Unfortunately, David's silent prayer didn't sit well.

In fact…

It didn't sit well at all.

In the second between his "Hello God" and his "Thank You Amen," Ashton Abigail acted. She glowered. She sputtered. She tiptoed up to him then poked him – hard – in the shoulder.

"Hey," she spouted. "I'm talking to you. Are you ignoring me?"

David blinked. At this, he forgot his prayer. He almost, for a moment, forgot even their argument, Ashton's, Samson's and his own. That poke was hard enough to hurt.

Absently, David rubbed the tender spot as his mind began to race. He stopped and thought. He questioned the world around him. This dream… that jab… why did it hurt so much? It shouldn't have. It –it shouldn't have hurt him at all. His mood dropped then following his heart's suddenly sinking stammer. Frustrated, he glared back at the girl, whom froze startled on her toes.

Ashton Abigail Appleton didn't like the look in his eyes. It was much too cold for her tastes. In a pacifying gesture, she sank to her heals and smiled. She waved her hands. "Whoa!" she said. Her cheeks flared to crimson, to a pretty shade of strawberry pink. David gulped. "No worries, little mouse. No offense was intended. Man, you're really good at your glares. It just goes to prove that you're perfect for that role." She laughed and quickly moved to leave. By habit and experience, Ashton knew the longer she talked and the faster she talked, the less likely anyone else would interrupt. By habit and perfected practice, she knew her exit was securely in place. Ashton rambled as she inched away, her accompanying crowd inching off with her.

David watched her leave. He frowned as her banter diminished, but never faded. Even from across the field, he could still hear her: her laughter, her chatter, her curious request. Not completely satisfied, he turned back to his friends. He wanted answers, but with them, there was none to be found. They went back to playing tetherball. Reluctantly, David did too. His shoulder still throbbed, but he let it slide. The ball bounced many times. The sun glittered and shifted. Their laughter rolled with the ever-passing clouds and still, no one mentioned the incident. Not a whisper was uttered, not even between Samson and himself.

Confused, David too stayed silent until it was time to go back in. When he did, though, he found Ashton waiting for him. Against the door, she leaned and glared. He tried to pass her, but her quick movements made that impossible. She grabbed him. By the elbow, her nails dug into his skin. "Listen," she said. "Auditions are Monday. I'll check in with you then. Just convince your mom to join ballet and I'll put a word in with the instructor. That part," she insisted, eyeing him from ear to nose, "is perfect for you. Just think of the headline, Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker staring Marissa May as the Mouse King. What do you think, eh? Don't you want to be king? It would make you so popular." She winked at him. Then, she left, leaving him stranded in a sea of screaming kids.

David glowered while a tiny voice interrupted his brooding.

"She's using you, you know."

It was Samson. He hadn't left his side. He had heard everything, had seen everything. "She's like that wolf from Aesop's Fables." David blinked down at him. He frowned. Recognizing the disconnect, Samson paused. Their entire friendship was based on their love of books. Marissa, the true Marissa, would have known the reference. His frown deepened as he explained further. He carefully tucked his growing worry behind an emotion David couldn't name. He spoke plainly. "She's flattering you to make you do what she wants, which is to be in her stupid ballet."

Once more, David's heart sank and so did his shoulders. "Oh," he said. His shoulders stayed like that for the rest of the day. For the rest of the day, he couldn't get her words out of his mind. Did being popular make him a good king?

The woman from before was waiting for him. Outside the school, she was there. The day was over, and she was in her metal machine she called a car. There must have been something in his demeanor for almost instantly her face crumpled in worry. He ignored it, got in and put on the seat belt she insisted that he should wear. About halfway to his babysitter's house, David broke the heavy silence. "What's your name?" he asked cautiously. Instinct and fear made him hesitate. This dream was long and complicated. Yet, he didn't know how delicate it was. If he continued to reveal who he was, would the dream disintegrate? Would it turn into a different scenario? He wasn't sure. He did know one thing. David wanted to finish it. He wanted to know the answer to his question. What would make him a good king?

Marissa's mom heard the question and smiled recognizing the game. It was an old one, one that confirmed her worries. Yes, she thought, something is definitely wrong at school. Out loud, her answer was simple. "Mom. My name is Mom. What's yours?"

David nodded. Her answer confirmed his suspicions. Still, he hesitated to give his real name.

Feeling his reluctance, Guinevere grinned conspiringly. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I have guarded many a Bible Hero on their quest for answers. The future is a tough place for someone trapped in the body of an eight-year-old."

"The future?" David gasped. "I'm in the future?! Whose body am I trapped in? This isn't a dream?"

Guinevere laughed. "No. This is real. It started as a game between my daughter and me. She likes to read so I though playing pretend would help her solve her problems. 'What if,' I used to say. 'What if Abraham was in your shoes? How would he react to your problem? What if David?'"

David gasped. "That's me!" he said. "I'm David!"

"You are?" Guinevere played along. "Which David? King David, or little boy David? Pre-King David? Post father David? There are so many David's to study you know?" She briefly looked over at her daughter and then started. She could easily see the overwhelmed panic build in her ever-widening gaze. She was almost in tears. Guinevere swiftly pulled over. "What's wrong, Marissa?"

David swallowed. "Do you know all about my life? Why is there so much for you to study? Am I – was I a good King?"

Marissa's mom paused and thought a bit. She put her flashers on. "You were definitely a popular king, though you had your flaws just like everyone else God used in the scriptures."

"But was I good?" David cried. There were too many revelations, too much responsibility being heaped upon his boy sized shoulders. "Did being popular make me good? Who is the Mouse King? Is he good?"

"The Mouse King?" Marissa's Mom went from alarmed to slightly confused at the reference. "The Nutcracker's Mouse King? Heavens no. He's the villain. Who told you that you had to be popular?"

David remained quiet, his uncertainty climbing. Eventually, his small voice broke the silence. "A girl in class said that I have to be popular to be a good king. I have to be popular like she is and to become a ballerina. What is a ballerina?"

Marissa's Mom glared. "Is this why you've been moping around lately. This isn't Ashton's doing, is it?"

Seeing the alarm in her daughter's eyes, Marissa's mom caught herself, took a breath and started again. "What do you think makes you a good… king?" she asked carefully. "We have some time. Let's go to the Library. I think I have a story that can help you."

David shrugged. He was too upset to speak or even wonder what a library was.

- Calla