Viridia

Chapter 7
Chapter Seven

Chapter Description: Will clings to cherished memories as he joins Liam in second grade.

“Goooooood morning, boys and girls! Don't we all look smart and lovely today?” The cheerful middle-aged woman at the head of the class declared. “We have an extra-special way to start class, and that's by welcoming our new student! Will, would you please stand up and introduce yourself?”

Will could not come up with the words for how deeply he'd been dreading this. Though Mr. Byrd had given his preteen self a pass, there was no way that he would as a second-grader be able to convince his new teacher to just leave him alone. His helplessness here served as just another reminder – in a morning that had already been full of them – of the world of difference between how an eleven-year-old and an eight-year-old are treated. Will had awakened just over an hour ago in an empty bed, sitting bolt upright as he was jerked out of a nightmare twisted from the events of the evening prior – a nightmare, the paling boy realized as he peeled back the covers and revealed his small, skinny, pajama-clad self, that was all too real.

The boy had tiptoed his way out of Liam's room in those jammies, whimpering at how much bigger the world looked from a mere six-inch drop in eye level. Breakfast, as with the morning prior, was already being served – the only difference being that it was a pile of pancakes that Liam sadly poked at as a beet-red Will slipped into the dining room and hopped onto his seat. He was all too aware of how pathetic he'd been in those last few moments before sleep, how he'd clung to a second-grader for comfort and put on Liam the burden of his grief. The boy had still not managed to meet his brother's eyes when a humming Abby swept in from the kitchen, placing before Will his own miniature stack of flapjacks.

“Good morning, darling.” The woman beamed as she kissed Will's curly crown, ignoring the way he squirmed beneath her and in fact acting as though the boy had always been eight years old. “Hurry up and eat, I'll let you pick your own clothes out so long as you don't dawdle at the table.”

To his shame, he’d complied – the all too real threat that he’d end up attending his first day of second grade decorated with dinosaurs or dump trucks fueling him to scarf down his breakfast. In the end, he’d managed to secure a simple pair of cargo shorts paired with a reasonably mature green and white striped t-shirt, although he failed to spot the subtle t-rex motif featured on the left breast before he’d been bundled out the door with his sack lunch in hand. He hadn’t noticed the maple syrup encrusted around his lips either, but Abby had been merciful enough to draw his attention to the embarrassing evidence of his breakfast as she hugged him goodbye on the porch. Unfortunately, her mercy hadn’t extended to letting him handle the problem himself – not even asking his permission before she held him still and wiped down his sticky face with a wad of baby wipes.

“Will, darling?” A kindly voice interrupted his brooding.

“Huh?”

“Stand up and introduce yourself.” The teacher repeated, a hint of sternness behind her beaming visage portraying that she was telling him this time, not just asking.

Will regarded the woman uneasily. What was her name again? He hadn’t been paying attention. “S…sorry Miss.” He eventually stuttered out, stumbling clumsily out of his little red plastic seat.  He frowned as he regarded the expectant classroom, organized into small tables of five or six students rather than the individual desks he’d seen in fifth grade. Desperate, he looked across at the white board, hoping to at least discover his teacher’s name, but it was blank. There was no need to display it. It was the middle of the school year, after all. Everyone else in the class would be acquainted with their teacher by now.

“Go ahead honey.” The anonymous teacher decreed.

“I’m Will.” He stated simply, but of course everyone already knew that. The teacher nodded encouragingly, clearly expecting something more. He bit his lip as he looked out at the sea of little faces all staring at him, feeling very exposed as he tried to think of anything even vaguely relevant “I’m Liam’s brother.” He eventually blurted out. He took some comfort as Liam smiled proudly from across the room, although his foster brother was sitting much further away than Will would have preferred.

“Do you have any hobbies?” The teacher pressed “Any fun facts you want to tell us?”

“I…” Will began, but soon trailed off. He’d always hated these kinds of icebreakers, and at eight all the easy answers were off the table – he could hardly tell them his alma mater or what he did for a living. The boy let out a ponderous sigh, staring dejectedly down at the ground.

“He’s gonna cry!” A mocking voice teased from the next table over, prompting a few titters to reverberate through the classroom.

“Damon!” The teacher scolded. “That’s strike one, mister.”

The culprit was a smug looking boy with a long straight chestnut brown pageboy haircut, swinging back and forth arrogantly on the back two legs of his chair. He rolled his eyes at the teacher’s warning, glancing around for his table mates’ approval. Will clenched his little fists as the boy and two girls that made up the rest of Damon's desk block snickered at the bully's declaration. Though quieted by a sharp look from the teacher, that didn't keep the quartet from smirking at the new kid as he struggled to maintain his composure. Furious as he was, Will was considerably more alarmed by how quickly anger and resentment had swelled up within him, his emotions so much more volatile at eight that he'd nearly boiled over just from a mere bit of childish taunting. Needing something to channel those emotions into, the boy turned his indignation into stubborn pride as he stood up straight beside his desk and puffed out his scrawny chest.

“I'm Will.” He repeated, the words coming out this time as a confident declaration. “My birthday is October 2nd. My favorite color is blue and soccer is my favorite sport. If I could have any superpower, it'd be teleportation so I could go anywhere in the world I wanted to. I love dogs, I love to read, I love arguing. It's very nice to meet all of you.”

“...well!” The teacher managed after a moment, her surprise at Will's quick turnaround mirroring that of her students. Damon scowled as his classmates – including those at his cluster of desks – tittered once more amongst themselves, this time their whispers more intrigued than amused. It was really only Liam's reaction that Will cared about, though, and so he couldn't help but grin when he saw his foster brother beaming at him from across the room. “There's no mistaking you for anyone but Liam's brother, you're just as much a little sparkplug as he is. Thank you very much for telling us so much about you, sweetie – I'm Mrs. Murphy and I know that I speak for everyone when I say that we're delighted to have you in our class.”

Will nodded curtly at this, pushing down the rush of pride that came from the teacher's condescending praise as he returned to his seat. The boy exhaled and slouched against the plastic as the adrenaline of the prior moment finally faded, leaving Will empty as he faced the horrible realization that he now had a day's worth of second grade to endure. That reality came crashing down upon him as Mrs. Murphy declared that they'd be starting their lessons with group work on a fun new project.

“Will told us a lot about his favorites and the things he loves, but he didn't tell us what his favorite food is!” Mrs. Murphy announced as though this were a great shame. “I want to learn what all of you think the very best thing to eat is – so I think what we should do is make a book! Everyone will have their own page to draw and describe their favorite food. Let's start by talking in our pods so we can share with the whole class later.”

The newest addition to the class forced himself to sit up straight as the boy and two girls seated at his cluster began chatting away as though he weren't even there. Annoyed as he was that they made no effort to include him in their exchange, Will could do little but sit and stew as he hadn't the nerve to jump into the conversation. He cast a forlorn glance at Liam and felt oddly betrayed to see him happily conversing with his podmates, Will knowing that he could be brave if his foster brother were there to talk to.

“What about you, Will?”

“Huh?” Will snapped out of his emotional tumult to see three little faces staring expectantly at him, looking more annoyed with themselves by the second for trying to include the spacy new kid. He cleared his throat as his cheeks burned – though he hated being put on the spot by a trio of eight-year-olds, he hated being ignored much more. “Well, um...I guess grilled cheese with tomato soup is my very favorite...”

The kids nodded sagely at the insight, but he didn’t have time to offer any more contributions to the discussion before the excited babbling filling the room began to die down. Will turned awkwardly in his chair to see that Mrs. Murphy was gesturing her arms calmingly downwards, directing the hush steadily coming over the classroom like an orchestral conductor drawing a gradual diminuendo.

“Alright, everybody. I hope you’ve all had enough time to discuss your ideas. Why don’t we go around the room so everyone can share?”

As each child stood up in turn to report their choice to the class, Mrs. Murphy received the cornucopia of dishes with ready praise. “Delicious!” She enthused as Will repeated his own pick. “That’s my little boy’s favorite as well!”

The boy blushed as he took his seat again, feeling strangely self-conscious at having been compared to Mrs. Murphy’s ‘little boy.’ He knew he was being silly, but the choice seemed ridiculously childish to him now that he’d announced it to the entire class. The simple homely dish was certainly a common addition to his diet, especially in his college days, but if he’d been asked the same question two days ago his answer was sure to have been different. He’d have talked about filet mignon, or lobster, or calamari. None of those dishes sounded particularly appetizing to him now, though. In fact, his choice fit right in amongst the banquet of ice cream, cookies, chicken nuggets and French fries proposed by his classmates.

“Wonderful choices, everyone.” Mrs. Murphy continued. “Now, there should be a worksheet making its way around the room. I want you all to write a few sentences about your favorite food. You can write anything – a description, a recipe, or even a little story! As long as it’s about your favorite food. When you’re finished, you can move on to drawing a picture with the crayons. Everyone ready? Off you go!”

The classroom scrambled into action at once, Will’s podmates reaching hurriedly into the center of the table to grab up the pens. Sorting dejectedly through the remaining stubby pencils, Will looked up at the girl sitting opposite. “Isn’t there another pen?”

“You have to write in pencil.” She declared haughtily “You can’t use a pen until Mrs. Murphy gives you permission.”

“Why?”

“Those are the rules.” She explained, glowering dismissively down her nose at the strange new boy.

Will just shrugged, feeling strangely inferior in comparison to his pen wielding podmates as he put pencil to paper. He couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to write for a while, simply tapping his pencil anxiously against the desk. Eventually, frustrated with everyone else’s progress and worried that he was swiftly falling behind, he simply wrote down the first thing on his mind.

My mom always made grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner when I had a hard day at school. Whenever I eat my favorite food, it reminds me of her.

He frowned at what he had written, suddenly feeling that it was much too personal for a stupid school activity. He had just reached for an eraser and was about to destroy all evidence of the embarrassing confession, when he noticed Mrs. Murphy watching over his shoulder.

“That’s very good Will!”

“It’s stupid.” He sulked, fiddling with the eraser.

“Nonsense! I think it’s very sweet.” She leaned down closer, taking the eraser from his loose grip. “You’re just having some trouble with your tenses, sweetheart. It should be ‘my mom always makes grilled cheese for dinner when I have a hard day at school', see?”

Will pouted as she drew the all too significant distinction, but he didn’t want to risk contradicting her. He simply nodded, watching her correct his heart-felt prose in harsh red ink.

“I think that’s the best little story I’ve seen so far.” She continued to praise. “Get busy drawing your picture, and later on I’ll read your work out to the whole class!”

The boy’s stomach sank, already imagining the class tittering at his wistful words. He gave a side eyes glance to Damon, who was busy making a scene yelling disruptively with the boy next to him and waving a green crayon dramatically in the air as if it were a magic wand. Eager to prove – if only to himself – that he was at least more mature than the obnoxiously loud bully, Will put aside his dread at his heart being bared before the class as he searched his desk for crayons. A jolt went through the boy when he got his hands on the 12-pack within, recalling in that instant the simple pleasure of tearing into a brand-new box of Crayolas. There was something uniquely satisfying about the waxy scent that wafted out when he opened the pack, something about gripping the perfectly-sized instrument that made Will feel strangely capable. The world grew simpler with a crayon in his hand, just as it had in Jane's office yesterday. Any scary thoughts or painful emotions that threatened to harm the boy could be kept at bay so long as he could concentrate on making the best drawing of grilled cheese and tomato soup that he could.

“That's really good.”

“Hm? Oh...thanks.” Will blushed and smiled sheepishly when the girl seated next to him paused her own work to compliment his. Frankly he'd thought the drawing a bit of a mess, but the compliment – and the sloppiness he saw when studying the work of his classmates – made him feel much better about it. “So's yours.”

“No it isn't. It doesn't look anything like it's supposed to.”

“Sure it does.” Will reassured her before realizing that he had no idea what she'd drawn. “...that's pizza, right?”

“It's a quiche.” The girl pouted. “There isn't even pepperoni on it or anything.”

“Sorry.” Will winced even though there was no way he could've guessed that. “It's still a good drawing, though, and I think it's cool that that's your favorite.”

“Thanks. Most kids don't even know what it is.” She brightened, bragging a little about her mature choice. “I'm Amanda. I thought what you wrote about your mom was really nice.”

The smile on the girl's face vanished when Will went silent and pale.

“What's wrong?”

“...I haven't seen my mom – I mean, my real mom – in a really long time...” A mumbling Will began, desperate to share his feelings but careful to not put anybody else at risk by revealing his plight. “My...new family is fine and everything, but it's just not the same.”

“Oh.” Amanda peeped. “I'm sorry. My friend's mom and dad got a divorce too, she likes her stepmom but she's still really sad about seeing her real mom only on weekends.”

“Yeah, that's tough.” Will agreed with a wistful smile, glad that she hadn't caught on to his former adulthood and yet sorrowful that the friendly girl was yet another soul with whom he couldn't be completely honest. “Do you have a description or anything like that for your quiche?”

“Umm...maybe something like, ‘quiche is a pie with eggs and cheese instead of sweet stuff. You can eat it for breakfast or brunch and it's really yummy.’ How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” An irrepressible smile crept across the boy's lips when Amanda grinned gratefully at him, transported for a moment from that classroom to the summer camp where he'd been sustained by the bright, thankful faces of the children he helped out or played with. The one silver lining of being dragged back to his own childhood was that it gave him the chance to communicate with kids on a level that even the most trusted adult could never hope to reach.

With Amanda by his side, the time seemed to fly by – the pair of eight-year-olds prattling on merrily as they finished up their respective illustrations. The two were still chatting away as Mrs. Murphy began to glide around the room to collect their worksheets.

“So, Liam’s your brother?”

“Yeah…foster brother really.” Will said vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t be called upon to give any further details.

Amanda nodded unsuspectingly – either that or she simply knew better than to pry. “I wish I had a brother or sister my age.”

“Is it just you then?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a little brother, Teddy – but he’s only two. He’s cute, but he’s only a baby really. We adopted him two months ago.”

Will felt a shiver go down his spine, suddenly broken out of his blissful calm by the reminder of what it truly meant to live in Viridia. He was certain that Amanda’s brother was no ordinary adoption. What could Teddy have possibly done to deserve such an infantile fate?

“Oh…” he forced out, only to break the awkward silence.  He lowered his voice into a whisper, terribly aware of how quiet the classroom had become since the activity had wrapped up. “Do you know if…”

“Will, Amanda.” A stern voice interrupted. Mrs Murphy was staring right at them, hands impatiently set on her hips. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murphy.” Amanda chirped out dutifully, sitting up straight in her chair.

“Will?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murphy.”

 The teacher gave an exasperated sigh. “What did I just ask the class to do?” She inquired.

Will and Amanda exchanged a worried look, instantly confirming their guilt.

“Do I need to write your names on the board?”

“No, Mrs. Murphy.” Amanda intoned at once, sounding suitably apologetic.

There were just a few beats of suspense before the teacher swiftly put them out of their misery.

“It’s good that you two are making friends, but it’s time to listen – not time to chit-chat, okay? Now take out your math workbooks…”

Both kids rushed to obey, glad to have gotten off without a punishment. Across the room, Will noticed that Damon was staring at him jealously – a mean scowl on his face. He was certain at first that the animosity was simply to do with him getting off scot-free, but as he studied the boy’s face he had the funny thought that his envy had something to do with Amanda. Damon looked urgently away as they locked eyes, turning to whisper something into his neighbor’s ear and eliciting a suppressed giggle. Will just sighed, putting his head down and getting to work on the simple multiplication problems written out on the board.

Soon enough, the bell rang for lunch, prompting a clamor of excitement from the cooped-up class of eight-year-olds. Mrs. Murphy was not willing to release the class quite yet, however – gesturing authoritatively for silence.

“Before you go, I just wanted to share some exemplary work with you all.” She carried over Will’s worksheet from earlier, gesturing for the boy to stand up. “Will, did you want to read out what you wrote about your favorite food?”

Will wanted with all his heart to refuse, but it was obvious that Mrs. Murphy was once again telling, not asking. “Umm yeah…” he awkwardly complied. He scanned over the scrap of paper clutched in his hands, deliberately reading his own version instead of Mrs. Murphy’s revised edition. “My mom always made grilled cheese for dinner when I had a hard day at school,” he paraphrased hurriedly. “So whenever I eat it, it makes me think about her.”

“Momma’s boy!” Damon sang loudly from across the room, basking in the brief eruption of giggles and shooting Will a belligerent glance.

“Damon!” Mrs. Murphy exclaimed in frustration “That’s the second time today you’ve spoken out of turn. Do you want to stay behind at recess?”

“No.” The boy spat back sulkily. “Sorry.” He added, almost an afterthought.

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Will.”

“Sorry Will.” He droned neutrally, but Will was certain he detected just a hint of precocious sarcasm in the boy’s tone.

“Thank you for apologizing, Damon. Will, thank you for sharing your work with the class – it was lovely.” Will felt fluttery inside when Mrs. Murphy complimented the boy and patted him on the shoulder. Though he knew how silly it was to be so flattered by the effervescent woman, Will found it much more difficult this time to tamp down the pride that came from being praised by the authority figure. He all but skipped out the door when she dismissed the class for recess, so grateful for the break that he nearly forgot to wait for Liam.

“Hey!” Liam chirped as he caught up with his foster brother in the hall, the pair slowing down as the rest of the class raced by them and through the double doors to the outside. “How's things with your new giiiirrrrllllfrrrriiiieeeennnnd?”

“Don't be stupid.” Will chided the snickering boy, trying to act unaffected even as a tinge came to his baby-smooth cheeks. “Second graders don't have girlfriends.”

“Tell that to Damon.” Liam snorted with a roll of his eyes. “He won't shut up about how he and Amanda have been dating for two weeks now.”

Will winced as his hunch from earlier was confirmed, realizing that he'd been targeted by Damon the second he dared to speak to the bully's supposed girlfriend. Eager to keep clear of the brat while they were out on the playground, Will racked his brain for how he and Liam could spend recess without running into him – when he froze as his blush turned two shades darker.

“What is it?” Liam frowned, coming to a halt beside Will when the boy froze the instant upon stepping outside. “Are you okay?”

“I...I'll be fine...” Will muttered, so overcome with shame that he could barely speak. It was only when he saw the bigger kids milling about on the grounds that he remembered how it had been only yesterday that he'd been among their number – to say nothing of how he'd been an adult the day before that. And yet he'd spent the morning drawing and chattering as naturally as any eight-year-old would, naught but a few brief moments of worry seeping through a sea of contentment as Will made a new friend and grew too far comfortable as a second-grader. Numbed by the realization, Will's mind didn't start working again until he thought of the one person in the school who might be able to help them. "...c'mon, there's somebody we've gotta go see."