Esther Wilhelm came into homeroom Tuesday morning, tripped over her own feet, fell hard, and skinned a shin. She’d grown another couple inches over the summer and kept tripping over herself.
Then came Lynn Stanley. She was rocking a new look, showing some underwear straps under whatever else she was wearing. I didn’t get it.
She dragged up the desk next to me. “Good weekend?” she inquired.
“Great. Dad and I were up at Lake—”
“So you know your uncle Paul and Mr. McLeod are an item.”
I sighed. “And you know because . . .”
“Your mom, my mom—me.” Lynn pointed at herself. “So do you think it’s just a summer thing or serious, your uncle Paul and Mr. McLeod?”
“We’re monitoring it,” I said. “Dad and I. You work with what you’ve got, and it takes the time it takes, and it works or it doesn’t work.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Lynn said. “What did you bring for lunch?”
“Who, me? I never look at my lunch till I have to. Why?”
“Never mind,” Lynn said. “I brought extra in case the new student didn’t bring any. You know who I mean? Foreign? Differently abled? Hilary Evelyn Calthorpe?”
“Oh, right. Where is she?”
“Who?” Lynn said. “Oh. I don’t know.” She scanned the room. Ms. Roebuck was drifting around at the front. Raymond was taking roll. Sienna Searcy was organizing her Eastside girls. “Shut up, girls,” she was saying. “I’m speaking.” We were all there.
Then in the door rolled a figure in a motorized wheelchair. This stopped everything but the clock. For one thing, he was a boy.
“Now it gets interesting,” Lynn remarked.
“You knew it was going to be a boy,” I said.
“I googled the family, which is what Roebuck should have done.”
The wheelchair made a smooth stop by the teacher’s desk. He was a small, spindly kid with a cap. Not a Cubs cap. Some kind of school uniform cap. A white shirt, miniature tie, small blazer, gray flannel shorts, one gray kneesock, and a black leather shoe. The other leg stuck out straight, in a cast. You could just make out toes.
Ms. Roebuck looked down at him. “We were expecting a girl,” she said.
“That’s what Mother said,” remarked Hilary Evelyn Calthorpe.
The room gaped. He was kind of like a doll, with bright pink cheeks and one pink knee. Ice-blue eyes that took us all in. The cap. He could have been a transfer from Hogwarts.
“Hilary and Evelyn are boys’ names in England,” he told us. “Evelyn with a long e. Why they aren’t boys’ names in this country I can’t think, except you people get everything wrong.”
We were speechless. Even Sienna Searcy. “I am differently abled for the time being,” said Hilary, “because you drive on the wrong side of the road in this country. I stepped off the kerb on Michigan Avenue in front of the consulate. That’s kerb, spelled K-E-R-B. And I was struck from behind by an Uber car.
“If you persist in driving this way, you must simply put up signs: ‘WE DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD. PLEASE BEAR THIS IN MIND.’”
You’ll notice that we didn’t all rush his wheelchair, drag him out of it, and beat him up just for looking down his English nose at us.
Ms. Roebuck was lost as always. “Well, anyway, Hilary,” she said, “welcome to homeroom. What brings you to our country?”
“She should know this,” Lynn muttered. “She should have googled all this.”
Hilary was politely surprised she didn’t know. “My mother is a diplomat. She has been made vice consul at our consulate in Chicago. She represents the United Kingdom in thirteen states.”
Ms. Roebuck was blanking on this, totally. Hilary would probably have told her what a consulate is, but the bell rang. You can stretch out homeroom only so far, even in a story.
Hilary quaked. “What on earth does that bell mean? Are we under attack? Is it the Germans?”
It was first period. Except Raymond Petrovich said to Ms. Roebuck, “He can’t go to class until he’s signed the anti-bullying contract. School rule.”
“Oh dear,” Ms. Roebuck said. “Where is one?”
“I’ll print one out.”
We’d all had to sign the anti-bullying contract on the first day. Absolutely no bullying allowed in this school. End of story.
“How am I to bully anyone whilst I’m in this chair?” Hilary asked. “Am I to run them down and then reverse over them?”
“Just sign here.” Raymond handed him a ballpoint.
So that’s how Tuesday kicked off. It wasn’t a lockdown with helicopters, but it was better than nothing.
“Come on,” Lynn said to me. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” She was up and climbing into her backpack and grabbing two lunches. We’d be late for first period, but so what? We had a lifetime supply of hall passes.
When we got up to Hilary, we just naturally bowed because he was spindly and sitting down. Lynn was a little bit shy, which was new. “Hi, I’m Lynn. This is Archer.” She blushed, which was different. One of her underwear straps fell down. She worked it back with her free hand.
Hilary seemed surprised. How many middle-schoolers roll out the welcome mat for newcomers? But here we were. “Charmed,” said Hilary.
“Want to have lunch with us? We have a safe place, and I’ve brought you yours.” Lynn held up the brown bag.
“That’s very kind,” said Hilary, but he was sort of suspicious of the brown bag.
“I didn’t know what you’d like,” Lynn said. “But I knew you were English, so I brought shepherd’s pie from Trader Joe’s. It’s thawed, but won’t be hot, I’m afraid.”
“Let’s have a look at it,” Hilary said.
Lynn lifted the lid on a Tupperware container. Hilary and I peered into it. It was a gray mass with peas.
“Oh my dear, I think not,” he said to Lynn. “Let’s go to the food court.”
“We can’t,” Lynn explained. “The seventh graders would have us for lunch.”
Hilary’s eyebrows climbed up to his cap. “Really? Didn’t the seventh graders have to sign that anti-bullying contract?”
“Yes, but they could also beat you to a bloody pulp,” I explained. “And shake you upside down for your pocket change. They probably take PayPal. The anti-bullying contract is just to keep parents calm.”
“Including the parents of bullies,” Lynn said.
“Ah well, we have people for people like that.” Hilary raised a small white-cuffed hand and snapped his fingers.
Everybody was heading out the door to first period. A gigantic guy was coming in. His black suit coat strained across his hulking shoulders. His hands were like catcher’s mitts. It was likely he had a full set of steel teeth, except he didn’t smile. Remember Andy, the security guard at Westside? This guy was bigger.
“And here is Reginald now.”
Reginald?
“As long as I have to navigate a public school in a wheelchair, Lady Christobel has assigned me Reginald from the consulate security detail.”
Lady Christobel?
“Lady Christobel, your mother?” Lynn said. “A lady in her own right as the daughter of the Earl of—”
“Quite.” Hilary was unsurprised that Lynn knew. He also thought we ought to make it a foursome for lunch.
A foursome for lunch? We were sixth graders. What we did was more like feeding from troughs. But Hilary pointed across the room. “What about that rather striking girl who looks like the North Pole?”
It was Esther Wilhelm, fighting her way into her backpack, which tended to throw her off balance. She was about to duck out the door.
“Hey, Esther,” Lynn yelled, “want to have lunch with us? Food court? We’ve got protection.” She pointed up at Reginald. Esther stared. Then nodded. Then ducked out the door.
“She won’t have much to say,” Lynn told Hilary.
“Ah, but I will,” he said.
We scattered for first period. Reginald too, carrying Hilary’s books tied up in a strap. Behind us the printer ran off an extra class set of anti-bullying contracts.
• • •
They didn’t have tables for four in the food court. “Nothing so civilized,” as Hilary said. But the four of us staked out the end of a table and we were still there in the spring. Even long after the place filled up with sixth graders once they realized they didn’t have to pay to get in. But that gets ahead of the story.
News of Reginald may have reached the food court before we did that first noon. But there’s always somebody who doesn’t get the word. And Reginald knew how to blend in, even though he was bigger than the soft drink dispenser.
A campaign was going on in the food court to wean us off sugary drinks and sodas. We were supposed to drink plain water and eat fruit or something.
“Do explain to me,” said Hilary. “You aren’t to eat sugar because it endangers your health, but you could be beaten to death for coming to lunch?”
That’s right, we confirmed. Esther nodded.
“You really are the most extraordinary people,” Hilary said. “Nothing you do makes sense.”
We went for the macaroni and cheese—in fact, every day that week. Lynn did a half portion, but she drew the line at greens. Esther ate everything in sight. I don’t know where she puts it. I checked the lunch Dad had packed me to see if I could salvage anything. I couldn’t. We went for sugary drinks. If the seventh graders got to us before Reginald could, we were dead people anyway.
We were just tucking in when guess who loomed up? Perry Highsmith. Big seventh grader now. Remember him? Behind him were Aidan Cooper and Jeff Spinks. Remember them?
Perry planted his hands on our table. He leaned in. “Sixth graders, am I right? Just for openers, let’s see a couple of bucks all around. For the seventh-grade fund. Cash. We don’t take PayPal. That’s just a rumor. And I’ll be back for a look at your phones after you’ve enjoyed dessert.”
We felt Perry’s hot breath. He and Hilary were nose to nose. “Oh my dear boy, those sideburns simply aren’t working,” Hilary said. “I’d try again in a year or two.”
I thought we were dead people.
Perry flushed an ugly color. “Shut your mouth, Harry Potter, and open your wallet. Two bucks or you’ll be wearing a cast on the other leg.”
Hilary drew up. “I am a subject of the Queen of England,” he said, “and a citizen of the United Kingdom. The sun never sets on us, and an attack upon one is an attack upon all.”
“We only take U.S. money,” Perry said, “and we don’t make change.”
Ah, but change was coming. Something like a dark cloud fell between Perry and the ceiling light. Black-clad shoulders like giant bat wings unfurled over him. Eighth graders reached for their phones. Perry looked around, and up. And up. Reginald was there. Aidan Cooper and Jeff Spinks were walking backward to the nearest exit.
Perry made a small sound. Part of a word.
“What’s he called?” Hilary asked.
“Perry Highsmith,” I said.
“Listen as carefully as ever you can, Perry Highsmith,” Hilary said. “Standing over you, inches away, is another Englishman. His name is Reginald, and he is my muscle. Though a man of few words, he can cause you pain that leaves no mark. Only memory.”
“Ooooo,” said the food court, because Hilary’s voice was high but carried a mile.
“And so,” said Hilary, “you are barred from this lunchroom for the rest of the year, Perry Highsmith. Until next May. Have your mother pack your lunch. Otherwise, any moneys you manage to extort in this rather badly run school will be useful for your medical expenses. There will be casts on parts of your body you didn’t know you had. See him out, Reginald.”
Reginald pointed Perry to the exit. Aidan and Jeff were already there.
That took care of it. A wave of applause swept the food court. Eighth graders. Seventh graders even. People who’d been conducting shakedowns twenty minutes ago were applauding. And from that day on, sixth graders thronged the place. The steam table people kept running out of food because they’d never done this much business. They couldn’t keep the sugary drinks on the shelves.
In a blast from the past, Reginald even made it into the weekend edition of the Trib:
BRITISH BODYGUARD PROTECTS STUDENT IN MIDDLE SCHOOL
Just How Safe Are the Leafy Suburbs Behind Their Façade of Complacent Calm?
The Trib picture of Reginald was scary, so we didn’t get au pairs. But by Friday people were fist-bumping our foursome on their way to the salad bar.
• • •
I forget all the things we learned just in that first week. We knew Hilary’s mother was Lady Christobel in her own right. We asked him about his father.
“Daddy? Lord Horace?” he said. “He’s a baron. Lady Christobel married down a bit. When he pops his clogs, I shall be Lord Hilary Calthorpe.”
“Awesome,” we said. “What are you now?”
“I’m the Honourable Hilary Evelyn Calthorpe. But you never say the word. It’s only for addressing a letter to me. ‘The Hon. Hilary Evelyn Calthorpe,’ if you write.”
“Where is your daddy?” we inquired.
“The last postcard was from Acapulco. He was hang-gliding. So if you think about it, I could become Lord Hilary any moment now. A stray puff of wind. An inconvenient coral reef. Anything.”
Lynn hung on Hilary’s every word and brought him desserts. He could manage the wheelchair fine and wouldn’t let Reginald push him. But Lynn was always hovering to help. And there wasn’t any more talk out of her about marrying Raymond Petrovich and living in the Bay Area.
Hilary made a real study of us, and what he liked best were girls. He’d never been in a school with girls. “We tend not to know anything about the opposite sex until marriage,” he said. “And often not then.”
“You’ll find the girls here a lot more mature than the boys,” Lynn said.
“And yet you hide it so well,” said the Hon. Hilary Calthorpe.
We thought he was weird. He thought we were weird. It was great. It was what multiculturalism ought to be.