by Torey Hayden
Both Dirkie’s foster parents came with him that morning, dragging Dirkie between them. He struggled and screamed. “No! No! No! Don’t make me go in there! No! Help!” he yelled, nonstop.
I held the door open. Once inside, he broke free and bolted across the room. “Hoo-hoo-hoo!” he squealed with sudden glee, and leaped up on top of the table. Mariana’s eyes grew wide with surprise.
“Come down from there, please, Dirkie,” his foster mother said in a soft, patient tone. “Tables aren’t for standing on, remember. Come down now.”
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” He was down from the table and under it.
I smiled at his foster parents. I felt an instant empathetic fondness for them. “I think we’ll be all right.”
The woman smiled back, and I saw her relief. I couldn’t tell if it came from my confidence that we really would be all right or if it was the prospect of being free of Dirkie for six hours.
After his parents left, Dirkie remained under the table and hooted like a demented monkey.
“That kid’s crazy,” Mariana said seriously. “Did you know that? Did you know that kid was going to be crazy?”
I nodded.
“The other one’s not going to be crazy too, is she? The girl, I mean. The girl’s not going to be crazy too? She’s going to be my best friend.”
“I haven’t met her yet, so I don’t know. But she’s not going to have Dirkie’s problems, if that’s what you mean. Everyone’s different.”
“Dirkie? Dirkie? Gad, what a stupid name. No wonder he’s crazy. Hey, Turkey-Dirkie, how you doing under there?”
“Mariana …”
“Dirkie-Turkey. Dirkie-Turkey.” Then suddenly she stopped short. She dropped down on her hands and knees to see Dirkie better through the tangle of chairs. “Gad. Look what he’s doing. Teacher. He’s rubbing hisself. Look, he’s humping. He’s humping that chair leg.” She leaped to her feet.
I moved forward to take the chairs away and then reached down for Dirkie. “Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” he squealed with excitement.
“Come on, Dirkie. Come out from under there. Here, take my hand. Let’s sit up in a chair. I’ve got some interesting things in store for us today.”
Rising, I dragged Dirkie out.
“Mariana!” I cried in surprise. “What are you doing?”
She had her jumper hiked up around her waist and was removing her underpants.
“Put everything back on this instant and pull your dress down. Now!”
“Ooooooh!” Dirkie said. Excitement brightened his eyes, and he slid off the chair like butter melting into a pan. The chair beside me began to convulse as he masturbated against it.
Beyond the shelving, the door to the classroom unexpectedly opened and shut, and before I could extract Dirkie from under the table again, Mrs. Considyne appeared with her hand clenched around the back of her daughter’s neck.
“Good morning again,” I said and smiled. I was acutely aware of Mariana, just beyond me, her underpants not yet up. Dirkie hooted maniacally.
Mrs. Considyne pushed her daughter forward. Her fingertips were white from the pressure of her grip on the child’s neck.
“Hello, Leslie,” I said. “I’m so glad you could make it after all. We were just preparing to start.”
Leslie did not look at me but rather through me. Her expression was completely vacant.
“Here, come here. I’ll show you where your cubby is. You can put your lunch box in there.” I laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gently eased her away from her mother’s grasp.
Mariana materialized, fully dressed, at my side. “Hello, you,” she said to Leslie. “I’m the other girl in this here class. You want to be my best friend? You want to sit with me?”
Leslie screwed up her face and slapped her hands over her ears.
“Oh, shit,” Mariana muttered. “She’s crazy, just like him.”
I returned to Mrs. Considyne, who was looking fairly horrified. “I’m sure Leslie will be all right. Things are always a little hectic the first few days of a new year.”
She said nothing, but rather looked past me, over my shoulder toward the children.
“I do appreciate your having gone to the trouble to bring her in, Mrs. Considyne. I realize there were problems, but it is probably a good idea that she comes on this first day.”
She nodded. Looking down, she opened what I had assumed was her handbag. Instead, it was sort of a little medical kit full of bottles and cups. “Here are Leslie’s things. The testers and the insulin and all that. I’ve put extra candy in, in case of shock. You do know what you’re doing?” she asked, glancing up.
I hoped she meant regarding Leslie’s diabetes. I nodded. “I’ve been shown. But Mrs. Whicker, the school nurse, is coming in to give the injections for a few weeks.”
I put the bag on one of the upper shelves of the library to keep it out of the children’s reach and then moved around Mrs. Considyne in an effort to encourage her to leave. Turning, she came with me.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, as we reached the door, “I’m not Considyne. My husband’s Considyne. My name’s Taylor.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Taylor.”
She shook her head. “Not Mzzz. I’m Dr. Taylor.”
I felt myself blushing. “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”
Dirkie sidled up. Standing beside me, he gazed up at Dr. Taylor for a long moment. “My,” he said in a very solemn voice, “what big tits you got.”
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About the Author
TOREY HAYDEN is an educational psychologist and a special-education teacher who, since 1979, has chronicled her struggles in the classroom in a succession of bestselling books. She currently lives and writes in North Wales.
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First published in the US by Little, Brown and Company, Inc. 1991
This edition HarperElement 2006
© Torey Hayden 1991
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