Our Lady of Sorrow High School
Omaha, Nebraska

Gibson McCutty pretended to be bored while his eyes scanned the shelves. Secretly he loved this room. It was the most fascinating one in the high school. But he’d be a total nerd if he admitted it.

He didn’t know how Sister Kate managed to do it. There was always a gob of new stuff mixed in with the old faithful. Well, not really new. Most of it was hundreds of years old. Some of the fragile or valuable pieces she kept locked in a glass case, like the hurdy-gurdy. It was a weird kind of fiddle but with a hand crank and a row of keys. It was used by street musicians and beggars in twelfth-century Europe.

Geez! He couldn’t believe how many details he remembered. But Sister Kate made the classes interesting.

He watched her greet the new kids, how cool and calm she was. There was something about her that calmed Gibson just being around her. It didn’t hurt that she also looked good. He heard his mom once describe Sister Kate as an ageless, natural beauty. He wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by it, but he supposed it was because when she wore khakis and a T-shirt like today she looked more like one of the kids than one of the instructors. Even her usual clothes set her off from the other instructors, classy suits—sometimes jackets with skirts, sometimes jackets with pants—but in bright colors: gold, red, bright blue, even lime green. With either wardrobe Gibson thought she always looked cool, and he wasn’t the only one. All the kids thought so, even the in crowd who thought history sucked.

As for the in crowd, he couldn’t help thinking how geeky these kids coming through the door looked. The Summer Explorers’ Program was open to qualifying students from all of the parochial high schools in the area. It was here at Our Lady of Sorrow since Sister Kate started and ran it. Gibson had the home-school advantage. For once maybe he’d be one of the cool kids simply because he had all the insider knowledge. Stuff like where the restrooms were and how to make the Pepsi machine spit out a free can if you fed it one more dime at the right time. Earlier, all of his insider knowledge hadn’t mattered at all when he tried to figure out a way to get to the second-floor history room without passing Monsignor O’Sullivan’s office at the bottom of the stairs. There just wasn’t a route, probably why the monsignor had chosen that office.

Gibson had tried to rush by it without looking, swinging around to go up the next flight of stairs, but then he saw him. He was standing in front of the monsignor’s desk, wearing a black polo shirt and black trousers, just like the monsignor. For a minute Gibson thought his imagination was playing tricks on him again. He broke out in a cold sweat, unable to move. He was beginning to believe in ghosts when suddenly the man turned. Of course, it hadn’t been Monsignor O’Sullivan, but instead a tall man with a hawk nose and powder-white skin but coal-black eyes that sliced into Gibson, pinning him right where he stood.

“Is there something you need?” It was a deep voice, one Gibson thought he recognized.

“Uh, I just…I thought you were Monsignor O’Sullivan.” Gibson knew it sounded stupid, but it fell out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Monsignor O’Sullivan won’t be returning,” the man said and he started to close the door, but something furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes, something he saw just over Gibson’s shoulder.

The guy had given him the major creeps. Gibson had spun, readjusting his backpack on his shoulder, and raced up the flight of stairs. He thought the guy had called to him, but he didn’t stop. Just kept going, not looking back until he got to Sister Kate’s room.

The guy hadn’t followed him, but he still felt a little sick to his stomach.

He wouldn’t think about it. He needed to focus on something, anything else. Now he tried to concentrate on the kids wandering in, the so-called qualifying students. He took a deep breath and sat back, waiting for the nausea to leave. He reminded himself how much he liked this room, how comfortable it felt. He watched the faces of the kids coming in and it actually made him feel better. He realized it might not be so tough to be one of the cool kids. These kids all looked like losers.

There were supposed to be a dozen of them, three girls and nine boys. Gibson had stolen a peek at the roster on Sister Kate’s desk. He already knew that he was the only one from Our Lady of Sorrow. His mom had been thrilled, like it was some big honor. There was no talking her out of it even when she discovered there was a five-hundred-dollar tuition fee to cover their field trips. She shrugged and said she’d get Grandma McCutty to pay it. Gibson complained that the three weeks would totally ruin his summer, but he knew he had already lost the argument. He overheard his mom on the phone telling Grandma McCutty what a privilege it was for Gibson to make the program, if only she could contribute the thousand-dollar tuition fee, then Gibson wouldn’t have to turn down such an honor. So there was the real reason his mom was so excited—not that he had qualified. Not that he would get out of the house and do something all summer other than play computer games. No, it was just one more opportunity to scam Grandma McCutty.

“What do you suppose this is?” a small kid with freckles and reddish-blond hair asked.

Gibson hadn’t even noticed the kid come up beside him. He was pointing to one of Gibson’s favorites, not daring to touch what at first glance looked like some kind of primitive chalice.

“It’s called a skullcup,” Gibson told him and picked it up carefully, watching the kid’s blue eyes widen as if Gibson had done something forbidden, but Gibson knew Sister Kate wouldn’t mind. The items she left on the counters were to be handled, carefully, of course, and examined. He turned it over to show the new kid where the base adhered to the top of a human skull.

“In Tibet, priests use these for ceremonies and stuff. See, they cut a human skull in half and use the top for the cup part. They attach all this decorative crap.” He pointed out the jewels and polished stones and his stomach hardly hurt anymore. “It’s supposed to symbolize consuming the mind of the dead guy. Or something like that.”

The kid was looking at him as if Gibson was not just cool but brilliant. Gibson pretended it was no big deal, yet he started thinking maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t ruin his summer after all.