CARTER'S VANGUARD: WILLIAM CARTER
II
Chapter 05 - By Christopher Patrick Lydon
Will was early for school that morning. His Sunday had been
relaxing despite the fact that Andrew hadn't been around, his mother insisting
he spend the day with her, shopping. He had grumbled about it to Will Saturday
night, the two of them promising to postpone their dinner together and the
usual antics that came afterwards for later in the week; privacy at Brody's
wasn't a possibility when hockey night in Canada was on.
Will found it more humerous that it was Andrew who seemed to
take it the hardest, his recent excitement for spending time with Will only
added to his frustration. And Will couldn't help but grin as he stared into
the cup of Lisa's famous thermos coffee.
Lisa gave him one of her looks, suspicious of why he was grinning,
and hesitant, wondering if she really wanted to ask.
Will looked up, "Andrew," he said simply, answering
her question.
"I guessed that much," Lisa replied, tearing ruthlessly
into one of her mother's banana muffins, pulling its cap off to get to the
soft insides. "It usually is when you grin like that."
Will nodded, sitting back into his chair and tilting his mug
slowly to drain the cup down his throat; he sighed expressively as he set
it down, "I was just thinking of how open he was this weekend."
"Open?" Lisa asked, flicking her hair back as she
fixed her green eyes on him. "Andrew's always been open."
"Well," Will blushed a little, "he was a little
more open than he was at Christmas."
"I don't get how you mean," Lisa confessed. "Open
how?"
Will licked his lips, a little embarrassed; he was always shy
discussing his sex life with other people, "Well open, about being gay;
he was...we were out in the park and he wanted to, you know...hug and stuff."
Lisa nearly choked on her muffin as she laughed at him, "I
was half-expecting you to tell me you two did it in the middle of Confederation
Park. So, you're saying he's more comfortable being out?"
"Well yeah," Will replied, pouring himself some more
coffee. "It was nice, like a regular relationship."
"You are in a regular relationship," Lisa retorted,
watching a couple of freshmen tear through the cafeteria chasing after a couple
of the all too familiar green jackets of the Condor's hockey team. Hero worship
was still in full force in the school.
"You know what I meant," Will said, watching them
run as well.
"Well, as I remember, after that first Christmas he was
pretty comfortable at school," Lisa remarked, looking back at him. "And
nobody really treated him any differently."
"They did," Will replied, "but I get what you're
saying. And it doesn't bother me, I like the fact he is comfortable being
seen with me."
"Well," Lisa reached out to pluck a rogue strand of
Will's hair and set it back into place, "I'm not really that surprised.
Were you straight, half the girls in this school would be chasing you."
"Lies," Will said, blushing as he stood up. "There
is only so much flattery I can stomach this early in the morning; besides
I need to get upstairs before the sprogs, otherwise they will tear my classroom
apart."
"You can run, William Carter," Lisa yelled as he beat
a hasty retreat, "but one of these days you're going to see what we mean."
Will shook his head as he started up the stairs to the junior
high wing of the school. Their high school shared facilities with the junior
high, which was tucked away on one of the upper floors towards the rear of
the school. Will had luckily been spared attending it having only immigrated
to the school in grade nine. But the horror stories both Jared and Lisa had
told him about their experiences there had made it sound terrible.
To Will it was just like high school but with smaller kids,
or sprogs as he affectionately dubbed them.
He slipped off his coat, walking into the teachers' lounge to
hang it up on the rack and walking over to fill a mug with the thick sludge
that always passed for coffee in that building. Lisa loved the fact that he
was working there; it meant she no longer had to steal coffee from the high
school lounge, dodging Mister Greenwood who had noticed her foraging trips
last year and had given her detention for it.
He adjusted his tie and steadied his nerves; he was always nervous
first thing in the morning and had thought it would pass after the first week,
but it hadn't. Like stage fright before a big performance. After all he was
an "acting-teacher;" it was perfectly acceptable for him to develop
stage fright.
He steeled his nerves and strode out into the pandemonium of
seventh- and eighth-graders running between their lockers, talking, yelling,
screaming and generally terrorizing one another. A couple of bright faces
turned and greeted him with tiny voices, and Will responded to them politely,
reaching into his pocket for the keys to his classroom.
He would never get used to being called Mister Carter, it was
such an alien name. His father had always been called Major Carter or simply
the Major. Nobody dared drop to a more informal address for him, mister was
for enlisted men. So it was something that was uniquely Will's, something
that would be his right into adulthood, his title that he was earning.
He fumbled the key in the lock and swung the door open, suddenly
swept forward by the rush of pushing kids all wanting to get in and to their
desks a few seconds before the bell went. Not because they were eager to get
started on their days, but more from the fact they wanted to be inside the
classroom rather than in the hall, it was more space for them to expand into.
Will shook his head wondering where Mrs. Casey was as he took
his desk and began to fish out his teaching books from his satchel. Like the
kids, he too had homework: correcting an English test he had given them on
the spur of the moment. Pop quizzes were a great way to get even with rambunctious
sprogs that had tried to make his life miserable for most of that week.
He shuffled the tests as he glanced up at the clock, nearly
eight-thirty and he would have to take roll call and settle in for an hour
of English, before slipping into history. He hated calling it social studies;
it was a daft name for history and so very American that he refused on principal
to use it. He taught history and was proud of it.
The bell rang and there was still no sign of Mrs. Casey; Will
sighed to himself as he walked to close the classroom door, standing aside
to let little Bobby McCormick rush to his desk, consistently a few seconds
late. Bobby was such a contrast to his twin brother Peter sitting in the aisle
next to him. Bobby was such an extrovert, outgoing and fun-loving, while Peter
was so quiet and introverted it took everything Will had to convince him to
participate in the class some days.
He turned back to the class momentarily uncertain what he should
do. Normally, Mrs. Casey would be there with a lesson plan for him to run
through, some guidelines about what he was supposed to work on with the sprogs.
Without her guidance he felt woefully unarmed to face thirty seventh-graders,
an Uzi or a good textbook would even the odds a little.
"Good morning, campers," Will said loudly as he balanced
himself on the edge of his desk. "I have tests for you; I'm pleased to
say none of you failed which means you're actually listening for a change."
He grinned at their small faces waiting patiently for him.
Sure, he thought to himself, they looked innocent now, but he
knew from experience they were secretly plotting his untimely demise, or worse
yet, their next prank. He remembered one of his father's old battle adages,
show them no fear....
He picked up the register and started at the top reading names
and checking for hands. It felt so strange to be on the opposite end of the
whole morning ritual that went on in every classroom in the school. Checking
names and marking absents while he kept one eye on the door for reinforcements
to arrive.
But like Monro after Fort William Henry, he was to be left to
the mercy of his enemies.
He stood up and began handing the tests back as the students,
noticing Mrs. Casey's absence, began to murmur amongst themselves, plotting
mutiny. And he knew that if he went over the test with them they would go
into full revolt. He needed a distraction and quickly.
He walked back to the front of the class and scooped up a book
from the corner of the desk, a particularly dull piece of Canadianna that
was being force-fed to the students because it was on the curriculum. Will
shuddered; when he was their age he had been studying Shakespeare in an English
private school. Here, the students had to content themselves with something
that wouldn't challenge a seven-year-old to read.
He sighed as he looked up at their pained faces, knowing that
they hated the book as much as he did. There were even a few groans from some
of the more vocal students anticipating an hour of complete catatonic boredom.
Will dramatically tossed the book back down on the desk. "You
know what?" he said, reaching down to pick up his own schoolbooks. "Who
here would like to know what it's like in high school?"
He looked up at them, smiling as his ploy worked. They weren't
rumbling mutiny, in fact some of them looked mildly curious to see what trick
he had up his sleeve. That was good; at least he had their attention.
"Richard the Third," Will said, holding up the book.
"Anyone tell me anything about him?"
"He was a king, right?" one of the kids chimed up
hopefully.
"King of England," Will smirked to himself, "but
not just any king." Will walked back to the front of the class, "He
was considered the evilest," his voice sank conspiratorially, "nastiest
King of England."
A couple of the kids leaned forward a little curious. Still
others began to look bored.
"He killed his own brother to become king, murdered his
own nephews. This man was an all-around bad sort of guy." Will grinned,
"You may think this is boring," he directed to a couple of boys
who were whispering in the back, "but it's a story about war."
That got their attention.
"Yep it's a story about war, and about love," he looked
over at some of the girls and winked at them. "But most importantly it's
a story all about greed."
He perched himself on the edge of his desk. "I'm not going
to read it to you because you won't understand most of the language,"
he said simply. "But I'm going to tell you the story and we're going
to discuss it just like in high school..." He affixed a dramatic tone
in his voice, "Richard was born deformed, his body twisted to make him,
at least in his own mind, ugly." Will twisted his body a little to add
to the drama, "And he was jealous of his brother, the heir to the throne,
who was in perfect health..."
* * *
Will needed a glass of water; he'd been telling the story for
over an hour now, still no sign of Mrs. Casey. The class were probing him
with questions, especially when he asked them what they thought about Richard
the Third. It was rare that he could have their complete attention, and even
rare to get them all participating in a discussion.
They'd covered Richard's rise in the book, they'd touched on
some of his motivation. The jealousy and the greed. He was surprised how quick
they all were, excited to actually be challenged by something, much like Greenwood
had discovered about Will. Using that example, Will didn't talk down to them
as he found himself enjoying the discussion as much as they were.
It was almost a shame the bell had to ring. He looked up at
it in mild annoyance as a couple of students got up to rush towards the doors.
He started to stand as well, noticing that a couple of the students hadn't
moved and were looking at him expectantly. Little Peter McCormick amongst
them.
Will froze and sat back down, relaxing into the chair behind
his desk as he looked at each of them staring at him. "I suppose you
want me to finish the story," he said, staring forlornly into his empty
coffee mug. "Tell you what;" he decided getting up again, "why
don't you borrow it from the school library, and if you get stuck on anything
come and ask me. Fair?"
The students all clamored in agreement getting up themselves
to finally go to their recess. Will shook his head and took off his glasses,
pushing his hair out of his eyes with a hand. He had really enjoyed that,
English solo down, history to go. He took a deep breath and went off in search
of a refill on his coffee.
