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ONE
GEORGIE
Toronto, Canada – Thursday, October 1, 1992
Leaving ancient Rome, Georgie Law gulped a pill with a sneaky sip of bottled water. God, how she detested museums. The funereal atmosphere. Musty smells. Maze-like floorplans. Add the scarcity of natural light, and her growing discomfort had morphed into an anxiety-fuelled migraine attack.
Not an ideal situation when you’re a teacher supervising thirty excitable high school students on a field trip in downtown Toronto.
It wasn’t that history bored Georgie. Quite the opposite, really. Exploring the past and teaching were two of her three great passions, but sometimes experiences early in life leave an indelible mark.
Slipping her contraband water bottle into her shoulder bag, she adjusted the oversized cardigan hanging over her arm and followed her class into the popular Egypt exhibit, which was crammed with even more raucous students from another school.
What, still no educational guide? she thought, her chest tightening as she swept her blonde hair from her eyes and squinted through a blind spot in her vision. The first warning sign of an attack, the visual aura of shiny, zigzagging triangles flickered and grew, crowding out her students, the exhibits—everything—from Georgie’s eyesight.
“Class.” She raised her hand, ignoring the racing pummel of her heart inside her Eiffel Tower-print blouse. “While we wait for our turn with the human mummies, please flip to page three of your assignment. The displays along the walls will help with the questions.”
Clipboards and binders at the ready, the teenagers squeezed through the crush, stopping to gawk at ancient jewellery, board games, and—
“A crocodile mummy?” One boy’s astonished outburst drew a stampede of his classmates in the opposite direction toward the reptilian resident.
Georgie sidestepped the rush and caught up with her friend and fellow history teacher Eden Shuster.
“Hey! So get this—should I be happy or horrified?” Stood in the corner, Eden lifted her chin and pointed across the busy room. “See that security guard over there? He thought I was a university student, asked what I’m studying!”
Shifting closer to elude an aura-tormenting spotlight, Georgie glanced over but saw little more than a warped version of his head. “Happy? I never get mistaken for a student. Or get carded.”
“That’s ’cause you’re tall and sophisticated while I’m an unfashionable short ass.” Eden fussed with the cuffs of her acid wash jean jacket.
“Correction: you’re fun-sized and lovely,” said Georgie. “And have no wrinkles. I’m starting to look like one of these mummies next to you.”
“Oh, come on…” Eden’s voice rippled with playfulness. “You have all your own teeth! Plus, you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a chunky gold necklace shaped like a snake.”
Georgie grinned and toyed with the safety chain on her vintage Birks bangle. Once a silver girl, always a silver girl. She peered around the increasingly distorted room. “Any sign of our guide?”
“Nope,” Eden answered swiftly, her green-eyed gaze glued to the cluster of sixteen-year-olds, their chatter growing louder as they jockeyed for position and copied each other’s answers.
“Better show soon,” said Georgie. “My mummification knowledge is okay, but I’m no expert.”
“Same.” Eden nodded. “Gimme the War of 1812 over pyramids any day.”
“Speaking of, did your Fort York trip get approved?” asked Georgie.
“Still waiting.” Eden, like Georgie, poured every ounce of her creativity and enthusiasm into her curriculum. “Any word on Vimy?”
“Nope. Crickets.” The transatlantic visit to France topped Georgie’s field trip wish list. The First World War battle at Vimy Ridge was one of Canada’s most important military victories, helping forge the young country’s identity as a nation independent from Great Britain. “You’d think they’d get tired of me asking and say yes just to make me to stop.”
“How many years is it now?” asked Eden. “Four?”
“Five. And I’ll keep asking till my students make it over.” As Georgie spoke, a creeping numbness claimed her left pinkie and her attention. Great! She scowled and balled up her hand repeatedly, hoping to quell the tingling nuisance.
Eden did a double take and leaned in. “Shit. Migraine?” she whispered, tucking her shoulder-length brown waves behind her ear.
The fake fruity scent of her hairspray prickled Georgie’s nose. She nodded, determined to keep her predicament from her Grade 11 class.
“Can you see anything?” asked Eden.
Letting out a sharp exhale, Georgie peered downward. The right side of Eden’s face was missing, replaced by a bright curve of flashing geometric shapes. She paused for a beat. “Mostly, yeah.”
