Nick Antosca - The Quiet Boy

It happened during her second month as a teacher. She was 23 and frustrated. Shed expected to end up in a city, but Teach For America had sent her here, to this little town built around a dead railroad station: Rexford, West Virginia. Another teacher had told her the unofficial town motto was Hills, Whores, and Liquor Stores. She hadnt seen any whores, as far as she knew, but there were definitely hills and liquor stores.

Okay, guys, Julia told her fourth graders. Settle down and start writing your stories.

She was lucky, she knew. Shed been born with a teachers voice. Confident but kind, pleasing to the ear but full of authority. They listened when she spoke. If you couldnt get them to listen, you were dead.

You needed other things too. Patience. A good memory of who you had been at that age. But most of all, you had to love the kidssuffer when they struggled or when something bad was going on at homebe happy for them when they succeeded or when they laughed wildly at a dumb joke. And she did. She loved her kids.

She just wasnt sure she loved being a teacher. Especially not here, in this town.

She herself had had a few teachers, particularly one in high school, who told her she could be something. What she wanted now was to be that kind of teacher: one who made a difference for her students, or at least for a few of them. But most of the Rexford kids didnt seem to want anything different. They already looked forward to dropping out of high school at sixteen.

Your story can be a fable, a tall tale, or a fairy tale, she told the class. But remember, what do all stories have?

Miss Grey! I know! said Travis, his arm shooting up. A beginning, a middle, and an end.

Travis was loud and bossy, the kind of kid they always joked would become a teacher. He lived in Ballard Creek, a newish suburb outside of Rexford, filled with D.C. commuters who lived out here because taxes were lower. Julia had gone there last month to drive a kid home after hed missed the bus. The lawns were neat. Shed talked briefly to the kids mom, who was a little drunk. The mom had pointed up the street at all the saplings in their swollen beds of dirt.

Tiny trees, shed said. All planted at the same time. Thats why theyre all the same size. Theres nothing I hate more than tiny trees.

Julia had nodded politely. Your poor husband

You could tell the Ballard Creek kids from the Rexford kids right away. They had cleaner clothes. They werent smarter, but they had parents who actually made them do homework.

Thats right, she told Travis. A beginning, a middle, and an end.

Miss Grey. It felt like a glove that didnt fit.

When the recess bell rang, they leapt from their seats to line up at the door.

Except Lucas Weaver. He stayed at his desk, feverishly writing.

All the Rexford kids were poor. But Lucas seemed really poor. He had dark hair and scabby hands. The pair of Wrangler jeans he wore every single day had been patched up so sloppily she wondered if hed done it himself.

Okay, guys, she said to the line of rowdy nine- and ten-year-olds, quiet down. I said a line, not a circus.

They got quiet, and she let them go. Other teachers were already outside to watch them on the playground.

She and Lucas were alone. Her desk was covered with unfinished lesson plans and papers she needed to grade, and part of her wanted to tell him to go outside so she could get her work done. But she sat beside him.

Lucas, you dont want to go to recess?

He didnt look up. Im writing my fairy tale.

Okay, Julia said. She saw that he wasnt just writing, he was illustrating. The illustrations were detailed and swift. She didnt want to interrupthe was so engrossed!so she watched. His shoulders were frail, his bones birdlike and distinct. Did he have enough to eat? Did he get breakfast in the morning?

She had asked around about him. He lived down in the Mudders, which was what they called a row of homes out past the train tracks. The real name was Perlmutter Road. It was the poorest part of town.

In her two months experience, Lucas had been the hardest to make a connection with. He had no friends. If you got close to him, he seemed to subtly withdraw, like he was scared he smelled bad. He actually did have a faint odor, but it wasnt anything revolting, exactly. He smelled like damp leaves, like the outdoors, and like pets. Damp animal fur.

Do you have a dog or a cat at home? she said.

Lucas stopped writing. The question seemed to trouble him. No.

Oh, she said. Did you ever ask your mom and dad if you could have one?

He still didnt look at her. I just live with my dad. And my little brother.

I didnt know you had a brother, she said. Whats his name?

Todd.

How old is he? Does he go here?

Hes homeschooled, Lucas said.

She saw that hed almost finished another illustration. It was a large animal, burly and dark. Suddenly he stood, as if embarrassed, and crumpled up the pages.

What are you doing? she said.

He ran to the trash can, tearing the pages up, and threw the scraps away. He looked at her with a shy, ashamed expression that made her heart go out to him. But then he fled outside. She observed through the window as he crouched at the edge of the playground, arms around knees, watching the other kids.

She was in the teachers lounge when a third grade teacher named Bret Goucher approached her.

Whats that?

A story one of my kids drew, Julia said. She was taping Lucass story back together like a jigsaw puzzle. She thought Bret would go away after a momenthe was like an older version of the guys in college who seemed to think that if they just hovered long enough, you might spontaneously become their girlfriendbut instead, he sat down.

What kid?

Lucas Weaver.

Bret made a soft, sympathetic chuckle.

Kind of a lost cause, isnt he? Never had him in class, but I think hes a little out there.

Hes smart, Julia said. I wonder if the dad has any idea.

Bret said, I was at the cleaners a few months agothe laundromat, by Pauls Pizza? And the kid, Lucas, comes in with an armful of sheets, and he goes to a machine, puts the sheets in, puts a quarter in and then he strips down to his underpants and puts all his clothes in, too! So hes sitting there, buck naked except his Batman underpants, just watching the clothes go round and around, like a dog. He gave another chuckle.

He doesnt have any other clothes to wear, Julia said quietly.

You know, Bret said, I did Teach For America too when I was your age. They had me in Baltimore. It was like The Wire. Those people name their kids the craziest shit. I had this pair of twins in my class. The one was named Yahighness and the other one was Yamajesty

I gotta go, Julia said, getting up. She had finished taping the story together.

Julia read Lucass story at home. She was renting a little cottage just outside of town. Her cottage nestled behind a larger houseone of the nicest, most well-kept houses around Rexfordwhere the landlady, a sixty-something divorced woman named Elaine Fielding, lived. The cottage was quiet and cozy.

Lucass story was called The Three Wolfs.

Sometimes kids just rewrote stories they knew. Theyd write about Iron Man or Jack Sparrow. She thought at first that Lucas had just retold Goldilocks, with wolfs.

But there was no Goldilocks in his story. There were only the Wolfs, who lived together in a cave above a town. Big Wolf, Middle Wolf, and Little Wolf. Big Wolf was a brute. Little Wolf was timid. Middle Wolf was the peacemaker.