FOR RACHEL, RICKY, ALEX, AND DANIEL
If at first you don't succeed, you're fired.
—EVIL OVERLORDS TO NEW RECRUITS
I was pretty sure the apple was poisoned. In my defense, I was really hungry.
It was afternoon, I'd missed lunch, and now I was stuck in my junior henchman classroom, alone with Professor Murphy, who sat behind his giant desk, ignoring me. On my own desk was a plate with the apple, a small cage holding a mouse, a pocket chemistry set, my test sheet, and a pencil.
We'd been studying food safety, an important job for henchmen, because they have to keep their overlords safe from enemies who want to poison their food.
I knew what I had to do: carefully examine the surface of the apple for needle marks and other blemishes, cut a slice, use the poison-detecting mouse, and perform some chemical tests. I'd done it all. One side of the apple had a puncture mark. And even though Professor Murphy had used a "poison" that was safe to eat (but was detectable as a real poison), when I dropped a slice from the punctured side into the mouse's cage, he wouldn't even sniff it. The chemicals started foaming like a rabid werewolf as soon as they touched the slice. Finally, according to the test, the server had only just been hired (meaning: not trustworthy).
I wrote all of this down, along with my conclusion: The apple was poisoned. My suggested course of action: Arrest the server and feed him the apple.
In my mind, I'd completed the test.
And then my stomach growled.
Professor Murphy worked at his desk, scowling as he graded the essay portion of my exam. I stood up, grabbed my practical exam, and approached him. Without looking up, he pointed to a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. I dropped it on top.
"You need a mentor, I believe," he said, still focused on his papers. He hardly ever looked at me. It was as if he thought if he ignored me, I might go away.
He was right, though. I didn't have a mentor. My first mentor, Coach Foley, had gotten rid of me after I failed the first junior henchman test. My second mentor was Mistress Moira, the school seamstress/chocolatier, but she didn't teach a class of minions, and one of the goals of the Junior Henchman Training Program was to teach us how to lead a group of students. Plus, she'd recently taken leave to find the witch who had cursed me.
"I'm assigning you to Tootles," Professor Murphy said.
"Tootles?" I was confused. Tootles wasn't a teacher—he was the head groundskeeper. "But he doesn't teach a class of minions."
"No. He needs help with his Forest Restoration Project and asked me for a volunteer, so I'm assigning you." He finally looked up at me, and then pointed to my desk. "Return to your seat until the test period is over," he said, so I did.
Well, this bites. All the other third-year junior henchmen trainees had great minions to lead. Rufus's mentor taught the intermediate mummies. Janet had the imps, Jud had some giants, and Frieda led other ogre-men. Even the new kid, Meztli, had a great group of minions—some first-year monkey-men. Who did I have? Nobody. I wasn't going to be able to march around school with my very own minions following me, doing what I told them to do. And, really, that was the best thing about being in the Junior Henchman Program.
I sulked at my desk, alone. We had to take the quiz individually after school. Each of my classmates had already taken it and passed. It wasn't a hard test.
The ticking wall clock echoed in the silent room, a constant reminder of how slowly time can pass. I had fifteen minutes until the period was over. Fifteen minutes, going by in agonizingly slow tick ... tick ... ticks.
Professor Murphy slashed and swished his red pen across the page with the relish of a fencer. He was killing my essay with a thousand forceful scratches.
I looked at the apple on my desk. My stomach growled.
The pen scratched.
The clock ticked.
I sliced off a piece of apple from the side that hadn't been punctured. I gave a sliver to the mouse, who sniffed it once and then gobbled it up. I ate the rest of the piece. At the sound of my chewing, Professor Murphy looked up. His scowl was so severe, you'd have thought I'd just thrown the apple at the OUTSTANDING EDUCATOR plaque hanging on the wall behind him.
He picked up my test, marked it with a giant red F you could probably see from the top of Mount Curiosity, and then came over and slammed it down onto my desk.
"But I was done," I said. "I went through the protocol. I marked everything I found on the test." I pointed to the paper.
"Your analysis indicated poison—but you just took a bite of the apple."
"It's not real poison, and I missed lunch. I'm really hungry."
"Discipline is vitally important for a henchman," he said. "You will not embarrass me by graduating from this program, getting my seal of approval, and failing in the first task your EO assigns you. Do you know how that would make me look?"
Clearly, Professor Murphy hated me. He'd been trying to kick me out of the training program from the moment I entered his classroom. But Dr. Critchlore had placed me in the class. He'd reinstated me after Professor Murphy kicked me out, and then had reinstated me again after I'd gotten three "behavioral" strikes. Professor Murphy didn't think I was junior henchman material, and he was super proud of all the students who graduated with his precious "seal of approval."
When he looked back down, I tried to finish my apple slice as quietly as I could, but he heard me.
"You think you can do whatever you want and Dr. Critchlore will save you every time?" he said. "Who do you think you are?"
That was my problem. I didn't know who I was.
