She threw a roll. It bounced off his head. “Thank you.”
“I love your beard,” he told her. “It makes you look badass.”
They waited for Linus or Arthur to scold them for language. Instead, Linus said, “I agree. It is very badass.”
“Ooh,” Chauncey breathed. “Can I curse now too? I got a good one!”
“You get one,” Arthur said.
“Oh my goodness,” Chauncey whispered. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.” He looked around, and then blurted, “Knobby jezebel!” before slapping his tentacles over his mouth.
Lucy fell out of his chair. “Holy crap, Chauncey!” he said, pulling himself back up. “That was devastating. Good thing Arthur said you could do it, because I think that was the worst thing I’ve ever heard anyone say about anyone.”
“I didn’t mean it!” Chauncey wailed. “I take it back!”
“Chauncey,” David said, “I heard Miss Marblemaw talking. She said bellhops have the easiest job in the world and that anyone with half a brain could do it.”
“That knobby jezebel,” Chauncey hissed.
“I said once, Chauncey,” Arthur murmured gravely. “I don’t know if my heart could take that again.”
“I promise,” Chauncey said, tentacle over his heart (which was near the bottom of his body). “I’ll never do anything like that again.”
“She also said that bellhop caps look bad on everyone,” David said as Lucy whispered in his ear.
“Arthur?” Chauncey asked.
“Yes?”
“Can I ink Miss Marblemaw?”
“I would never propose such an action,” Arthur said. “However, I am of the firm belief that if one must ink, one must be allowed to do so without interruption.”
“She’s gonna be so mad when she finds out about my nocturnal emissions,” Chauncey said. “I can’t wait.”
Linus sighed.
On Tuesday, two things of note occurred.
First, Miss Marblemaw sat in on the morning’s lessons, bits of red-stained tissue paper blotting the area around her mustache. True to Lucy’s word, it appeared she’d tried to shave it off, only to have it regrow into the same shape and length it’d been the day before. She didn’t mention it, even when Talia greeted her and said she’d be willing to share the soaps she used on her beard.
Instead, Miss Marblemaw took a seat in the rear of the room, her clipboard in hand. She looked at each of them expectantly. “Are we just going to sit here, or are you actually going to begin the lesson?”
“Before we do,” Lucy said, “I mustache you a question. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “What I want is for you to take your seat and for Mr. Baker to prove that he is fit to educate children. And David, since he seems to be interested in child-level knowledge even though he’s lived for almost five decades. Forget I’m even here.”
“You never stop learning,” David said. “That’s what I always say.” He folded his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. He almost tipped over, but acted like he’d done it on purpose. “Careful, kids! Get a question wrong, and Miss Marblemaw might try and assault you like she did me.”
“I did not assault—”
“I thought you said you wanted us to forget you were here?” Sal asked. “Kind of hard to do that when you keep interrupting our class. Everyone, face forward. Forget Miss Marblemaw exists.”
“Who?” Phee said.
Though Arthur had other things to see to—such was life on the island—he didn’t dare let Miss Marblemaw out of his sight. Linus was more than capable of handling her on his own, but Arthur thought it wouldn’t hurt to remind Miss Marblemaw they were watching her as much as she was watching them.
The lesson proceeded with minimal interruption, usually from Miss Marblemaw coughing pointedly or clearing her throat when Linus or the children said something that she obviously did not approve of. Linus attempted to ignore her, but the longer the lesson went on—going from the wide and mysterious world of mathematics to history—the more Miss Marblemaw made a nuisance of herself, muttering under her breath as she scribbled on her clipboard.
They were reaching the end of the hour—almost time for mid-morning break—when Linus said, “History is full of different people making the same mistakes over and over again, never learning from the actions of those who came before them. Time can sometimes prove to be a vicious circle in that regard. People in power attempting to tell others how they should live their lives, but only in the bounds of what they consider acceptable. Gatekeepers who believe it is up to them to decide what is morally correct or not. One could argue that—”
“One could argue about anything,” Miss Marblemaw said loudly. “Some people think their little complaints mean more than the safety of an entire race of people.”
“And what race would that be?” Sal asked. “Last I checked, even if we’re different, all of us are people.” He arched an eyebrow. “Unless you mean the literal definition of the word ‘race,’ which is a concept used to describe a group of people according to different factors, such as ancestral background, social identity, and visible characteristics … such as skin color.”
Miss Marblemaw blanched. “That’s not what I—I am accepting of all—how dare you imply that I—” She stopped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, they were clear above a thin smile. She stood, sweeping her way to the front of the class. “Children, regardless of what you might have heard, the world isn’t as dark and cruel as certain people want to make it out to be. How could it be, when we have museums and art and music—music, Lucy. Don’t you love music?”
“Oh, yes,” Lucy said. “The deader, the better.”
“See?” Miss Marblemaw said, left eye twitching. “It looks as if Lucy and I have found common ground. Who would have thought that possible even three days ago? That’s what this is all about. Setting aside our differences and coming together in the spirit of— Where are you going?”
The children had started packing up their books and papers, standing and walking toward the rear door. David led the way, arms above his head as he wiggled his hips, sliding out of the room backward, giving Miss Marblemaw a little wave of his fingers.
Sal was last, Theodore perched on his shoulder. He looked back at Miss Marblemaw and said, “Class was over the moment you started talking.” And then he left.
“Linus,” Arthur said as Miss Marblemaw spluttered, obviously gearing up for a meltdown. “You look parched. Shall we have our morning tea in the gazebo?”
“That sounds perfect,” Linus said. “Perhaps a little cake, if there is any left.” He joined Arthur at the rear of the class. Joining hands, they walked toward the door.
