Episode Six: Goodbye Cake Gang
The board is now set. Four of the main pieces are now in play. Of course, Zorah, Timothy, Constance, and Garren have no idea at present that they are players in a game whose stakes could not be higher. Our story begins as so many stories do, on a typical day, one where nobody involved would ever suspect today would be the day their lives would change forever. But that is often the way of these things, is it not?
Percival:Unsuspecting ordinary people finding themselves placed in extraordinary circumstances. What I can tell you is this, the challenges ahead will not test their strength or their cleverness alone. They will test the things each of them has spent their whole young lives avoiding, the things they have buried deepest, the things they wish to leave hidden away, deep in darkness and away from the light. Will these four young dreamers find the courage to overcome those challenges? We shall soon find out.
Percival:But first, the morning bell has just rung, and the first day of seventh grade is about to begin.
Zorah:I flipped open my binder as our new Language Arts teacher, Mrs. McDermott, started roll call and a small spurt of sparkle zipped by. Right. That whole glitter thing. Are you kidding me?
Zorah:I genuinely don't understand where it's even coming from at this point. It just is. My hair returned to acting like a fire hydrant full of weaponized sparkles that got smashed into by a rogue ice cream truck. At least nobody noticed yet. But each moment was one moment nearer to being discovered as that girl who showed up to the first day of school wearing a portable glitter cannon.
Zorah:I could picture it now. Anyone coming into the school would instantly be able to tell which pod was House Willow. Oh, yeah. It's the first pod on the left of the hall. The one where the girl looks like she went swimming in a pool of glitter covered in glue and the boy with one sock and one shoe.
Zorah:You can't miss it. House Willow was turning out to be quite an interesting bunch this year. As you might have already guessed, Timmy Jorgensen was there. He didn't really like to participate in class all that much. But whenever he did, it was usually by firmly raising his hand and then saying the wildest things I've ever heard of.
Zorah:Last year, my favorite one was, excuse me, Ms. Fry. Are you aware that wombat poop is cube shaped? Scientists have theorized it helps keep the poop from rolling away. That way the wombats can mark their territory. Isn't that fascinating?
Zorah:I have 12 more wombat facts if you wanna hear them.
Zorah:Geometry. We have been learning about geometry. Maybe he thought that the fact that the poop was square shaped somehow tied into it being the most boring math subject. I don't know.
Zorah:But who am I to judge? I'm the girl who once asked my teacher if rain was actually sky fairies crying. Anyway, Mrs. McDermott finished with the morning roll call. She managed to only mispronounce one of her new students' names. I always feel bad for poor Siobhan.
Zorah:She looked so completely over it as she heard See-oh-bah for what I am sure was like the billionth time. Then miss McD completely skipped over Adam Zulinsky, and he just looked around confused, wondering if he had wandered into the wrong room. Spoiler alert, he had. Whoopsie.
Mrs. McDermott:Goodness gracious me. I'm so sorry, Adam.
Zorah:Mrs. McD squeaked out as Adam and awkwardly grabbed his backpack and started walking towards the door. He rushed back to his seat like a kid who got busted for sitting in the grown ups table at Thanksgiving dinner and was being sent back to the basement with the toddlers. Mrs. McD put down the roll call sheet, looked at the class with a cringeworthy smile, and clapped her hands.
Mrs. McDermott:Alrighty, kiddos. We're gonna jump right into the fun this year. It's time for us to talk about our long, What's It All About group project.
Zorah:Mrs. McD said with way too much excitement, jazz hands and everything.
Garren:What's what all about?
Zorah:Garren Anderson grumbled, half under his breath across the room. Poorly controlled giggles rose from that section of the class, but miss McD would not be thrown off course.
Mrs. McDermott:Well, I am so glad you asked, Garren.
Zorah:Nice save, Mrs. McD. I was genuinely impressed.
Mrs. McDermott:This semester, you are going to be put into groups of four to work on a multimedia presentation that asks the big question.
Zorah:The tension in the room was probably not what she'd hoped it would be. I imagine miss McD practiced this little speech in front of her mirror at her house surrounded by no less than five cats.
Mrs. McDermott:What is it all about? So who can tell me?
Zorah:Dead silence and blank stares. The only hand in the air belonged to Constance Lawson. Of course it did.
Mrs. McDermott:Yes, Constance.
Zorah:Mrs. McD said pointing to Fall Creek Middle School's biggest teacher's pet in the center of the front row.
Constance:Well, Mrs. McDermott, although I would never presume asking as rudely as Garren did, he did accidentally make a valid point. What is what all about?
Zorah:Constance shot a death glare towards Garren, causing him to look down at his binder and pretend to organize something.
Mrs. McDermott:Well, that is what you in your groups are going to have to answer this semester.
Zorah:Mrs. McD said with a sly grin pasted onto her face.
Mrs. McDermott:Maybe you'll want to explore the meaning of life or perhaps the meaning of death.
Zorah:She did a weird little flourish with her hands that was straight out of a low budget haunted house. When nobody reacted the way she hoped, she continued.
Mrs. McDermott:Maybe your group will decide to examine why the mayfly lives its entire life in the span of a few days, while the Galapagos tortoise can live well over a hundred years. Perhaps you can show why certain pieces of art make us feel one emotion, while others make us feel the exact opposite.
Zorah:Again, nothing but confused faces amongst the student populace.
Mrs. McDermott:What I'm trying to say here is that I am leaving the choice of topic completely up to your group's imagination. I want you to come up with something that is thought provoking, something meaningful to you. Choose a topic that you think answers an important question. Find something that makes you feel curious and explore it, no matter how big or small it may seem.
Zorah:It started to make a little sense. Basically, we've been given the freedom to pick anything we wanted as long as we could make up enough gibberish about why it's important. Making up gibberish? That's my specialty. This was going to be cake.
Zorah:Oh, wait. That's brilliant. The Many Benefits of Eating Cake by Zorah Shepard and some other people. I liked it already. Now I needed to find three other kids in the class who liked cake and we'd have this wrapped up by lunch.
Zorah:My mind wandered to who else I would ask to join my cake eating gang when Mrs. McD shattered my entire vision in one fell swoop.
Mrs. McDermott:Alright, everyone. I'm gonna walk around the room now with this hat.
Zorah:The hat in question belonged to a Dr. Seuss book.
Mrs. McDermott:I want everyone to gently pick out one piece of paper inside and no peeking.
Zorah:Mrs. McD glanced at Greg Holton as she emphasized the no peeking part. At first, he raised an eyebrow in offense, then sheepishly nodded as miss McD winked at him.
Mrs. McDermott:Every piece of paper has a number on it. There are four pieces of paper for each number in the hat. Whichever number you draw will be your group.
Zorah:An overwhelming sense of dread hit me. I frantically searched the room, imagining all the horrible ways this could and would go wrong. Don't ask me why, but I was 100% convinced I was going to be stuck in a semester long group project based on wombat poop and why it follows the rules and regulation of nature perfectly. One by one, Mrs. McD held out the Dr. Seuss hat for everyone to draw their numbers.
Zorah:No doubt about it, the rest of the class was as terrified as I was. All of us except for one new kid whose name I couldn't remember who currently had his finger up his nose. I'm sure that would be an entertaining project topic for some poor group. Oh gosh, please no, I thought. My mind raced as she drew closer.
Zorah:There was no way this was gonna end well, was there? I desperately wondered if maybe, just maybe, Mrs. McD did her math wrong. Maybe I would draw the number that no one else had and I could do my cake report all by myself. Sure, it would be some more work, but I'd happily do it to avoid this social nightmare. No.
Zorah:I couldn't count on that happening. I'm definitely not that lucky. As the drawing continued, I mentally assigned disaster levels to every piece of paper. 1 made a safe pick that I would be happy to be in a group with. 10 meant that I would pray for a meteor to hit Earth.
Zorah:Siobhan, 2. But only because it would be super embarrassing when Mrs. McD mispronounced her name again when we presented our project.
Zorah:Evan, 6. He eats glue and smells like cabbage. His sixth grade book report was on See Spot Run.
Zorah:Garren, 3. He spends his time playing sports. It might force me to do all the hard work.
Zorah:Eve, 1. Smart, chill, not stuck up.
Zorah:Timmy, 9. I'm already close enough to being a weird kid as it is without my project turning into a PowerPoint presentation called Cube Poop, Nature's Most Geometrically Perfect Calling Card.
Zorah:Sally, 3. Last year, she didn't invite me to her birthday party.
Zorah:Constance, 9.5.
Zorah:Have you ever played Monopoly with someone who has memorized the entire rule book? That's what hanging out with Constance feels like, but like all the time. Thanks, but no thanks. Finally, Mrs. McD appeared at my desk. No pressure, Zorah.
Zorah:Only the fate of your social world hangs in the balance. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I put my hand into the nursery rhyme hat and pulled out a slip of paper. I couldn't bring myself to open it.
Zorah:Instead, I set it down on my desk and stared at it like I could change the number inside telepathically. Cool kid group, You will put me in the cool kid group. My group will be drama free and will get an easy A writing about fluffy delicious cakes. Creepy silence loomed in the room. Everyone knew that this was it.
Zorah:One more number and our fates were sealed. My chest tightened with each breath, palms gross and sweaty. Mrs. McD walked back to the front of the class and looked out over the room.
Mrs. McDermott:Well, now isn't this exciting?
Zorah:Sure. In the same way a train derailment is exciting, I guess. Mrs. McD sensed the tension in the room and dropped her quirky, excited dancing teacher routine.
Mrs. McDermott:Alright. It's time to splinter off into your groups so you can start brainstorming your big idea.
Zorah:She pointed to different sections of the classroom.
Mrs. McDermott:Group one here in front, two over by the chalkboard, three right there in the middle of the room, four in the back by my desk, five in the other corner. Alright. Off you go.
Zorah:No turning back now. I grabbed my slip of paper, squeezed my eyes shut, and opened it.
Zorah:I took one long deep breath as I counted down from three in my mind. Group two. My eyes shot open and up towards the chalkboard. In one blur of a moment, the entire class shifted. Kids moving from here to there, from there to here, from one side to the other, All of them shuffling like prisoners being escorted to their semester long prison cell.
Zorah:Why was I freaking out about this so much? I mean, it couldn't actually be that bad. Right? The next moment happened in slow motion, or at least that's how my brain remembers it. I grabbed my backpack and had taken one short step towards the chalkboard when it finally started to settle in.
Zorah:She... was walking in the same direction I was. Of course, Constance Lawson. My hope that she was in literally any other group than mine died quickly as she rushed to a seat in front of the chalkboard. Somehow, within like half a second, she already had her binder open and was carefully laying out at least five different colored highlighters. Well, there goes my cake idea.
Zorah:I had no idea what this project would be about now, but I was certain that I wouldn't have any input. Hurricane Constance was about to descend on this group and leave no survivors. I trudged a few more steps towards the train wreck that went by the name Group two. When something bumped into me, I bobbled my backpack and nearly face planted into the desk in front of me.
Garren:Oh, I'm so sorry. My bad, Zorah.
Zorah:Garren Anderson helped me pick up a few loose sheets of paper that he'd knocked out of my backpack. They were naturally stained with a steady smear of glitter that he tried to brush off on his pants with no luck.
Zorah:Are you in group two? I asked as I crammed the papers back into my backpack.
Garren:Yeah, you too?
Zorah:I nodded. Garren lowered his voice a little more than a whisper.
Garren:Looks like we're gonna be kept on our toes by someone over there.
Zorah:Constance was too busy furiously highlighting something to notice. I rolled my eyes at him as dramatically as I could. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He might not be the biggest book brain in the class, but he'd always been nice to me. I've never been a huge sports person, but as far as jock dudes go, you could do a lot worse than Garren.
Zorah:He's the most normal in the bunch. Plus, he thinks Constance is a royal pain in the butt too? That earned him easy bonus points. We exchanged a quick look and both gave a little shrug of our shoulders as if to say, alright, let's get this over with. Cautiously, we both stepped up to the little circle of desks set up by the chalkboard.
Constance:Ah, hello, Garren.
Zorah:Constance said with an I hate this but I have to pretend I like this smile.
Constance:Zorah.
Zorah:Oh, hi Constance. I responded with way too much fake enthusiasm.
Garren:Well, this is gonna be fun.
Zorah:Her smile softened, which told me that sarcasm was not one of her stronger suits.
Constance:So obviously, I will be taking the lead on this project. I've already taken the liberty of drafting a preliminary set of team member responsibilities and expectations.
Zorah:Constance handed us the color coded sheets of paper. Bullet point lists of responsibilities and expectations were already laid out. Did she seriously have these laying around just in case a big group project popped up? I scanned mine three lines down. Group member B is expected to encourage morale via punctuality and verbal engagement.
Zorah:Oh man. This is going to be worse than I thought. I wasn't about to let Garren and I get Constance-stomped into the floor that easily. I held up a hand.
Zorah:Wait. Hang on, Constance. Before we crown you as Supreme Leader of the Project-Verse, maybe we should at least wait for our fourth member. Maybe they have their own code of group ethics they wanna run by us or whatever.
Zorah:Garren leaned back in his chair, his eyebrows held high in that kind of I'm not getting in the middle of this one kind of way. Even though I know it ate her up inside, Constance simply grabbed the Supreme Leader Manifesto papers from Garren and me.
Zorah:Her lips clapped shut tight enough to crack a walnut as she clipped the papers back into her binder. Fine. We'll wait. She snapped, sliding down in her chair as she crossed her arms like a pouting toddler. A moment of silence hung in the air like an unwashed sock.
Zorah:Then from behind me...
Timmy:Hello.
Zorah:Timmy Jorgensen held up a crinkled piece of paper with the fateful two scribbled on it in red marker. In his other hand, a ziplock baggie full of weird glowy slime. Tiny blobs leaked out of the corner like they were trying to escape. I suddenly grew jealous of the slime blobs.
Timmy:I have the most amazing idea for our project ever.
Zorah:Oh no, I whispered. Goodbye, drama free cake gang. Hello, Cube Poop Chaos: The Musical.
Percival:I have watched over the dreams of countless children across countless ages. I have never encountered anything quite like these four. And so it begins. Four young dreamers bound together now by fate, misfortune, and apparently musical theater. They do not yet trust each other.
Percival:They do not yet particularly like each other. In fact, at present, they are getting along rather poorly. And yet, something has begun. Something small and fragile and entirely unaware of its own significance. The journey ahead will determine whether that something survives.
Percival:But first, someone needs to contact Lin-Manuel Miranda. Apparently, a new hit Broadway musical is looming on the horizon.
Announcer:Thank you for listening. If you'd like to support the show and help bring the story to life, please consider joining us on Patreon at patreon.com/epicbedheadsaga. Patrons receive episodes one week early and exclusive behind the scenes content.
Announcer:You can also find us at epicbedheadsaga.com and on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook. And if you're enjoying the show, please follow us on your podcast app of choice. It helps more than you know. The Epic Bedhead Saga is written, produced, and directed by Tyler Michael Jonsson. Episode six features Tyler Michael Jonsson as Percival, Garren, and Timmy.
Announcer:Tiffany Ward as Zorah, Erin Culpepper as Constance, and Lisa Jonsson as Mrs. McDermott. This episode was made possible with the support of our Dreamtender tier patrons, Nancy and Grant Jonsson. We'll see you next time. Until then, keep dreaming.
