Pearl-Ann & the Magic Notebook
Would You Rather?
Who lets teachers get away with this?
“Eyes and ears up here, everyone! We have a new student today.”
Five minutes in my new school and I’m under interrogation.
Mrs. Wade plopped onto her stool, her “Math Teachers Have Too Many Problems” T-shirt bunching slightly as she tapped the silver bell on her cart with a sharp ding!
Her cat-eye glasses—bright purple to match the calculator-patterned lanyard around her neck—caught the light as she scanned the room.
Chills slid over my skin and the air thickened. I squeezed my eyes shut as if it could stop the random pop-up thoughts.
They are staring at you. You will embarrass yourself.
“Pearl-Ann Dandy,” Mrs. Wade continued, “just moved here. Let’s make her feel welcome.”
Some kids muttered “hi,” or waved a few fingers. Most ogled. Me, the newest museum display. The stares spoke volumes. Is she weird? Is she cool? Is she one of those kids who chews their erasers down to the metal?
I’d been the new kid before—four times to be exact. But something about this classroom made my skin prickle.
Something about Mrs. Wade made my stomach flutter, like she was looking right through me, not just at me.
“What’s with the name?” a boy with a Minecraft shirt whispered too loudly. “Pearl-Ann? Sounds like an old lady.”
Mrs. Wade silenced him with a teacher stare and clanged her bell, but my cheeks burned anyway. I’d heard it all before—every joke, every snicker. My twin brother Paul-Andy got it just as bad. But at least he had me. Today, I was on my own.
Mrs. Wade smiled, clapping her hands. “Pearl-Ann, we have a little tradition in this class. Every new student gets to answer the Would You Rather challenge. No pressure, but your answers tell us a lot.”
Mrs. Wade tapped her chin, her lips curved and one eyebrow raised, “Alright, here’s your first question:
“Would you rather have a notebook that writes back to you… but only in riddles, or a pencil that never runs out… but only writes embarrassing secrets?”
I shifted foot to foot. Whatever happened to normal questions—like, go to a beach or a lake?
I don’t know who’s out here needing infinite embarrassing secrets, but no thanks. I’d take the notebook—least riddles give you a chance to figure something out.
The pencil would just make my life harder. Like, imagine it just randomly writes, ‘Pearl-Ann still sleeps with a stuffed monkey.’
I’d have to move to another state.
“Uh, the notebook I guess.”
“Fantastic!” Mrs. Wade’s eyes gleamed behind the reflection of the fluorescent lights. For a second—just a split second—I could’ve sworn they flashed golden, like sunlight on honey. I blinked, and they were normal again.
“Your next question is—Would you rather accidentally time-travel every time you sneeze or get stuck in a history book until you finish reading the whole thing?”
Ugh, I don’t even like history class. But I also sneeze, like, a hundred times a day, especially around Paul-Andy’s cat Ailurus, so I’d be time-traveling straight into chaos. Knowing my luck, I’d sneeze myself right into the middle of a war or a volcanic eruption.
Nope. I’ll take getting stuck in a book—I’d just pick a short one and speed-read my way out.
I sucked in my breath and spit out, “Definitely the book.”
“Wonderful! Ok, last question—Would you rather remember everything—even things you wish you could forget—or forget things, even if it means losing something important?”
The air in the room tightened, like everyone was waiting for me to say something brilliant. My belly still churning butter.
I opened my mouth, then shut it. An icy chill ran over my arms, my neck—like I was tossed in a snow drift.
Something about the question made my skin go cold. Like it wasn’t just a game anymore. Like Mrs. Wade was asking me something real.
Forgetting is better.
“Wow, uh, I don’t know.” My words slid right outta my ears. The newest in a long list of terrible thoughts pushed them right out.
“I’d…uh…I’d rather—” My voice caught.
A flicker of movement—just outside the door. The hair rose up on my neck. The classroom noise faded, like someone twisted the volume knob down.
A strange girl stood out in the hall. She had dark eyes, a wool dress that looked…wrong, like it belonged in a history book, and bare feet.
She was watching me.
Shouldn’t she come into class? Plenty were already in here staring. What’s one more?
I blinked. Was she glowing?
I leaned forward, squinting to get a better look. Nobody else seemed to notice her. The girl lifted her hand slowly, pointing at me, then at Mrs. Wade, then back at me. Her mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“Hey,” I whispered to the girl near to me. “Who’s that?”
The girl glanced up from her notebook. “Who’s what?”
“That girl. In the hall.”
She looked toward the door and shrugged. “There’s no one there.”
I turned back. The hallway was empty.
Goosebumps crashed over me like a wave, nearly knocking me down. Every hair on my body stood on end. My stomach flipped.
“Pearl-Ann?” Mrs. Wade asked gently. There was something strange in her voice—like she knew exactly what I’d seen.
“Is everything alright?”
I sucked in a breath and cleared my throat. “I’d rather remember.”
Mrs. Wade’s eyes softened, like I got the answer right.
“Interesting choice,” she murmured.
The bell gave me a jump scare.
I hurried to my seat to collect my supplies, but my skin still tingled. As I grabbed my backpack, I noticed something tucked into the side pocket, a folded piece of paper that hadn’t been there before.
I pulled it out, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. The paper was old, yellowed at the edges, and smelled faintly of lilacs. Written in elegant, swirling handwriting was a single line:
Remember me, Pearl-Ann. When the time comes, remember.
I shoved it back into my pocket, heart racing. When I looked up, Mrs. Wade was watching me from her desk, a strange, sad smile on her face.
Pearl-Ann & the Magic Notebook
Boogers in the Cafeteria
“Pearl-Ann, you know you are welcome to have lunch with me anytime, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend your time with the other students in the cafeteria?”
Mrs. Wade pointed a paper towel at me.
I been having’ lunch in her classroom the few days since I been comin’ to the new school.
Her classroom is quiet, ‘cept for Mrs. Wade talkin’ to me on occasion.
I love to hear her talk. She has a Disney princess voice that rolls over my skin like a beach breeze in summer, tickling my goose bumps. Sometimes I don’t know what she is sayin’ to me cause I am just feelin’ her voice.
It’s nice and calm in her room at lunch.
Not crazy like the cafeteria. On my first day I had to go to the cafeteria. My homeroom teacher made me sit between two boys.
Lunch happens right after PE.
Do I have to tell you why holding my breath was a good idea?
One of the boys told me three times to buy him cookies in the lunch line. There was no way I was buying HIM cookies.
Paul-Andy would buy him cookies but I’m not explaining that to Mom when she checks my lunch account.
The boy said I’d regret it if I didn’t get his cookies. It was bad enough being the new girl. Walking up to the trays under two-hundred pairs of eyes–and half as many whispers, I knew were about me–gave me a bellyache before I even got to eat.
I was NOT getting him cookies, so I shoved my lunch in the pockets of my hoodie and ate it in the bathroom.
“Nah, I’m good here.” I shook my head but kept my eyes peeled on the shiny parts of the aluminum foil from my PB&J.
Besides, I swear that glowing hallway girl was super-staring at me from the next table. Least it sure looked like her. Same weird outfit. Same freaky glow. She was already there when I sat down.
I know I musta been hallucinating ‘cause no one else was paying’ her any mind.
But when our table got called, she was just… gone. I didn’t see her go, but I was trying real hard not to see her anyways. Even now–I still feel her–like she’s watching from the shadows.
That’s the third time I’ve seen her this week. First in the hallway during the “Would You Rather” game. Then yesterday, standing outside the school when we lined up for fire drill. Now in the cafeteria.
Each time she locks eyes with me like she’s trying to tell me something without words.
And that ain’t even the strangest part.
That note I found? I tried to throw it away twice. Once in the bathroom trash. Once in the big bin by the bus lane. Both times it showed up back in my pocket before the end of the day.
The photo on our bookshelf at home keeps changing too. I swear yesterday the silver-haired woman was standing next to Mom. This morning she was on the other side, behind Dad. Nobody else seems to notice.
“You sure?” Mrs.Wade’s eyebrows lifted up, making her eyes more huge behind her glasses. The purple frames matched her nails today. Who matches their glasses to their nails? That’s next-level coordination.
I nodded this time and took another bite of my homemade sandwich with a juice chaser. Grape was Paul-Andy’s favorite flavor but I didn’t much care. I wasn’t planning on going near that cafeteria any time soon. Making my own lunch was worth it.
Paul-Andy called me weak, but I still didn’t care. He didn’t get shoved between the stinkopotamus Greg and Wendall the nose picker. I been here for four days now and even I heard the stories.
Apparently — they are best friends but argue ALL THE TIME. I heard two girls talking’ in Science class ‘bout how they even got in a fist fight in the bus loading zone last year AND got suspended! That’s why the teacher stuck me between them at the lunch table.
I get that the teacher don’t want trouble–but I don’t want it brought on me either.
“So, Pearl-Ann,” Mrs.Wade’s eyebrows lifted, “what are we doing today? Did you need help with your math?”
I shook my head, “No, I’m good with my math.”
“Ok then. Some cards maybe? I play a mean round of Go Fish.” Mrs. Wade slid her desk drawer open. I shrugged and shuffled to the trash can.
A lot of the kids here go for the two-pointer. I just as well throw my trash in the can less fancy. I don’t need the points.
“How about we watch some more of that movie from yesterday?” Mrs. Wade’s eyebrows were about touching her hairline. Any higher and I think her nose’ll start bleeding’.
“Sure, I guess…if you want to.” I slid back into my desk and rubbed a peanut butter smear with my sleeve off the desktop.
Mrs. Wade sat real quiet for what felt like a billion minutes. The skin on my cheeks grew hot where her eyes touched them.
Like the time Wes and Jim started a piece of twig ablaze using Paul-Andy’s glasses in the backyard. “I could just work on studying for my Ancient Greece quiz, if that’s ok.”
She just kept looking at me. I decided I was gonna act nonchalant and pulled out my folder to get to studying.
Mrs. Wade let out a long sigh and blinked a few times. “Pearl-Ann, how is your history class going for you? Do you like learning about Ancient Greece?”
“Huh, uh, yeah, it’s ok I guess.” I pulled my study guide out of a crisp orange two-pocket folder. “I mean, the teacher’s nice. The class gets a whole lot of crazy so it’s hard to know what is going on.”
“Sure. Sure. I understand. Ms. Smith tells me you might be having some trouble understanding the material.” Mrs. Wade rested her chin on her clasped hands leaning on her desk. A big teacher’s smile filled her face but I wasn’t bein’ fooled one bit.
When the sweetness don’t crinkle the forehead, nobody’s meanin’ happy thoughts behind it.
“It’s a’right Mrs. Wade, Ms. Smith just thinks I should be speakin’ in Greek already but I’m just not a history person. I mean, no offense to Ms. Smith. She’s a good teacher and all, but I just don’t get it. It’s confusing.” I bounced my leg under the desk so bad my pencil rolled off and hit the floor with a clang.
“I always liked history, tell me what you find confusing.” Mrs. Wade asked as she pulled open another desk drawer.
This time, I tapped the pencil on my study guide. Ratatat, ratatat, tap, tap, tap. “I dun know…” I sighed as my shoulders slumped forward. Mom’s face popped in my head warning me about my hump so I shot back up straight, “It’s just not real interestin’ to me. I have enough to remember to do my chores and now I have to make my lunch. I just can’t seem to keep it in my head.”
“Well, that makes sense but you seem to like math and ELA, you are doing fine in those classes, right?” She didn’t look at me this time.
She set a brown book on her desk and closed the drawer. Her fingers traced the cover, eyes lingering, like my Mom when she’s mooning over our baby pictures.
I squinted at the book. Leather-bound, worn at the edges, with what looked like tarnished silver clasps. Not a textbook. Not a novel. Something else.
The air in the room changed, like right before a thunderstorm.
You shouldn’t be here. You’re not special enough for whatever this is. She feels sorry for you.
The thought sliced through me, sharp and cold as winter wind. It didn’t feel like my own voice—it felt like someone whispering directly into my brain.
I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.
“Yeah, math don’t give me much trouble. My Dad was on us to learn all our facts growin’ up so it’s real good now. I got fractions down thanks to my Dad and my brother Paul-Andy is real good at long division so I got that too.”
I balanced my pencil on my upper lip. I figured out that I just need to tilt my head back a tiny bit. Paul-Andy’s not gonna believe I’m getting this good. I can even move my head side to side and it don’t fall.
“And ELA?” Mrs. Wade looked up at me. Her crinkleless smile was replaced with the high eyebrows again. This time her eyes looked a little glassy.
“Oh, sure…that’s one of my favorite classes. I love stories. I like the mysteries and the scary ones. The scarier the better. I really love tryin’ to figure out the secrets.”
A flicker of movement caught my eye. I glanced toward the classroom door.
She was there again. The glowing girl. Standing perfectly still, watching me with those dark, bottomless eyes. This time, she wasn’t alone.
A tall woman stood beside her, draped in flowing fabric that looked like liquid silver. Her hair cascaded down her back in waves that seemed to shimmer with their own light. She looked exactly like the woman in the photograph—the one who kept changing positions.
The one Mom said was just some cousin.
The woman’s eyes locked with mine, and a jolt ran through me. I heard a voice—not out loud, but inside my head:
Pearl-Ann. The memories are in danger. Find the notebook.
My gaze dropped to the leather book on Mrs. Wade’s desk. The same instant, the woman and the girl vanished.
Nasty!! I put my hands under my desk and touched something gross. It was slimy, so put there recently. Ew, gum!
The gag stuck in my throat, trying to claw its way out. “Can I wash my hands? I just touched something gross under here.”
“Sorry about that.” Mrs. Wade stood with the book, caressing the cover. “Go ahead, take a bathroom pass. When you get back, I have a surprise for you, something special.”
As I reached for the pass, my fingers brushed the edge of the leather-bound book. A shock ran up my arm, not painful but strong, like static electricity multiplied by a thousand.
Images flashed through my mind—a magnificent library stretching endlessly, books with glowing pages, the silver-haired woman writing furiously, the glowing girl running through ancient streets, a music box playing a haunting melody.
Mrs. Wade yanked the book back, her eyes wide. “Pearl-Ann? Are you alright?”
I blinked hard, the visions fading. “Y-yeah. Just dizzy for a second.”
Mrs. Wade looked at me differently now—like she was seeing me for the first time. Like she was realizing something important.
“Take your time,” she said softly, setting the book down. “When you come back, we need to talk about this.”
She tapped the leather-bound book.
“It’s been waiting for you.”
As I headed to the bathroom, my mind raced. The note in my pocket felt warm against my leg. The woman’s voice echoed in my head.
The memories are in danger.
What memories? Mine? Everyone’s?
And what exactly was that book that Mrs. Wade had been saving for me?
Something told me I was about to find out—whether I was ready or not.