The Dutchess Flies At Noon.

Thomas Hastings enjoyed the dying moments of his break. He took a bite of his last shortbread cookie, savoring the sweet buttery goodness. His tea was still piping hot. He grimaced at the steam before standing up and taking his full cup to the sink to dump out. The only reason he bothered with the stuff was a matter of social acceptance. All his colleagues drank tea and they all seemed to be functioning adults. He wished to be regarded in this way too. He’d been offered a cup of tea by one of the other teachers on his first day and in the interest of being liked and respected by his peers, Thomas had gleefully accepted the cup. Many weeks later the ruse continued. 

It was important for Thomas to be liked. He had the face and exuberance of a seventeen year old despite being 26 years old. He was by far the youngest teacher on staff at the prestigious Landers Preparatory Academy. He had been hired as the new Math teacher for sixth and seventh graders after the passing of Mr. Glenfield, a Landers stalwart for over fifty years. Thomas’ predecessor was beloved and revered amongst literal generations with some of his final students being the grandchildren of students he’d taught many decades ago. 

Needless to say Thomas had enormous shoes to fill and he painstakingly tried to prove that he belonged. Besides the tea gimmick he pulled every mid-morning, Thomas also stocked his wardrobe with a collection of drab checkered shorts and the plainest slacks money could buy. He thought bright, youthful colors wouldn’t help his cause to be seen as a mature, competent equal. Evenso, his age and youthful appearance were a running joke in the teacher’s breakroom every recess. 

“Hey kid, shouldn’t you be in class?” and “Who let this kid into the teacher’s lounge?” were frequently tossed quips by the same two old gasbags everyday. They provided the laughter to their own wisecracks, the hallmark of all unfunny jokes. 

Thomas took it all in stride, figuring their harmless teasing was better than flat out hostility. 

The siren signaling the end of recess blurred loudly over the school and bodies rose out of seats begrudgingly. Teachers poured out of the breakroom and made their way to their next classes, reprimanding noisy, running students all the way. Thomas didn’t have a class for the next hour but had plenty of papers to grade in the meantime. He hoped to see some improvement in performance for certain problem students because he really didn’t want to reach out to their parents who, in all honesty, seemed to care even less than their children. He figured finding motivation must be hard when your family already has more money than some US states. 

Thomas was an enthusiastic teacher and he sincerely hoped his methods were being received. He sat in his empty classroom and graded papers, grateful that mathematics was a quantitative, unbiased subject guided by preset ordinances and not the fancies of imagination. He absolutely did not have it in him to go back and forth with the sassier students who believed they could talk their way to better grades. There was only one solution to X. 

The sun was starting to retreat from its lofty height much earlier as Fall approached. When Thomas stepped out of the historic red brick building, the sun was casting long shadows across the expertly tended school grounds. There was a mild breeze that was more cooling than chilling. While Fall was indeed around the corner, summer’s heat and humidity still laid strong claim to the day. Some students ran around in play while others gossiped and looked at phone screens. Thomas walked to his car and as he approached the parking lot, he noticed a group of about four kids lingering around the edge of the lot. 

“Good evening Mr. Hastings,” they said in unison before running off in a fit of giggles. 

“Good evening.” he said confusedly into the breeze. Children are odd creatures. When he was a few paces from his car, a piece of paper fluttered in the wind. It looped in the air and landed on his car hood. Curious, he picked the paper up and unfurled it. In large black letters was the phrase, “The Dutchess Flies At Noon.” 

Thomas furrowed his brow at this riddle. 

“The Dutchess Flies At Noon.” he repeated out loud as if to trigger his brain to some answer but nothing was forthcoming. Stumped, he shrugged, balled the paper up and decided against littering. He shoved the balled up paper into his beige slacks, sat in his seat and drove off, grateful for the weekend.

Landers Preparatory Academy was a private and exclusive school with prohibitively expensive tuition. As such, class sizes were small and grading papers did not take him all day and all night as it had during his stints at different public schools. He was actually able to have a life and that weekend he went out on a date with a young woman he’d been seeing casually for a while. 

Her name was Joanna and she was a writer and something of a wordsmith. After a late afternoon strolling down the boardwalk and getting ice cream, Thomas asked if she knew what the mysterious message could mean. 

“The Dutchess Flies At Noon.” Joanna repeated. Thomas hated to admit that the bizarre message scrawled on plain white paper had lingered in his mind for the last few days and was rather disappointed when even Joanna in all her wordy wisdom couldn’t crack the code. He tried to push the matter to the back of his mind for the rest of the weekend. Joanna invited him back to her place for the first time and this was a most pleasant distraction. 

Thomas arrived at school a half hour early as he always did and headed to his class to put his suitcase away. He unlocked the door and prayed assembly would be quick. He had back to back math classes and there was much to cover in both. As he stepped into his room, however, he noticed a piece of paper laying on the ground. It looked as if it’d been slipped under the door. Bending down, Thomas picked it up and turned it over and on this plain white sheet of paper were the words, “The Dutchess Flies At Noon.”      

“What the fuck?” he mouthed before looking around his empty class. He wasn’t sure if he was being pranked because it certainly felt like he was. He set his suitcase down, walked out the room and locked the door behind him. He had to go. 

Every Monday morning the student body, teachers and principal gathered in the hall for assembly. In these gatherings, the principal updated everyone of the goings on for the week or took the opportunity to address whatever issues needed to be addressed. Once he was done, he would invite any teachers or faculty to speak if they had anything worth saying and only afterwards would the studentsl be dismissed to their classes. 

So when Mr. Barker turned his dog-like countenance to his teachers to ask if anyone had something to add or announce, Thomas fidgeted in his seat. A second note with the same cryptic message written out had materialized in his classroom, right at the doorstep. It felt targeted and specific. The first note he’d intercepted outside as it tossed and turned in the wind. He’d thought the message bizarre but supposed it was just the litter of some careless student. Now, he wasn’t sure. 

Thomas patted his pocket where the latest note lay and decided against getting up to say anything. What could he even say to the gathered student body and staff? 

“I found a weird letter and I think it means something but I don't know what.”  He’d get laughed off the stage and lose any respect mustered amongst his coworkers. He decided this wasn’t the occasion nor time. Thomas kept his mouth shut and this mystery to himself.  

His classes went on with only the usual distractions from the usual suspects. He observed his students keenly all day. No mention of dutchesses, flying or otherwise came up at all. He could feel the uncanny note in his pocket like a weight.

Teachers commiserated amongst each other and ate their lunch. Their resolve was always fortified by the sad knowledge that there were teachers who had it far worse. Thomas sat on the fringe of these conversations, parsing out every noun and verb that fell out of their lips for clues, for anything. So consumed by the note was he that he didn’t even keep up with his daily tea drinking ruse. 

The chill in the air had picked up by the time he finally walked out the grand old school in the late afternoon. The sun was nowhere to be seen as thick gray clouds hung over the earth. It felt like a totally different day from the warm, radiant morning he’d woken up to. Thomas watched the news every morning while getting ready and had two different weather apps on his mobile phone so he was prepared for the turn in temperatures. His black knit sweater aged him at least ten years and more importantly kept the chill out. The young man smiled satisfactorily as he noticed Frank Longhorn and Bernie Tucker, fellow teachers and two of his main tormentors curse bitterly at the cold as they hustled  to their cars.     

What Thomas hadn’t anticipated was the writing on his car. With the fluctuating weather, condensation had formed and clung onto the windows of the cars in the parking lot. In the thin layer of ice on Thomas’ windowshield, the now infamous phrase was scored, “The Dutchess Flies At Noon.” 

Enough was enough. Thomas had had it.He spun around expecting to see a bunch of kids scurrying off with glee. The only other people in the parking lot were tired teachers grateful to be going home. Desperately needing to talk to someone, he spotted Angela Cunningham. Mrs. Cunningham was a fifty year old woman, one of the few women on staff and she taught English at the school. She conveyed a matronly quality about her but was quite astute at putting things plainly to people so as to not become the unauthorized and unpaid therapist on staff. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Thomas making a beeline towards her with the same look of concern her students always had etched on their faces whenever they were giving award worthy performances and excuses for undone work. She sighed and steeled herself for the encounter.

“Mrs. Cunningham, hi. I was wondering if you could take a look at something for me real quick…I’m sorry I understand it’s quitting time but I really don’t know what’s going on…I’ve been getting this strange message these last few days…” Thomas felt like he was waffling. Angela shot him a quizzical look up and down before begrudgingly following the frazzled first year teacher to his car where the strange message supposedly was.

Some of the letters were beginning to smudge but the writing on the windshield was still clear. He watched her as she pondered over the phrase. 

“And look,” he retrieved the note from his pocket and unfolded it to reveal the same cryptic message. “I’ve found two letters like this so far. One by my car last week and this one slipped under my classroom door this morning! I don’t know where it’s from, what it means. Something just feels weird.” He felt sure she would see the bizarreness of it all. He waited for answers or validation. She just shook her head.

“I’m not familiar with this phrase at all. I have no idea what it could be in reference to.” she held the paper up in front of her face as if searching for further clues. Thomas’ heart sank as she handed him back the paper and shook her head again. He’d hoped she’d know some far flung limerick from which the phrase was derived and hopefully that could give him more insight into this bubbling conspiracy. 

Alas, all Angela Cunningham could do was suggest he reach out to Principal Barker if the matter was bothering him so much. She offered a sympathetic smile before crossing the parking lot to her own car.  

The remainder of the week tapered off uneventfully, however, Thomas tensed up everyday around noon. Though he didn’t get any more letters or see any more messages inscribed on his car, a part of him remained vigilant for any antics. He felt that to abandon caution and dismiss the cryptic notes was irresponsible. Though he hadn’t felt confident enough to approach the rest of the staff beyond Angela about his little mystery, he still knew there was something to it. He resolved to keep his guard up and see out the semester which was fast winding down. 

Thomas arrived at work on the last Monday of the semester. All in all it hadn’t been a terrible debut for him and he felt confident he could hold his own at Landers Prep. As teachers and students filled the hall for the semester’s final assembly, Thomas was approached by Frank Longhorn. 

Mr. Longhorn was a stocky middle aged man with a thick mustache and he was the Mathematics department head. He had a paper in his hand which he gave to Thomas. In a raspy voice he croaked that he wasn’t feeling too well and he needed Thomas to make the announcement about a math program going on over the summer. Thomas skimmed the page.

“Think you can do it, sir?” Frank rasped. Thomas nodded gingerly. It wasn’t lost on him that Frank had called him “sir” and not “kid” for the first time all year. 

Thomas sat through Principal Barker’s droning with electric anticipation. He was establishing himself more and more each day as a valued professional and peer.      

When Barker turned over the podium to any teachers who wished to address the school, Thomas waited a tick to see if anyone else would go up. While a few teachers stirred slightly, no one stood up. So he did. 

Thomas walked to the podium that was front and center of the stage and cleared his throat. 

“Good morning, Landers Preparatory Academy.” he intoned seriously. 

“Good morning, Mr. Hastings.” the entire school said in unison. 

“I have an announcement for our sixth to eight grade Math honor students.” He looked up at the multitude of faces briefly before reading from the paper Frank had given him.

“...Classes are optional and will take place for two weeks, from June 10th. Students are encouraged to register before the end of this current semester, so please remind your parents…” Thomas didn’t flounder in his delivery at all. 

Suddenly, a buzzing sound trickled into the hall and heads turned to detect the source of the noise. Thomas looked up from his paper. The large hall in which they met had two double doors at the back through which people entered and exited. As the buzzing sound drew closer, Thomas suddenly recalled the cryptic note. Right there at the podium, in front of the entire school, he yelled,

“It’s happening! The Dutchess! The Dutchess Flies At Noon!” 

At this point the entire student body was a chattering sea and right above their heads, a drone flew in. There was a little package dangling from it. It glided over their heads and approached the stage where the teachers sat and watched just as animatedly as the students. 

Thomas was nearly in hysterics pointing and yelling. This was the event that had been brewing behind the scenes for weeks! The drone, like the notes, seemed to follow and target him. When it was a mere three feet from his head, the little attached package was dislodged and it fell on his head. The drone circled the hall once before exiting to raucous applause.  

The young math teacher was thoroughly confused as he picked up the box and opened it. The top of the box had his name scrawled on it. Inside the box there were dozens and dozens of tiny folded up papers. He took one out and it was a handwritten note from a student which read, “Mr. Hastings, you’re nice, just give us less quizzes next semester. From Matty.” Matty Greene hated a surprise quiz that was for sure. 

He pulled out another note, this one was from Lauren and it read, “We’re happy to have you as our teacher.” Lauren had drawn tiny red flowers along the margins of the paper as well. 

There were dozens and dozens more little notes, presumably with more messages of welcome from his students. Thomas’ eyes filled with tears as it became clear that his class, with the collaboration of perhaps the entire school and staff, had pranked him. 

While it wasn’t noon on the clock nor had a flying royal dropped the box on his head, the stunt was obviously tied to the series of notes from weeks ago. Thomas tried to regain his composure as the cheers went on from students and staff. 

Classes were merely a formality now with the syllabus covered and the end of the semester in sight. In the teachers lounge Thomas was given vigorous handshakes and pats on the back. Frank explained it was tradition for new teachers to be inducted into the Landers fold via a harmless prank. The timing of when the prank happened and certain particulars of the prank were left to the students but Thomas was one in a long line of teachers that were welcomed in such a way. 

Thomas skipped the tea “drinking” and spent his break reading the letters his students had written and crammed into the tiny box.