“Touch me again, asshole, and I’ll cut your fucking throat!”
The man’s eyes bulged again, not with lust this time, but with terror. Jack gaped in amazement at the smaller boy, whose every muscle looked taut with tension and whose vibrant eyes burned dangerously.
“Now get your child-raping ass out of here before I cut off your balls and throw ’em down the sewer!”
He barely lowered the dirk enough for the terrified man to slide down beneath it. Then Mr. D. was into his car and peeling off down the street before Jack could barely blink.
Lance still held out the blade, though the man was long gone, his breathing ragged, his nerves thrumming.
“Lance?” Jack whispered uncertainly.
Lance slowly turned to his friend and lowered the knife to his side. “I don’t like being touched.”
Jack blew out a breath and smiled with relief. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Now Lance slipped the knife back into the sheath inside his pants. His shaking had begun to subside, his muscles slowly relaxing.
“Thanks,” gushed Jack, still thrown by Lance’s violent reaction, but admiring the boy nonetheless. “You’re pretty badass, Lance.” Then his face darkened, and the words choked in his throat. “About what he said, about me….”
Lance just waved it away. “You’re my friend, Jack. That’s all I care about.”
Their eyes met, the moment awkward and uncertain, and then Lance impulsively hugged the bigger boy, partly to feel the warmth of a friend after such a disturbing episode, but also to reassure Jack that everything that asshole had said meant nothing to him.
But then his blood unexpectedly pounded and rushed when their flesh touched, and panic washed over him, scaring him almost as much as the encounter with Mr. D. He hurriedly pulled away, and Jack grinned gratefully, slipping his tunic off his waist and pulling it back over his head. Lance quickly turned away to do the same, squirming in his suddenly tight leather pants, hoping and praying Jack hadn’t noticed his obvious excitement when they’d hugged, or the aftermath right now.
Oh God, does this mean I really am…? He couldn’t even finish the thought as he pulled on his tunic and tried to adjust his pants without Jack seeing.
“We’re not doing that anymore,” Jack announced, eying Lance’s back with concern. “Too dangerous.” Then he grinned slightly, hoping to lighten the mood. “You might kill someone.”
Lance turned his head to give him a half smile, keeping his body pressed away from the older boy, pushing those other thoughts into the far corners of his mind. He just might kill someone, he suddenly realized, and that truth terrified him too. A lot.
Oh God, what if I turn out to be somebody I can’t live with?
“We’ll just keep looking till we find Mark,” Jack announced with a wistful sigh, glancing up and down the street once more. “He’s out here somewhere.”
Lance nodded, relieved that Jack’s eyes had not dropped too low and that his friend had apparently not noticed anything when they hugged.
But he noticed, and his physical reaction petrified him, because he knew what it might mean, what it probably already meant. Mark’s words came back to him then, in that gentle, soothing, comforting voice: Just let it be, and it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to. But what if I can’t live with that? What if I can’t live with the way it’s supposed to be?
Jack eyed his friend with apprehension, noting the way Lance kept his face half turned from him as though trying to hide the desolate, almost despairing look. The boy’s lips quivered, his eyes fixed on nothingness.
The confrontation with Mr. D. had shaken Lance in some way Jack didn’t quite understand, but as he gazed sidelong at that perfect face and that soft, silky hair and those shimmering green jewels that were his eyes, and feeling once more Lance’s flesh pressed against his, he shivered with desire and realized deep in his being that if he didn’t already love Mark, he could easily fall for Lance.
Very easily.
Maybe, despite all his efforts not to, maybe he was already falling….
You two would be good for each other…. Is that what Mark wanted?
Lance flinched slightly when Jack hesitantly placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and flicked his eyes onto the older boy’s face apologetically.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “A little jumpy after that, I guess.” He dropped his gaze so Jack wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes, wouldn’t see the dark, disturbing thoughts and fears lurking behind them.
Jack nodded his understanding, his own confused thoughts about Lance troubling him deeply, and gently led the boy to a strategic, but shadowed spot that offered a clear view of hustlers strip. They sat up against a building, shoulder to shoulder and watched and waited. But Mark never appeared.
Lance tried to focus on Mark, but Jack’s shoulder against his was too distracting, too tempting, and his misery deepened.
Unbeknownst to Lance, that closeness was having the same disconcerting effect on Jack, too, which filled the older boy’s mind with guilt and shame.
Late into the night, Lance received a text on his phone. When he slowly pulled it out, he saw it was from Arthur. His depression intensified. Jack glanced over and saw Lance’s hesitation.
“Aren’t you going to check it? Maybe he’s heard something.”
Lance opened the text, which read: Any word yet on Sir Mark?
Jack deflated when he saw that. “Damn.”
Lance hesitated again, did not thumb in a reply.
“Aren’t you gonna answer him?”
Lance frowned, and gloom overwhelmed him.
Anyone can carry the banner.
“Yeah.” He thumbed in No and then added, not yet. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket without another word.
Something about Lance’s face, the fact that he hadn’t asked what was going on with the crusade, bothered Jack. Something was wrong. “You okay?”
Lance nodded sadly.
“Aren’t you curious about how things are going back there?”
He just shook his head. “Naw. They got it covered. Don’t need me.”
Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Lance turned away and looked in the other direction. Concerned, Jack returned his eyes to the street. What was that all about?
After several fruitless hours with no sign of Mark, both boys finally drifted off to sleep beside one another, and mercifully neither dreamed unpleasant dreams.
ONCE Arthur got wind of the mayor’s challenge, he called together a meeting of his most prominent knights. And he invited Jenny. She’d been surprised but pleased to receive his phone call. She had been correct—one of the cellular carriers set him up with a phone and a massive family plan to include many of his knights whom he’d placed in leadership positions. Arthur seemed nervous actually speaking on the phone when he invited her to the meeting. It had to do with the mayor’s challenge, he’d said. Had she seen it on TV? She assured him she had and would attend that meeting the following day.
When she’d hung up, she’d gone to her closet and begun rooting through her clothes. She actually did something she hadn’t done in ages—fretted over what to wear.
She finally settled on dress slacks and a long-sleeved blouse that had a tunic-like feel to it. She decided she wanted to be one of Arthur’s group and not separate from it.
When she arrived the next morning, Arthur was seated on his throne nervously drumming his fingers on the armrest. Seated around him were Esteban, Reyna, Enrique, Luis, Lavern, Darnell, Tai, Duc, Jaime, and Justin. Chris sat beside Arthur’s throne, absently tossing a football up and down, looking lost and forlorn.
Arthur looked up and leapt to his feet when Jenny entered. “Good day, Lady Jenny,” he offered with an almost nervous bow.
The boys rose and bowed and said, “Welcome, Lady Jenny.” Reyna tilted her head in greeting.
So taken aback was she by the welcome that at first she failed to notice the absence of Lance. But as she col
lected herself and tilted her head to acknowledge the greeting her face clouded. “Where’s Lance?”
Chris piped up, “On a quest, milady.”
A chill crept up her back. “What kind of quest?”
Arthur waved her over to sit beside him, in the large wooden chair normally reserved for Lance alone. “Alas, milady, one of our knights, Sir Mark, has gone missing.”
“You mean he ran away,” Chris mumbled with a sullen toss of the football.
Jenny instantly became concerned. “What happened?”
Arthur fell silent, and Jenny felt certain she detected guilt, maybe even embarrassment, in his eyes. “It doth be complicated, milady,” Arthur falteringly explained. “A misunderstanding. Sirs Lance and Jack have gone in search of him.”
“Has there been any word, Arthur?” asked Reyna. She missed Lance. His presence was grounding for her, and for the other kids, as well. Things just didn’t feel the same without him.
Arthur shook his head. “No.”
“When’s Lance coming back, Arthur?” Chris asked sadly. “And Jack.”
Arthur patted the small boy on the head. “Soon, Sir Christopher.” Then he turned to the group. “Shalt we begin?”
Jenny eyed the seat, pictured Lance sitting in it, and shook her head. “That’s Lance’s seat. I’ll sit on the floor.” And she did, right beside Reyna.
Arthur eyed her, then the empty seat, and frowned. Had he actually offered her Lance’s chair? How could he have made such an unforgiveable breach of etiquette?
“So,” Jenny began, “you were right, what you said about the mayor. That city hall mural is just a publicity stunt.”
The kids nodded. They weren’t fooled.
Arthur nodded soberly. “His ilk hath not changed in thirteen centuries.”
Jenny shook her head with disgust.
“And to what do you attribute the mayor’s challenge to me regarding school?” Arthur asked, opening up the question to the entire assemblage.
“It’s a trap, Arthur,” Esteban spoke up at once. “He’s trying to get ya to admit you be breaking the law.”
“Sir Este, be right, Arthur,” Justin spoke up, feeling important because he knew something about the law. “The mayor, he wants an excuse to bust yer—I mean, to arrest you and do it all nice and legal like. My dad’d probably be the guy hauling you off to jail.”
The kids laughed and then fell silent again. Reyna raised her hand. “Unfortunately, Arthur, that’s the way things work here. We kids have to be in school Monday thru Friday whether we learn anything or not.”
“Mostly not,” chimed in Darnell, which earned him a high five from Jaime.
“What about homeschooling?” Duc suggested. “One a the kids I used to kick it with never went to school. His mom, like, taught him stuff at home. He just had to pass tests or something.”
The others nodded. Homeschooling was not unknown to them.
Arthur turned to Jenny. “Ye doth be silent, Jenny. Since education hath been thy livelihood, what beeth your opinion?”
Jenny bit her bottom lip. Their talk of homeschooling had given her an idea. A plan. A crazy, audacious, probably impossible-to-execute plan.
“I have an idea,” she announced, grinning at Arthur, whose eyebrows rose questioningly.
THIS time it was Arthur who called Helen and asked her to set up a press conference at City Hall. Helen was only too delighted to help. The mayor was informed and the event scheduled again for 3:00 p.m. That particular time was at Villagrana’s insistence—he wanted to hammer home the school-hours issue. Thus he could reiterate to the public that Arthur’s kids—which he would surely bring—had not been to school that day.
Council President Sanders cautioned the mayor about losing his cool or allowing himself to be sucked into some stupid debate about “rights for children, for God’s sake.” Villagrana assured him that he, not Arthur, would control this press conference.
At five minutes before three, a crush of reporters and camera operators crowded around the stage and podium, with the Mural Project in the background. Only this time, there were no kids presently working on it. Scores of onlookers stood anxiously behind the reporters awaiting the arrival of Arthur.
Suddenly, a ripple of excitement shimmered over them as the king appeared, flanked by his leadership team. Arthur carried little Chris in his arms, and Jenny walked at his right side. A buzz went through the crowd because no one had ever seen her before.
Arthur and his crew strode up to the platform where the mayor, flashing his most camera-ready smile, greeted them.
“Welcome, King Arthur. We meet at last.”
The crowd cheered, not for the mayor, but for Arthur. They started chanting, “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur!” causing Villagrana to lose that pasted-on smile very quickly. Arthur held up a gauntleted hand to the crowd, and they settled down at once. He looked especially resplendent in his purple tunic and scarlet cloak and golden crown. He set Chris down, and Reyna stepped up to take the boy’s hand.
The mayor indicated the microphone embedded in the podium, and Arthur hesitated.
“You talk into it,” Reyna whispered in his ear.
He gave her a grateful grin and turned back to the crowd. He moved closer to the mic. “Ye have challenged me, Mr. Mayor, to return my knights to thy schools. Doth that be correct?”
He stepped back, and the mayor leaned in. “That’s correct, yes.”
“And yet,” Arthur went on, returning to the mic, “methinks thy schools have already had their chance. Thy system hath not only failed to educate these children in counting and linguistic skills, it canst not even teach such basics as right and wrong.”
The crowd roared its approval.
The mayor leaned in. “It’s not the job of schools to teach right and wrong.”
Standing in back, behind the crowd of spectators, Sanders lowered his eyes and shook his head. Here we go again.
“Then may I ask whose job it doth be?”
The mayor took the bait. “It’s the job of parents.”
Arthur nodded. “And doth parents spend every moment with their children, Mr. Mayor? It doth seem to me that just as in my day, teaching and modeling right from wrong beeth the responsibility of all adults.”
The crowd roared even louder. Sanders shook his head again as Villagrana stepped to the mic.
“Look, we’re not here to debate. The law in this state says these kids must be in school, period. Do you have any idea how much money you’re costing the schools by keeping your kids out?”
Arthur looked confused. “What hath money to do with this issue?”
The mayor sighed smugly. “Let me educate you, King. In this country schools are funded with money by how many students are present each day. Every kid in every school each day is worth money to that school.”
Arthur nodded, understanding exactly what the man was saying. “So, if I understand thee correctly, it be important for these knights of mine to be in school for the school to have money, whether they actually learn anything of value or not?”
Another roar of approval from the crowd. Jenny and Arthur’s knights exchanged quick looks of approval. Sanders just bowed his head in disgust and slipped away through the crowd.
Villagrana glared murderous daggers at Arthur for a split second before he recovered himself for the cameras. “You are in violation of state law, sir. I could have you arrested here and now.”
The crowd booed vociferously.
“And all of my knights as well?” Arthur replied calmly, indicating those with him. “I could call upon the other thousand to join us.”
The crowd hooted with laugher, and Helen watched Villagrana squirm like a fish on a hook.
“Ye and thine have failed these children, Mr. Mayor,” Arthur said, looking straight at the man. “I doth be their teacher now, and there be nothing ye canst do to change that. And do you know why? Because I give them a choice. Thou and thine do not.”
Villagrana was fumin
g. “You are not a credentialed teacher!”
That was Jenny’s cue, and she stepped forward to the mic, practically shoving the mayor aside. “I am. I have a multi-subject credential and a single-subject credential, and I’ve resigned my position at Mark Twain High School to work exclusively with Arthur’s knights. Between he and I, they’ll learn all the lessons they need.”
A wild cheer and stamping of feet and thunderous clapping arose from the crowd. Arthur faced off against Villagrana and bowed respectfully. “Good day to you, sir.”
The flabbergasted mayor stood open-mouthed as Arthur took Jenny’s arm, leading her and his knights off the podium and through the phalanx of reporters. They threw ad-libbed questions his way, but he just smiled and moved on to the crowd of onlookers. These were the people he needed on his side, and he thanked them all graciously for coming out to support him. After he and the kids signed numerous autographs, the posse set off on their return journey to The Hub.
MOST of the leadership team went their separate ways, peeling off to their various homes upon agreement to meet as usual tomorrow. They would clean up some areas in Van Nuys in the morning while Jenny decided how best the school lessons should be dispensed. Obviously, she could not teach a thousand kids at once, though that would be the ultimate extension of today’s public school policy, she’d mused, since nowadays the goal seemed to be cramming as many kids into one room as possible.
No. More likely, they’d work in shifts, just like homeschooling was done, with she and Arthur supervising the older kids and the older ones helping to teach the younger. Half of each day, they decided as they left City Hall, would be devoted to learning, and the other half to doing. The cleanups were going so well that these could not be halted. Perhaps two half-days in a given area might suffice for cleanup of that entire neighborhood.
Enrique, Lavern, and Luis had remained behind to work on the mural, calling the other artists on their cells to come join them. Since the mayor refused to let them work during school hours they only had a brief window of sunlight each day to work with.
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