The streets were misty, but not rainy. Spring was like that in San Rosille, vacillating between wet and balmy like a romantic poem. Shall I compare thee to a spring morning in Strawberryfield? Thou art just as likely to go from beaming at me to pissing it down on my head. You are not a nice person, is all I’m saying. Seek mental health care.
There were puddles in the gutters which might dry up by afternoon or thicken into urban rivers.
Erik had tried to grab an umbrella on the way out the door and Maggie told him to quit being silly. That umbrella had, like, a fifty-fifty chance of working anyway. If it rained, she’d deal with it.
The subject under discussion was Erik and Maggie’s recent occupation in the bathroom. Erik thought the newfound function of his metal eye was a lot more interesting than his connection with the universe. The universe wasn’t anywhere near as friendly or cute.
“Maggie says it misses me when I have it out,” he informed Soup, “so you can’t have it to play with anymore and I’m going to sleep with it in…”
“That is so not what I said, Erik,” Maggie put in.
“It’s close,” Erik said.
“You’re gonna get an infection or something…”
“Dog,” Soup said, extending his arm so that they both bumped into him.
The beast was pawing through an overturned trash can in the alley beside Hassan’s Kebabs, a brownish mongrel with a ragged leather collar and a jingling tag, probably an escapee from some establishment that thought it needed a guard. Under ordinary circumstances, Soup would be investigating something like that for the reward money, but he had company this morning.
“Should I put it up?” Maggie said with a grin. “Maybe you can come back for it. How about the roof?”
“She’s just looking for something to eat,” Soup said in a low voice. “We can cross here. Leave her alone.”
“Her?” Maggie said.
“It looks like a her,” Soup muttered. “Come on. I got a lot of sympathy for abandoned things in need of a meal.”
Erik and Maggie followed, somewhat subdued.
“You could go back and feed her,” Erik said. He poked the paper bag with a finger. “Would a dog eat an apple?” He was curious, even if he couldn’t go see.
Soup clutched the bag a little tighter. “You don’t feed street dogs, they follow you forever. I got enough to deal with. I am basically in charge of school, you know. Seth is too nice, he needs a bouncer. And a guy who knows how to steal paper and pencils. And meal service.” He held up the bag with a smirk.
“My mom just bought everyone sandwiches,” Maggie said.
“Seth isn’t exactly raking in what you’d call sandwich levels of cash, Mags,” Soup said, a bit reproachfully. Maggie did get the guy fired from the newspaper, although that hadn’t been much of a job in the first place. At least it had lenient hours. He wasn’t sure what Seth was doing now, some kind of night work. Late nights.
Maggie stopped walking and planted her hands on both hips. “My mom said she’d help him out with that! We have money sometimes! If he needs something, why doesn’t he say so?”
“Because your mom put him in a coma and cursed Cornflakes’s dad and scared the hell out of all the Patels and made Josette stab her,” Soup said. “All on the same day. Your mom is terrifying, Mags.”
“Well, what am I, then?”
“Terrifying Junior, Part Two,” Soup said. He put up his hand as if positioning the letters on a movie marquee.
“I’m Part Four of a series and maybe you shouldn’t take me to school with all the normal people if I’m so scary,” she said acidly. “What if I get mad and set someone on fire, huh?”
Soup tipped back his chequered cap and considered her with a frown. “Nah,” he said. “You won’t. Not at school. Because Seth thinks you’re a better person than that and he’d be super disappointed if you destroyed his illusions. He’s like a community garden, we tend him. That means faking like we’re nicer than we really are when he’s looking. It’s only a couple hours, you can blow something up after if you gotta.”
“How the hell do you know what kind of person he thinks I am?” Maggie said. She stamped onward, mashing the damp cobbles under her neat black shoes. “He barely knows me! I don’t go to school. And I got him fired!”
“Seth thinks everyone is wonderful,” Erik warned her. “It’s like I can’t do P and Q. He can’t see it unless you load him up with context and even then I’m not sure.” He was pretty sure Seth didn’t like Uncle Mordecai anymore, but if Seth really thought Uncle Mordecai was a bad person, he was also pretty sure Uncle Mordecai wouldn’t still be alive, so… He must at least think Uncle Mordecai was okay enough to take care of a kid? Or something.
It’s because Alba chose him.
Okay, Violet, I don’t really care.
“Is he dumb?” Maggie said.
Erik shook his head.
“I’m not sure,” Soup said. “Maybe some ways. Sometimes I just don’t get him. But sometimes I think he’s just really, really…” He paused and sorted through a few words. “Stubborn. Really stubborn. He wants everyone to be good so bad he bends reality.”
Erik nudged her and whispered, “Maybe it’s magic, Maggie, you should check him.”
They had arrived at their destination, and Erik didn’t think it polite to ask Maggie to check if the teacher was mind-controlling the whole neighbourhood out loud.
Cinders Alley was belligerently grey. The bridge, the tracks, the gravel, the sky. Even the weeds looked monochromatic. It was an ad campaign for suicide, with broken furniture and destitute children. Hey, you don’t really want to live in this world, do you? Go ahead and jump.
Seth didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he was determined not to let on.
The stubborn blue gentleman with the patched sport coat and mismatched denim slacks was gesturing at the crooked green chalkboard with a lesson in progress. He’d gone a bit madcap today and was mixing in some geography with the literacy. There was a map of Anatolia sketched on the board with a few countries and capitals labelled in neat printing.
“…Our neighbours to the south have a slightly different alphabet, it has more letters, and the pronunciation is different as well. If we want to do it properly and don’t care about embarrassing ourselves, we should say EEE-leeeo-dAAAreeeo… Do I have that about right, Bethany?”
“It sounds like my mom when she’s mad,” the pink girl offered.
“That’s about as well as I’m liable to do, I doubt your mother would understand a word of me. Good morning, Soup!” he called over. “Erik. And Maggie! I’m glad to see you. Welcome to school! Sit wherever you’d like, my dears.”
Erik breathed a sigh and managed a weak smile. Oh, good. We’re going to pretend I didn’t scream and scare the hell out of everyone last time I was here. He hoped the rest of the kids would follow Seth’s example.
Soup approached the teacher’s desk, really a plank resting on orange crates, to leave the paper bag with the food. There were already a couple of dented tin cans on there and a carton of cold Xinese takeout.
“Mr. Zusman, you are trying to run a school,” Maggie said. “If you’re going to be my teacher, stop trying to be cute. I am your student, not your Maggie or your dear.”
Erik had been about to select a table with three empty seats together. He bypassed it and plunked down next to Bethany with a pained expression. Okay, let’s also pretend I don’t know that mean girl or bring her here…
“It’s not the candy dish,” Bethany said in a low voice.
Erik tried smiling at her. “You’re… my friend!”
She beamed at him. “Can I play with your eye?”
“No. It misses me if I take it out.”
“…What?”
“I’m sorry, Magnificent,” Seth said, smiling bravely. “I try to call my students whatever name they prefer…”
“That’s ridiculous,” Maggie said. “I could ask you to call me a ham sandwich if that’s the rule!”
The blond boy with the red bow tie and the chequered driving cap turned and regarded her with a frown, “Maggie, my name is Soup…”
“Not in school it shouldn’t be!” she cried. “How are we supposed to learn anything if we don’t respect each other?”
“I think we do,” Seth said. “I would hope you respect me enough not to ask me to call you a ham sandwich just to tease me, and I respect you enough to trust that if you ask me for something you really need it. If you really are more comfortable being a ham sandwich, I will do my best to accommodate. There are odder names.”
“You may call me Magnificent or Miss D’Iver,” Maggie said. She pointed at Soup, “His real name is Anthony Rinaldi,” and sat down.
“Soup,” Seth said firmly, “would you please take Miss D’Iver a pencil and some paper?” He smiled at her again. “I must apologize for the lack of textbooks, we make our own.”
“We’re having school under a bridge, Mr. Zusman,” Maggie said gently. “I already lowered my expectations!”
Emily glanced at her and rolled her eyes. Jonathan clicked his tongue and shook his head. Maggie politely pretended not to notice.
Soup gave her a light swat on the back, so Seth wouldn’t see. Maggie wobbled and blinked at him, What?
He deposited pencil and paper on the table in front of her, his expression grave.
“That’s very kind of you, Miss D’Iver,” Seth said. “Erik…” After a moment’s hesitation he picked up a sheet of paper and a pencil. “Are you all right taking notes today?” It was a little kinder than are you all right? Erik’s hand was bandaged and Seth knew that was because he had handed a pencil to a child who was obviously not all right and tried to continue the lesson as normal.
Erik seemed a bit wan today, but that was understandable, and not at all like before. On Tiw’s Day, he’d had the expression of a child hiding in a closet and hoping his parents would stop fighting before they killed each other.
Seth took special care to make sure his smile stayed on.
Erik smiled back and nodded. “Oh, uh-huh!” He kind of wasn’t, writing made his palm sore, but he could fake it. Besides, there were books at home with maps in them, and Milo could get more from the library.
“I’m glad,” Seth said. He put pencil and paper on the table in front of Erik as if he were not at all worried about the child’s ability to operate a pencil, then he clapped his hands and straightened. “Now! Where was I?”
“EEE-leeeo-dAAAreeeo!” Bethany volunteered, hand raised.
“You’re supposed to waaait,” Maggie told Soup through taut lips.
“You’re supposed to be quiiiet,” Soup replied similarly.
“Iliodario!” Seth declared. “The Sunny South! The ocean is much warmer there. In some places, you can see right through it, like blue glass! But it’s the same ocean we have here — and even all the way up in Tollakland! Does anyone know what it’s called?”
“Ooh!” Maggie sat forward and her hand shot up.
“Miss D’Iver, yes?”
“It’s the Calixtus Ocean,” Maggie said. “The Magnus Ocean is in the West, it’s larger, but the Calixtus is warmer. Iliodario is warmer than here because it’s nearer to the tropics. They get more sun because of the earth’s axial tilt. That’s why we have seasons. Marsellia has a temperate climate. Also, Mr. Zusman, while I have your attention, you’ve drawn Piastana incorrectly. It’s smaller since the Bialystok Treaty. Prokovia reclaimed most of the territory they lost after the Veaceslav War.”
Emily stared at her. Jonathan nudged Natalie and muttered, “Showoff.”
“Ah!” Seth said. He addressed the board and rubbed out some of Piastana’s western border. “Thank you, Miss D’Iver. Our tutor taught us to draw maps from memory, but it’s more of a parlour trick than a lesson. It’s all in the cerebellum! We call that muscle memory, but that’s only what it feels like. I’m having to guess… Is that about right?”
“It’s closer,” Maggie said.
“Perhaps I should have visited the library before deciding to creatively teach spelling,” Seth said with a smile. “I appreciate your help. Miss D’Iver has successfully identified Piastana, despite my outdated map. That is spelled P-I-A-S-T-A-N-A,” he wrote this in the centre of its borders, leaving space for the capital beneath. “Now, does anyone know the capital? You might’ve seen it in newsreels. Chancellor Sikora recently had a growth removed, as I recall.”
A few of the kids laughed.
Maggie put up her hand. She was the only one.
“I’m sorry, Miss D’Iver,” Seth said. “I’ve no doubt you have it, but I need you to be patient with the rest of my class, please.”
Maggie’s mouth dropped open as he walked past her. “Emily, you look like you know,” he said gently.
“I’m not sure,” said the girl with the silver merger. She twisted her hands into her threadbare sweater. “Is it Skalka?”
“That’s very good, Emily,” Seth said.
“No it’s not!” Maggie cried, offended. “It…”
“Skalka was the capital of Piastana from 1346 to 1371,” Seth went on evenly. “It is located here — S-K-A-L-K-A — but this territory went back to Prokovia after the War. So you are correct, Emily, just a few years out of date. In 1371, they moved the capital back to its historic location in Zalusava. Who would like to try spelling that? I’ll give you a hint — it’s spelled exactly like it sounds because I have no idea how you pronounce Zalusava in Piastana.”
Maggie still had her hand in the air from trying to answer the capital of Piastana.
Soup put his up. “Hell, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Hey!” Maggie said.
“Excellent!” Seth said. “Stay there, I’ll write it for you!” He addressed the board and actually seemed to be excited about it.
“Z-A-L,” Soup said, as Seth followed along with the chalk. “O…”
Seth shot both hands up in the air, arms slightly curved, as if he were creatively interpreting a song or perhaps a school cheer. “Ooooo,” he said. “I think yooou’ve almost got it!”
“I mean U,” Soup said, snickering. “Z…”
Seth turned and twisted his entire body, rounding his shoulders and bending his knees, “Ssssso clossssse!”
Soup laughed. “I mean Z-A-L-U–S-A-V-A. Right?”
“Perfection!” Seth said, underlining it with the chalk. “Thank goodness they didn’t move it to Masovia, M is hard to do!”
Bethany put up her hand. “I’ll try to spell Masovia if you do M!”
“Bethany, dear, do you hate my spine? Has it offended you?” He grinned. “Surely you can mmmanage Mmmasovia without me trussing mmmyself up like a bird in a butcher’s window?”
“Nope!” Bethany said.
“Ah, I walked right into that one. All right!” Seth bent forward and twisted his arms, crooked at the elbows with all his fingers pointing down. “M!”
“This isn’t a lesson, it’s a street performance,” Maggie muttered.
“It can be both,” Soup said.
“How could a person not know how to spell Masovia?”
“Bethany is six and she can barely read,” Soup said.
“That’s no excuse!”
Seth broke off in the middle of the letter V to say, “I’m sorry, Miss D’Iver. Is there something you need?”
“A challenge!” Maggie cried, slapping her hand on the table. Her pencil jumped and rolled onto the ground.
“The capital of Wogodogo in east Ifrana is Anglaisized as Boulmiougou,” Seth said. “Spell it…”
Maggie sighed. She’d been there. All the buildings had domes and white plaster. Her dad brought her postcards. “B…”
“…Backwards.”
Maggie’s expression twisted into a murderous frown.
Seth smiled at her.
She took a breath. She could get it right away if she wrote it down, but her pencil was on the ground and she wasn’t going to bend down and get it. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “U… O… G…”
He turned and began to write it at the top of the board, going from right to left.
“U-O-I… M… L… U-O-B!”
“Well done, Magnificent!” he said. “That was amazing! And fast! You must tell us…”
“Do you mind telling me,” she overrode him, “just what the hell useful life skill I’m supposed to learn from spelling national capitals backwards — unless it’s just that tall poppies get cut off!”
“Oh, a useful challenge,” Seth said, tenting his fingers under his chin. “All right! Pay close attention and watch how I teach things to children ages six to thirteen who haven’t had your advantages, and when I’m done with geo-spell-ography, I’ll let you teach them. Whatever lesson you want. Sound good?”
“Um, yes,” Maggie said. “That’s much better, thank you.” She picked up her pencil and began to plan her lesson.
◈◈◈
Professor D’Iver was dissatisfied with the state of the chalkboard. Mr. Zusman had been erasing it with his sleeve. She cleared it off with magic, leaving a few more scorch marks.
She didn’t know her mother had left the other ones doing the same thing.
She set the chalk in the available ledge — it fell off, and she picked it back up. She clasped her hands and beamed. “Welcome to school, everyone! I’m gonna stand here and smile at you like my life depends on it while being relentlessly positive! Just don’t expect me to do performance art with my body when I have a perfectly good chalkboard! Okay? Super! Today we’re going to learn how to break every bone in a man’s hand if he puts it where he’s not supposed to, and I’m super excited about that!”
“Oh, I need this,” Emily said. She flipped to a new sheet of paper and straightened in her seat.
“I know Mr. Rinaldi, Miss Toussaint and Mister…” Maggie frowned. “Oh, shoot, Erik, who are you?”
“I’m Erik,” Erik said, blinking.
“No. Last name. It’s a W.”
Erik frowned at her. “I… can… spell… it! It’s… my…”
Maggie groaned. “Okay, yes, I know you can spell it, but what is it? We’re having a professional relationship now.”
“Those cost money,” Erik said.
“Erik, the next word outta your mouth better be your last name or I’ll dump Calliope’s glitter glue in your bed and you’ll never see it until it’s too late.”
“Weitz,” Erik said.
“I know Mr. Rinaldi, Miss Toussaint and Mr. Weitz!” Maggie declared, beaming. “Please, everyone else tell me your first and last names so I’ll be sure to get it right!”
“Emily Rafaella,” Emily said.
Maggie did not turn to look at her. “I have this condition where I can’t hear people who don’t raise their hands and wait for me to call on them. It’s congenital.”
Emily sat back and scowled at her, blushing furiously.
Seth, who had just plunked down in Maggie’s seat next to Soup with a sheet of paper and a pencil, politely raised his hand.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“Waiting to be called on in light of your congenital condition, Miss D’Iver,” he said.
“I’m not teaching you,” she replied.
He pressed both hands to the sides of his face. “What an awful thing to say! I came here to learn things! I have a very complicated life, Miss D’Iver. I’m giving you my time. I’m not just here because it’s warm under the bridge. My name is Seth Jeannot Zusman and I am in need of an education!”
Soup grinned. Some of the others snickered.
“Clearly,” Maggie said. She raised her voice, “All right, the rest of you!”
They all raised their hands and waited to be called on. Maggie detected sarcasm in progress, but it would do.
“Now!” she said. “Breaking bones is easily accomplished with magic and it’s all-access. Even tiny people with no leverage can do it. I’ll write the spell on the board so all of you can follow along with me!” She turned and began to fill the chalkboard with incomprehensible symbols and letters.
There were reactions of horror and consternation behind her.
“I don’t get it,” Bethany said.
Maggie continued to write.
“Miss D’Iver, we can’t read that!” Jonathan said.
Maggie turned around with her super-excited smile and said, “Are there any questions from people who know how to raise their hands?”
Seth had his hand up again and she pointed at him, “Yes, Mr. Zusman? Some difficulty with magical notation? What would you like explained?”
“All of it, Miss D’Iver,” Seth said grimly. “And I have no doubt you’re capable. But while I have your attention, I would like to offer a correction on the nature of your audience. Much as I needed to update my understanding of Piastana’s borders, you must realize you are not operating a regulation classroom.
“We are not enlisted, we are volunteers. If I do not like the way I’m being treated and do not wish to submit to your guidance, I can leave. If I enjoy being ignored, patronized or abused, there are plenty of other places I can go to get that, and in many of them I can steal food and clothing — which I need.”
Maggie’s smile crumpled into a scowl. “Just a minute! I am not abusing you! Asking you to follow some basic rules so we can hear each other and maintain some semblance of order is not abuse!”
“Enforcing those rules with threats to cover people in glitter is at the very least bullying, Miss D’Iver.”
“Oh, for gods’ sakes, Erik is my friend. He knows I don’t mean it!”
Erik began shaking his head, wide-eyed. Then he noticed Maggie glaring at him and he switched to a rapid nod, smiling. He signed her a thumbs up.
Maggie groaned and rolled her whole head sideways. “Okay, let me make it perfectly clear: I will not injure you in any way if you fail to raise your hand or do as I ask otherwise. I will either ignore you or remove you from the situation, possibly by making you sit behind the chalkboard while the rest of us have school without you.”
Seth raised his hand again.
“Oh, what?”
“If you try to make me sit behind the chalkboard, I will just leave, Miss D’Iver. I don’t have to be here. Please try not to forget.”
“How am I supposed to incentivize you not being a jackass so the rest of us can learn if I’m not allowed to punish you, Mr. Zusman?” Maggie said.
He lowered his hand and considered that, frowning. The children listening and paying attention had just sort of happened to him after a few months of treating them with patience and respect… But he would’ve done that anyway, it wasn’t a strategy. “I think… Perhaps… You have to prove to me that what you’re doing up there is worth listening to, Miss D’Iver.” He smiled. “Even if I throw rocks at you.”
“I said I was sorry,” Jonathan muttered.
“Oh, no, I don’t mean you, dear,” Seth said. “You weren’t the only one. I’ve forgotten all about that.” He made a familiar gesture which Maggie recognized as how her mom put up a shield spell in a fight. “Besides, I caught it, didn’t I?” Rocks weren’t much compared to bullets.
Jonathan laughed and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah.”
Maggie grinned and straightened. “So this is a gauntlet!”
“I suppose you’re right, Miss D’Iver,” Seth said. “Very astute. But please keep it nonviolent on your end.”
“Of course!” Maggie said.
She turned and studied the board for a moment, then she threw up both hands and pasted the equation against the grey sky in rainbow glitter. The chalkboard fell over. There was a drawing of a blue butterfly stuck to the back of it.
“I’m sorry, if I broke that I’ll fix it later! Can everyone see what I’ve written? You don’t have to understand it, this is just to help me break it down. I do all of this stuff in my head.”
There was some nodding, a single “Yeah,” and Erik applauded quietly. Soup and Bethany joined in.
“Well done,” Seth said.
“This is technically a curse,” Maggie said. “But it might surprise you to find out who we’re cursing. Who can tell me what a curse is?”
Bethany raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss Toussaint?”
“It’s something bad you make happen to a person,” the pink girl said.
“That is fundamentally incorrect, Miss Toussaint,” Maggie said, smiling. “Would anyone else like to try?”
Bethany frowned and folded her hands on the table. She canted her shaggy head away.
Seth raised his hand, also frowning.
“Yes, Mr. Zusman?”
“A curse is a complicated ladies’ undergarment, not unlike a half-corset.”
The children snickered.
“You are not even wrong, Mr. Zusman,” Maggie said acidly. “There is a level of intelligence and consideration to which one must rise to achieve wrongness, and you are beneath it. You are being stupid.”
“That hurts my feelings, Miss D’Iver,” Seth said, hand still raised.
“Making fun of your teacher should hurt,” Maggie said. “It’s disrespectful.”
“Bethany wasn’t disrespectful.”
“No, she was wrong.”
“She is operating at a level of understanding that is beneath yours and instead of helping her closer to your level you humiliated her and then ignored her. She isn’t being inexact because she’s stupid — she’s six years old and she hasn’t studied magic her whole life like you have. Her answer was not unreasonable, it was a place for you to begin to explain.
“It takes a great deal of courage to raise your hand and address a question when the person asking it has all the answers. She didn’t have to come here today, and she could’ve left you hanging instead of trying to engage with you. She is trying to learn. Not only is she trying to learn, she is helping you be a teacher! That is worthy of more respect than you’re giving her. All of your students deserve your admiration.”
“I can’t be so busy admiring them that I forget to tell them when they’re wrong, Mr. Zusman!” Maggie cried.
“You don’t have to tell her she’s wrong to help her get to right, Miss D’Iver,” Seth said.
“You’re telling me I’m wrong!” Maggie said. “Why aren’t you helping me get to right?”
“He only does that when we’re mean to each other,” Natalie said. “Oh.” She raised her hand.
“I heard it, Miss Perkins,” Maggie said.
Jonathan raised his hand, “It’s called the Paradox of Tolerance.”
Maggie snarled and wheeled on her schoolteacher/student, “You have time to teach these people philosophy but not to raise their hand and wait until someone calls on them?”
“It’s not so much that I teach them philosophy as that I’ve earned their trust and I do my best to maintain it, so they listen to me and remember things I didn’t intend,” Seth said, smiling. “I’m often amazed at how bright they all are, even though they are cold, tired and hungry. I don’t like to make them wait when they’re interested in something, unless I really can’t understand them.”
The smile faded. “I know you neither trust nor respect me, Miss D’Iver, but I haven’t had much time to impress you.” He laughed weakly. “And you’re not easily impressed. That’s a fine quality and one we cultivate in Strawberryfield — along with pragmatism and moral flexibility.”
“Stop complimenting me, Mr. Zusman!” Maggie said. “We are having an argument! Do you know how one of those works?”
Seth blinked. “We are having a lesson, Miss D’Iver. The argument is secondary. Like the parenthetical functions in your magical notation.”
“I am not having a lesson,” Maggie said hotly. “You said I could give…” Her expression fell. She seemed near tears. She sighed and slumped. Her pigtails appeared to wilt. “I’m ruining it for everyone, aren’t I?”
Seth stood up. “No, not at all, Miss D’Iver. Not at all. It may not be basic math or literacy, but we all need to know how to teach too. When we come upon someone who knows or understands less than we do, the best thing we can do is help them get to where we are… but that is very, very hard to do.
“Tall poppies should never be cut off.” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Never. But sometimes we must ask them to bend a little, and help the flowers in their shade to grow. And that’s something I need to help you learn how to do. I didn’t mean to upset you. You asked for a challenge… but I think I overshot the mark trying to keep up with you. I’m sorry.”
He offered his hand. “You don’t have to be up there all by yourself to learn, and to teach the rest of us how to break every bone in a man’s hand. If you don’t want…?”
Maggie swiped the back of her arm across her eyes. She managed a weak smile. “If that hand is to help me, I promise not to break every bone in it.”
“We’ll come up with some other way to practice,” Seth said.
◈◈◈
Maggie rapped on the door to Room 202 before peeking in. “Mom?”
The General was sitting at the desk, nose-deep in a book, which she gently closed. Maggie wondered how old she had been before she realized her mother had a human head behind the omnipresent creased leather cover held up like a butterfly mask. She made out the words “emotional-awareness in child development” on this one before her mother set the book aside.
“Is playing outside not to your liking, Magnificent?” the General said.
Maggie was having a real hard time deciding if that was sarcasm or genuine concern. “Um… I don’t know. I guess not. I went to school. Seth’s school.”
The General blinked and sat forward. “That is unexpected. Did you find it an educational use of your time?”
Maggie wobbled a step backwards and bumped into the door frame. She stiffened her spine and set her expression. “Yeah, Mom. I did. I…”
She wavered again, and looked away. “Mom, there’s a lot I don’t know. I don’t mean, like, complicated stuff like you know. I don’t mean the stuff I’m getting ready to know, I mean… I mean there’s stuff I need to turn around and go back and get. There’s stuff I should know already so I can get ready to know totally different kinds of stuff and… And I don’t have that stuff.” She shook her head. “Do you understand that?”
The General sighed. She turned and folded her hands atop the desk blotter. “I have apologized for hurting your hair and I have tried to make restitution. I know you were very young. Do you remember?”
“I remember you apologizing,” Maggie said, blinking. “I know you did it because you told me about it a bunch of times, and I believe you. You know how to fix my hair now. It’s okay.”
“I learned how to fix your hair, but there are some other things I have hurt you by not knowing,” the General said. “It appears there is also ‘stuff’ that I need to turn around and go back for, but I don’t know that I can come to an understanding quickly enough to teach it. There are critical periods for learning in childhood, which I may already have missed. Do you find Mr. Zusman is adequate for teaching you some of these things you are missing?”
Maggie nodded.
“That is fortunate,” the General said. “I was beginning to think I would have to send you to Mordecai.”
Maggie choked and covered her mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry. Go on. You were saying?”
“You will attend Mr. Zusman’s school at least two days a week henceforward,” the General said. “I think we must also abandon our limited schedule of Sun’s Days and bank holidays. From now on, whenever you need time off, you may request it.” She narrowed her eyes. “I will judge if you are abusing this privilege, Magnificent.”
“Um, okay,” Maggie said.
“If you don’t mind,” the General said, “I wish to spend the rest of our remaining time before lunch with the thesaurus. You seem to be in need of some synonyms for the word ‘stuff.’”
Maggie grabbed her chair and dragged it over to the desk. “Yeah, Mom. I’d like that.”
◈◈◈
Erik checked the kitchen and found his uncle in the pantry. “We took a lot of food for school,” he said. “Is there enough left?”
“I’ll put something together, dear one,” Mordecai said. “But thank you for telling me. I was driving myself crazy looking for that can of devilled ham I thought we had.” He leaned out of the doorless space with a can of rigatoni and a frown. “Erik, I found your toys in the dining room. You need to pick up when you’re done playing, especially the things with little pieces. Calliope walks around barefoot all the time and Lucy puts everything in her mouth.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle,” Erik said. “I’ll try not to forget again, but I got a lot of stuff going on.”
Mordecai put back the rigatoni and leaned out again. “Important stuff?”
Erik was standing on a chair and retrieving the grape jelly from a shelf. “You have no idea,” he said absently.
“Want to talk about it?”
He shrugged. “Eh. Maybe. But I want toast.”
