Foxworth Academy by Chris Blewitt

or where you are.”
    Brett smiled and simply said, “Yeah, it was pretty cool.”
    “Mr. Jackson?”
    “How about the end when you came back.  It looked like you were dizzy or in shock or something.”
    This time Brett replied, “Yeah, I was watching Ally, and all of the sudden her face was like, changing.  I started seeing stars and then it all went black.  You know that feeling you get when you stand up too quick?  You almost have to steady yourself from falling over?  It was like that.  Didn’t hurt or anything though.”
    “Ms. Cartwright?”
    “What’s with the clothes you were wearing?” she laughed and the class joined her.
    “Hey,” Ally said defensively, “they weren’t our choice.  Mr. Martin made us dress like that.”
    The professor came to their rescue.  “Yes, class, it was my decision, and a good one at that.  They cannot travel back in time and wear the clothes from today’s period.  They have to fit the part.  The hats were my addition, though,” he snickered.  “Plus, it’s the best way to place the hidden cameras.”
    The bell rang and the students started to murmur and gather their belongings.  Mr. Martin clapped his hands twice and the class hushed in silence.  “Don’t forget class...don’t bother researching on your phone, your laptop, your iPad, the library, whatever; it’s all blocked.  And also,” he paused for dramatic effect, “don’t forget that little piece of paper you signed a few short weeks ago.” 
    He smiled, allowing these words to sink in.  “Now enjoy the rest of your day.”  He turned towards Brett and Ally and asked them to stay a minute.  “Follow me,” he said to them.  They followed the teacher out of the classroom, down the hallway and out the front door.  “Excuse me Mr. Martin, but we’re not supposed to leave the school,” Ally said.
    “Don’t worry, Ms. Davidson, I’ve cleared it with the principal.”  Mr. Martin continued along the stone walkway that surrounded the school grounds.  In the distance, students were playing on the soccer field for gym class.  After about a hundred yards, they came to an iron gate that separated the school grounds from someone’s backyard.  Mr. Martin, unlatched the gate and proceeded into the yard, Brett and Ally reluctantly following.  They followed him up the stairs of a wooden deck and he opened the back door of a house with a key. 
    “Welcome to my home,” he said, raising his arm and allowing them in.  “Greta, meet Ally and Brett.”
    Brett looked at Ally and wondered who Greta was until a yellow Labrador retriever came bounding around the corner, nuzzling them with her nose.  Both Brett and Ally reached down and petted the dog. 
    “Good girl,” Ally said.
    They looked around the spacious kitchen and extravagant home of their teacher.  Marble countertops adorned every nook and cranny of the kitchen with stainless steel appliances perched on their smooth surfaces.  The problem however, was that these appliances were different from what Ally and Brett were used to and the teacher noticed their confusion. 
    “What, you’ve never seen a salt-infused pretzel maker?” Mr. Martin said, walking over to a small steel contraption resembling a sandwich maker, that was plugged into an outlet.  “Ever grab a pretzel with no salt on it?  Kind of flavor-less if you ask me.  All the salt falls to the bottom of the bag.  Well this little guy,” he patted the top of the appliance, “Ensures that the salt never falls off the pretzel.”
    “How?” Brett asked.
    Mr. Martin ignored him and walked over to another machine, this one stretching at least two feet tall.  “This one here is my orange juicer.”
    “Oh, we have one of those,” Ally said.
    “One that grows its own oranges?” Mr. Martin replied.
    Ally and Brett stared motionless.
    Mr. Martin walked around the countertop island and over to the sink.  “Mind washing your hands, Brett?”
    Brett walked over to the