"Okay, class, we’re going to begin a unit about communities." Mrs. Schafly lifted her chin and scanned the sea of squirming second graders whose earnest gazes were directed up at her. "Who can tell us what a community is? Anybody?"
Isaac gazed out the window, his chin in his hand. The classroom was decorated with lacy snowflakes and paper chains, the walls hung with pictures of families celebrating Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Christmas or "any other holiday that is important to your family." He’d taken his and shoved it into the inner recesses of the desk, telling the teacher that he hadn’t finished it and needed time to do more work. He wasn’t going to take it out though. He didn’t think he could add much to the medley of smiling faces and blazing candles that adorned the cream colored drawings around him. Maybe he should draw Halloween, with monsters, or New Years, with a bunch of people drinking at a bar. Or maybe, Isaac thought, he should do what Taylor would do, and draw the happiest, most colorful picture in the class, a happy family gathered around a Christmas tree. That might make people suspicious, though. Usually he didn’t draw anything that stood out.
"Good, Anthony," Mrs. Schafly was writing on the blackboard in her loopy, oversized handwriting. "A community is a place where people live and work together. Can anyone else tell us more about communities? What do you find among the people in a community?"
Isaac studied the kindergarteners as they ran across the playground in their brightly colored snowsuits, scaling the jungle gym and scattering to the far corners of the playing field. Taylor was out there somewhere. Where?
"That’s very good, Shana." Mrs. Schafly added another work to the list on the board. "People in a community help each other. Robbie, keep your hands to yourself, please."
Taylor was the one who was dragging a stick through the snow that dusted the asphalt surface of the basketball court, Isaac decided. The one who was off in his own little world, thinking about God knew what. His stick held high overhead, Taylor swung himself around the pole that supported the basketball hoop. That was definitely his brother, Isaac thought. No one else wandered around like that, acting crazy.
Taylor stood under the basketball hoop and gazed up at the gray sky, sticking his tongue out to catch a falling snowflake. He missed. It was hard to see where the snowflakes were going, sometimes.
Isaac had told him that no two snowflakes were ever the same, that every single snowflake was different. Then Isaac had said that he didn’t think that that was true; at some point, during the millions of years that snow had been falling, there had to have been some snowflakes that looked exactly alike. Taylor had thought about that, but he didn’t believe it. No matter how hard he tried to make them exactly alike, no two of the snowflakes he’d ever cut out of paper had come out the same.
"How do they know all the snowflakes are different?" he’d asked.
"Some guy spent years and years and years looking at snowflakes under microscopes," Isaac told him. "He didn’t find any that were the same." He shook his head. "Still, there’s no way he could have looked at every snowflake that ever fell since the beginning of time."
"How did the snowflakes keep from melting when he lookeded at them?" Taylor had wondered.
Isaac shook his head. "Maybe he looked at them really fast before they melted. I don‘t know how he did it."
"But all the snowflakes he saw were different?" Taylor asked.
"He said they were," Isaac agreed. "But they probably melted before he could get a good look at them."
"If the angels had to cutted out the same snowflakes over and over they’d get bored," Taylor decided. "So that’s how come all of them is different from each other."
Isaac sighed. "It’s just the way they freeze, Tay."
Taylor had folded his arms across his chest. "The angels freezes all of them different."
He thought about that now, watching the snow fall. He was pretending to be the guy he’d seen on TV the other night, when he’d watched a show about the reindeer with the light bulb in his nose, the one the other reindeers picked on. Santa Claus definitely had to exist, because he’d been in that movie.
There was also a guy who sang and danced around Christmas trees, a guy with a tall hat and a cane and a long scarf who sang a song about the reindeer. That was who Taylor was pretending to be, and he was imagining that this pole was the North Pole. Taylor spun around it again, making up a Christmas song to himself. That was what he was going to be when he grew up; someone who sang and danced on TV. In fact, maybe he would play this game again when he got home. It would be good practice.
Yeah, that was what he would do, Taylor decided. As soon as he got home from kindergarten, he would get Zac to play the reindeer movie with him. Zac could be the little elf. Gallagher could be the reindeer that they picked on. Isaac could be. . .
Taylor frowned. He didn’t know if his older brother would play. Second graders had a lot more homework than kindergarteners. Sometimes even two or three pages in one night! Taylor shook his head. That was pretty bad. Still, you had to do all your homework, or your teacher would be mad at you and yell.
Speaking of teachers, Mrs. Perry was ringing her bell right now. When she rang her bell, you had to go back inside. Then you sat at the table and had a snack, and then it was counting time. After counting time, it was free play. Then it was lunch. Then they had recess again. Then story time. Then resting. Then science. Then it was free play again, and after that, everybody went home.
Taylor shook his head. Kindergarten was a lot of work.
"Taylor, hurry up!" Mrs. Perry yelled. "You’ll freeze out here!"
Taylor blinked. He wasn’t freezing. Still, you had to go in when Mrs. Perry told you to. Otherwise, she sent you to time out.
Time out, Taylor thought, was not a good place to spend the first five minutes of snack time. He ran to catch up with his class.
Well, Isaac thought watching Taylor dash across the playground, as crazy as his little brother acted, at least no one picked on him.
He’d been worried about that the day Taylor started school. A lot of the kids had been held back in kindergarten for an extra year, and they were huge, some of them nearly Isaac’s age, seven. Taylor, in comparison, seemed too small to hold his own among them, a tiny little kid whose blue eyes were way too trusting. Isaac drew in a breath. He should have prepared his brother better for what was coming. Maybe he should have taught him how to punch people.
No, Isaac decided, it was better that he hadn’t. If Taylor ran in there and started hitting people left and right, they’d only beat him up more, and everyone else was a lot stronger than his little brother was. Plus, he couldn’t imagine Taylor ever hitting anybody. He bit his lip and scanned the hallway. Little kids clung to their mothers and swung plastic lunch boxes back and forth, nervous expressions on their faces. It struck Isaac that every other kindergartener there had some adult with them, a mother, father, grandmother or babysitter, except his brother. Isaac took a deep breath and tried to remember his own first day of kindergarten. His mother had sent him out the door at eight forty-five and told him that if he got any trouble she heard about, he’d be in for it. Then he’d gotten to school and been too scared to go into the classroom, so he’d hidden outside the door until the hall monitor had come by and taken him into the kindergarten room.
His mother hadn’t even bothered to get out of bed this morning. Last night, she’d told Isaac to get Taylor ready for school in the morning, and if they needed any supplies, not to come to her for money. He hadn’t wanted to ask her what she intended for them to do instead.
Actually, as far as Isaac remembered, kindergarteners didn’t need any supplies. Everything was right there for them; colorful tables of art supplies, corners full of toys, and shelves of books. He studied Taylor, who, thank God, didn’t appear to be one of those kids like the one on the floor over there, screaming, kicking his legs and clutching his grandfather by the ankles. Instead, Taylor was looking around quietly, mesmerized, taking every single detail in. He didn’t seem scared.
"Is this kid-ner-garten?" Taylor asked his brother.
Isaac nodded, terrified that Taylor was going to pitch a fit now and refuse to stay. "Uh huh."
"I think I’m going to like it here," Taylor observed.
Isaac stared at him in disbelief.
"You can go find your class now," Taylor offered. "I mean, so you don’t be late for it or anything."
"Are you sure you’ll be okay?" Isaac managed.
"Yeah." Taylor nodded. "It’s like preK, only bigger and gots more kids in it."
"Well, if anything happens, you can come find me," Isaac reminded him.
"I will," Taylor promised.
"And if anybody picks on you, you tell them-" Isaac began.
"That my brother is in second grade and you’re going to come beat them up," Taylor interrupted.
"That’s right." Isaac nodded. He still didn’t feel like it was right to leave his brother here alone. "I’ll. . . I’ll check on you later. . ."
"Okay," Taylor nodded. "Bye!"
All morning long, Isaac had squirmed in his seat, wondering what was happening to his brother downstairs in the kindergarten. By the time the teacher finally let the class out for recess, he was sure that Taylor had probably been attacked by the five biggest kids in the class, or that he’d run away, accidentally locked himself in a bathroom stall, or worse. Isaac didn’t want to define "worse" to himself. He decided he was better off not thinking about it.
The door to the kindergarten was wide open when the second grade passed it, and Mrs. Perry had gathered all of the kids around her in a circle. Isaac let the rest of his class pass him by as he scanned the group for his brother.
There was Taylor, watching his teacher intently, his chin in his hand. He looked none the worse for wear after his morning in kindergarten. In fact, he looked kind of happy.
Isaac sighed, relieved. Only five more hours to get through before he could stop worrying. . .
And from that day on, Taylor hadn’t had a single problem in kindergarten. In fact, he loved it there so much that he cried when he had to miss school. Which was kind of annoying, Isaac thought, but things would be a whole lot worse if Taylor didn’t like kindergarten and refused to go. Now, he didn’t have to worry about Zac for at least three more years. . .
"Isaac! You pay attention!" Mrs. Schafly’s voice interrupted his thoughts. "You have been staring out that window all morning; I’ve been watching you!"
"Oh. . ." Isaac looked up at her and swallowed. "I’m sorry."
Mrs. Schafly shook her head. "You and I are going to have to talk about some things," she said. "Stay here when everyone goes out to recess."
The class tittered. "You’re in trou-ble!" someone sang.
Isaac drew a breath. This was not going to be good.
Normally, the hands on the clock inched their way from minute to minute, stretching the half hour between social studies and morning recess into an eternity. Today, however, the time flew by, bring Isaac closer to doom with the tick of every second. When the alarm clock on Mrs. Schafly’s desk went off, sending everyone else in the class flying to the coat room to get ready to go outside, Isaac stayed in his seat. He stared out the window for a few seconds, trying to think of a few good excuses.
It didn’t take long before the room was quiet. The murmur of voices in the hall lulled and died, until all that was left was the sound of Mrs. Schafly’s high heels clicking across the floor. She stopped at her desk.
"Isaac," Mrs. Schafly said, "Come here and have a seat." She gestured to the front seat in the middle row.
Isaac made his way down the aisle and sat down, conscious of the fact that his sneakers, unlike Mrs. Schafly’s high heels, squeaked against the smooth linoleum surface of the floor. He’d never noticed this until now, and he tried to walk more slowly, hoping that would prove a sort of remedy. The more he tried not to squeak, the more the squeaking magnified. He was grateful to reach the desk, which felt smaller than his own and unfamiliar. The tattered nametag taped to the top read "Marlene." He fingered a peeling corner.
"Isaac, I don’t want you to feel that I am yelling at you," Mrs. Schafly said. "Or that I am being unfair. I am sorry you have to miss recess."
"That’s okay." Isaac blinked. It hadn’t really occurred to him that he would miss recess. . . he hadn’t even cared. There wasn’t anybody he ever played with anyway.
"Thank you." Mrs. Schafly took a deep breath and chose her next words. "Isaac, this morning wasn’t the first time you weren’t paying attention. In fact, you don’t seem to pay attention very often."
Isaac studied his hands. There was a dab of red paint on the edge of his fingernail. It looked like blood.
"I realize that there is a lot going on in your life right now, and there’s probably a lot to think about," Mrs. Schafly said. "But you have to realize that you’re hurting yourself by not focusing on school work. Right now, you’re passing, Isaac, but barely."
"I’m sorry." Isaac tried to scrape the paint off his finger and ended up tearing off a piece of skin. It hurt, and it would hurt more later.
"You don’t have to apologize to me," Mrs. Schafly said. "You just have to try harder."
"I’m trying as hard as I can," Isaac whispered. A sick feeling rose in his chest. He’d been so worried about everything else that it had been all he could do to show up and make some effort at school everyday. He’d have to do better. He just didn’t know where he’d find the energy.
"What was that?" Mrs. Schafly inquired.
Isaac swallowed. "I’m. . . I am trying pretty hard."
"I wish I could say I thought so," Mrs. Schafly said. "But you don’t show me that you are. Half of your assignments aren’t completed, your handwriting is very hard to read, and everything you turn into me looks like you’ve done it very carelessly. Next year, in third grade, they will never tolerate work like that. You’re lucky that I’ll give you partial credit." She fingered the small golden apple charm that hung from a chain around her neck. "You were supposed to hand in your holiday picture to me a week ago, and you never even did that."
"I just. . ." Isaac didn’t know if he should try to defend himself. He didn’t know why he’d try to defend himself. "I just couldn’t think of anything to draw."
"Of course you could," Mrs. Schafly shook her head. "I gave you the option of any holiday important to your family."
"But I just. . ." Isaac began.
"I’m sorry about your family situation, Isaac, because I have heard about it," Mrs. Schafly said. "However, Jenell is also in a foster home, and she drew a beautiful picture. Mrs. Perry tells me that your younger brother is doing wonderfully in kindergarten." She set her lips tightly together. "Isaac, you can’t allow outside forces to prevent you from achieving your fullest potential. I’d hate to see you cheat yourself."
"Okay." Isaac traced a circle on the desk with the tip of his finger. He pressed down hard. "I’ll try harder."
"And that’s all anyone can really do, can they?" Mrs. Schafly asked, cheerily. She stood up. "You may go out to recess now."
"Okay." Isaac nodded, rising to his feet. He shuffled to the coat room, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.
"Isaac, don’t sulk." Mrs. Schafly sounded irritated.
"I’m not," Isaac called, straightening up. He wasn’t, either. He was just worrying. Now he’d have to worry about everything else and about passing school, too. And he had to push himself a lot harder. He’d better pass, or else. . . or else. . .
Isaac didn’t want to think about it. He wouldn’t think about it. He’d just try a lot harder and pass second grade.
He found himself in the first floor hallway now, heading toward the outside door. The kindergarten room was to his left, and he could see Taylor sitting at the art table with about four other little kids. He appeared to be deep in conversation with them, and they were leaning around him to see what he was doing. Isaac shook his head, thrusting his entire body weight against the heavy metal door to push it open. A cold blast of air hit him in the face and he closed his eyes for the second.
"At least somebody’s doing good in school," Isaac shrugged.
"Now, this one is Rudolph." With a brown marker, Taylor outlined a reindeer on a piece of construction paper. "See? That’s why I was saving this." He lifted a red pompom from the table and glued it to the reindeer’s nose. "And he’s going to help Santa Claus..."
"I don’t believe in Santa Claus," a little girl named Monica piped. "My family’s Jewish."
"Yeah, my family’s Hindu," agreed another little girl, Swathi. "I don’t believe in Santa Claus, either."
"Only in the tooth fairy," Emily supplied.
"Oh, that’s okay." Taylor added a white pompom to the tip of Santa Claus’s hat. "I don’t believe in Santa Claus either."
"Then how come you’re drawing him?" Swathi asked.
"Because, I used to believe in him," Taylor said matter-of factly, "and then he died."
Both girls gasped. Andrew and Peter, the other two kids at the art table, exchanged a horrified look.
"Come on, Swathi," said Emily, taking Swathi’s hand. "Let’s go play house. We don’t want to listen to the yucky boys anymore."
"It’s true, though," Taylor said. "Santa Claus is dead, dead, dead."
"If you say that, Santa Claus won’t give you any presents," Peter cautioned.
"Oh, that’s okay," Taylor replied. "Santa Claus never bringed me anything anyway. And now that he’s dead, it doesn’t really matter."
Andrew swallowed hard. "I think you’re lying," he said.
Taylor’s feelings were hurt. "I am not! He was killed in a bus accident!"
"That’s not true," Peter defended. "I saw Santa Claus at the mall yesterday."
"Yeah, you did," Taylor nodded. "That’s because there’s not just one Santa Claus, there’s millions of ‘em."
"You’re crazy," Andrew scoffed. "Everybody knows there’s only one."
Taylor shook his head. "No, there’s a lot. Because what happens if Santa Claus gots shot by someone who thinkeded he was a robber?"
"Nobody would ever do that," Andrew didn’t sound very sure of himself.
"Yes they would!" Taylor exclaimed. "Every year it happens. To at least five Santa Clauses."
"I don’t believe you." Peter folded his arms across his chest.
"It’s true," Taylor insisted. "My brother told me it."
"You are such a liar," Andrew rolled his eyes.
Taylor’s lower lip quivered. "I am not!"
"Are too!" Andrew insisted. "Are too!"
"Am not!" Taylor‘s hands clenched into fists. "I am not!"
"Hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm hmm." Andrew clapped his hands over his ears and hummed. "I ca-an’t hear you!"
"That’s because you know I’m telling the truth," Taylor narrowed his eyes.
"No you aren’t!" Peter looked like he might cry. "Santa Claus is going to bring me a bike this year!"
"He’ll still bring you the bike," Taylor assured him. "One of the ones who is still alive will. Just tell your daddy that he’d better not come out and shoot Santa with a gun, if he has a gun."
Peter turned pale. "My daddy is a policeman!" he exclaimed. "He might shoot Santa with his gun, on accident!"
"If you warn him, he won’t," Taylor told Peter. "Is he nice?"
"Yeah, but he catches bad robbers," Peter said. "He’ll kill Santa Claus."
"Make a sign for Santa Claus," Taylor suggested. "Write ‘Dear Santa, please leave my presents in the yard, because I’m worried my daddy might shoot you with a gun.’"
"I can’t write yet." Peter swallowed. "How can I do that?"
"Ask Mrs. Perry to help you," Taylor suggested.
"Good idea," Peter agreed. He went to go find his teacher.
"Isaac?" The minute the second graders came back in from recess, Mrs. Schafly called Isaac to the front of the room again. "You need to go down to the principal’s office. Now." She handed him a painted wooden hall pass.
"What did I. . ." Isaac began.
"Quickly." Mrs. Schafly pursed her lips together. "Hurry up."
Isaac scooted out of the room and down the stairs. What was happening now?
"Taylor, there are certain things that we shouldn’t tell other children. . ." Mr. Martinez had been a teacher for twenty years, a principal for five. He’d seen and heard a lot in that time, and had gleaned many facts about Santa Claus from years of listening to elementary school students. This story, however, was one he’d never heard before. He peered over the edge of his desk and studied the small, blond kindergartener in front of him. Taylor’s feet didn’t reach the floor, one of his shoelaces was untied, and there were graham cracker crumbs around the corners of his mouth. His fingertips were stained with marker and there was a peeling happy face sticker on the front of his overalls. He looked like any other five year old, not some psychotic little monster. How, then, had he come up with these awful tales about Santa Claus?
There was, perhaps, one other person in school who would know. Mr. Martinez had pressed the button on his desk and sent a message to his secretary. Could she please send someone to find Taylor’s brother Isaac?
Isaac approached the school’s main office with a growing feeling of dread. First, he was failing second grade. Then, he was a juvenile delinquent being sent off to see the principal. What was next. . . Trevorford? That was where the bad kids ended up. Anthony’s brother was there. In maximum security lockdown, Anthony said. Anthony’s brother was fifteen. Could they put eight year olds in maximum security lockdown?
"You’re Isaac?" Ms. Harrington, the secretary, lifted her eyes from the blinking computer screen. "Mr. Martinez wants to see you, right away."
No, I’m not Isaac! Isaac almost said. I’m Bob. I was just passing through. I don’t even go to this school!
He sighed. He didn’t think she’d buy it. "Okay, thanks," he nodded, pausing in from of Mr. Martinez’s door and taking a deep breath.
Mr. Martinez looked up from Taylor when the door creaked open. A scared little face peered around the edge of it.
"Isaac," he said. "Have a seat."
When Isaac’s eyes landed on Taylor, they nearly popped out of his head. How had his brother gotten in trouble?
A sickening thought dawned on him. What if they weren’t in trouble. . . what if something terrible had happened? Or what if they’d found out how many lies Isaac had told about his mother, and they were going to kick Taylor and him out of school?
Isaac swallowed as he sank into the hard wooden seat. He wouldn’t mind being kicked out of school very much. Taylor would be heartbroken.
"Neither of you are in trouble," Mr. Martinez said. "I just have a few questions, Isaac, and I’d like you to help me answer them."
"Okay." Isaac took a deep breath. He hated questions. He’d have to make up some lies really fast. And then remember them for later, in case anyone questioned him again.
"Thank you, Isaac," Mr. Martinez said. He believed in showing respect for students. His own memories of quaking in the presence of a tall and formidable principal, the biggest man on earth to a four foot tall seven year old, were still vivid. He didn’t want to be Mr. Louis to any of the children in this school. With that in mind, Mr. Martinez wondered how to start.
"Taylor, you said a few things in kindergarten today that were a bit scary to some of the other kids. Do you want to tell Isaac what they were?"
Taylor’s blue eyes widened and he wriggled around in his seat until he faced his older brother. "Ike," he whispered, attempting to cup his hand around his mouth to keep Mr. Martin from hearing, but, in fact, covering the wrong side, "I told them about Santa Claus. And they didn’t believe me."
"Taylor, you weren’t supposed to do that!" Isaac whispered back.
"You never told me I couldn’t," Taylor protested.
Mr. Martinez leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desktop. What, he wondered, would this conversation reveal?
"Taylor, you’re going to have to say you’re sorry," Isaac said, thinking fast. He had to find a way to remedy this situation before they got themselves into even worse trouble. Apologize, he thought. Apologize and everyone can pretend it never happened.
"I’m not sorry," Taylor whispered back. "I was telling the truth!"
Isaac swallowed. He had two choices, neither of them very appealing. He could tell Taylor that it was okay to apologize. . . he’d been lying when he told Taylor and Zac the stories about Santa Claus, the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny. Saying that would destroy Isaac’s credibility forever. And the fact that his two little brothers believed every word that came out of his mouth was too great an asset to lose.
His other option was just as bad though. He couldn’t tell Taylor to lie and say that he was sorry in front of the principal. Isaac swallowed.
"Taylor, do you feel bad that you made those kids scared?"
Taylor thought. He put his chin in his hand and pursed his lips.
"Do you feel bad?" Isaac pressed. "You do, right?"
"I’m thinking," Taylor frowned. He thought a little bit more.
"Taylor!" Isaac exclaimed. "You do feel bad!"
"Maybe a little," Taylor agreed.
"Are you sorry?" Isaac persisted.
"Maybe a little," Taylor admitted.
That was good enough for Isaac. He turned to Mr. Martinez. "He’s sorry," he supplied.
Mr. Martinez bit back a grin. "That’s very mature of you, Taylor," he said. "It makes me very proud that you can apologize for scaring the other kids. It takes a very strong person to apologize." He drew a breath. "However. . . I’m more interested in what made you say the things you said. Where did you hear them."
Taylor grinned hugely, swiveling around in his seat. "From him," he said, pointing to Isaac.
Isaac turned pale. "Taylor!" he hissed.
Mr. Martinez blinked. "Is that so?" he asked. "Isaac, why did you tell your brother such stories about Santa Claus? Did you make them up yourself?"
"No," Taylor interjected. "He was sitting on a bench in the park one day, and a little elf cameded up and he was crying. So Ike askeded the little elf why he was crying and the little elf tolded him that Santa Claus had just got killed in a bus accident."
"That’s terrible," Mr. Martinez observed. His eyes shifted nervously.
"It was actually some big kid on the playground a couple of years ago," Isaac lied.
"Oh." Mr. Martinez nodded. "Do you remember his name?"
Isaac shook his head. "No, he was a fifth grader, and I was a kindergartener. And I was scared of him. And I didn’t know what his name was."
"I see." Mr. Martinez nodded.
"You told me it was a little elf!" Taylor folded his arms and stuck out his lower lip. "How come you always tell me lies?"
Isaac felt a chill run down his spine. Taylor knew he lied a lot. If his little brother kept going, none of Isaac’s stories might ever work again, and if they didn’t work, he didn’t know what he’d do the next time he had to rely on one to get himself out of a tough situation. Again, he felt his mind racing.
"I don’t tell you lies!" Isaac exclaimed, cutting Taylor off before he could continue. "Mr. Martinez is trying to talk, Taylor. It isn’t nice to interrupt people."
Taylor gave Isaac the meanest look he could. "You’re interrupting."
"Boys, calm down," Mr. Martinez said. "Taylor, you and Isaac can discuss the reason he told you a little elf told him the stories about Santa Claus later on. Isaac, Taylor wasn’t interrupting me. I just wanted to know, Taylor, where you’d heard those stories about Santa Claus. If you had made them up yourself, I probably would have asked you more questions, and maybe arranged for you to talk to the school psychologist."
"The school psychologist?" Taylor and Isaac asked, simultaneously. Isaac felt his heart leap into his throat. Taylor wondered what a psychologist was.
"Yes, because when people think a lot about killing and shooting, it sometimes means that they are mixed up, and have problems that they need to talk to someone about," Mr. Martinez said. "It doesn’t mean that they are bad people, only that they need to talk to someone."
Isaac swallowed. He was failing second grade, Taylor would probably never speak to him again, he was two steps away from juvenile delinquent status, and now he had problems he had to talk to the school psychologist about. And. . . oh yeah! He had to adjust to foster care as well as Taylor and Jenell had, so that he could draw a beautiful picture too, and be just as normal as they were.
Isaac stole a glance at his little brother. Well, maybe as normal as Jenell was. She was a pretty nice girl.
"The boy who told you, Isaac, those stories about Santa Claus, probably had a lot of problems himself," Mr. Martinez went on. "I don’t know why he told you those things, but he shouldn’t have. Now, I want both of you to go back to class. Don’t repeat the stories about Santa Claus to anyone else, and, Taylor, I want you to tell the kids you scared that you were only telling stories, not the truth. Can you do that for me?"
Taylor nodded. "Uh huh."
"Thank you, both of you, that will be all." Mr. Martinez nodded. "Would you like a Hershey Kiss?"
Isaac was about to say no, but Taylor spoke first. "Uh huh," he nodded, his eyes shining.
"Here you go." Mr. Martinez lifted a plastic bag out of his desk and shook three Hershey Kisses out. "I’m going to have one, too." They were wrapped in red and silver paper, for Christmas, Isaac guessed.
"Thank you," Taylor grinned.
"Yeah, thanks," Isaac added.
"You’re welcome." Mr. Martinez winked. "I have to hide my candy at school, so my wife doesn’t find it."
"That’s smart," Taylor observed.
Mr. Martinez grinned. "Why, thank you. I’m flattered that you think so. Isaac, are you going to walk your brother back to his class?"
"Uh huh." Isaac nodded. "Um. . . thanks."
"You’re welcome. Hurry up, so you don’t miss anything else in class," Mr. Martinez cautioned. His smile was warm. "It's been nice talking to the two of you!"
"It's been nice talking to you, too!" Taylor supplied, happily.
"That wasn’t so bad," Taylor observed, once they were outside the main office and in the downstairs hall.
Isaac was resting his forehead against the cool, smooth tile of the wall. He’d walked out of the principal’s office and found himself shaking. He wasn’t sure why. . . really it could have been a lot worse. . . but he had to take a few deep breaths before he trusted himself to remain on his feet.
"It wasn’t so bad," Taylor repeated. "Was it?"
Isaac shook his head. "No, I guess not."
"Mr. Martinez is nice." Taylor had a faint rim of chocolate around his mouth now, on top of the graham cracker crumbs. "I think I’m going to get sent to see him more often."
Isaac was shocked. "No, don’t!"
"Why not?" Taylor looked hurt. "You never let me have any fun."
"No, I mean. . ." Isaac struggled to figure out what he did mean. "It’s just that Mr. Martinez won’t like it if you bother him very often. And he’ll run out of Hershey Kisses."
"Oh, right." Taylor nodded. "I didn’t think about that."
"Come on," Isaac said. "Your class will be going to lunch pretty soon."
Isaac deposited Taylor at the door of the kindergarten and took a leisurely stroll through the school, feeling calmer. The sense of immediate doom he’d been carrying with him all morning had dissipated. When he went back to class and handed back the hall pass, it was with a feeling of resolute exhaustion. It had been a long morning. The afternoon would be a piece of cake.
At three PM, Dan pulled the battered Volvo station wagon into the school’s parking lot and waited, watching the river of little kids pour out the door and down the stairs, backpacks swinging. "You see ‘em, Zac?" he inquired.
Zac, who was peering out the window, shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Not yet."
"Me neither. . ." Dan turned the engine off and scratched the back of his neck. "Me neither. . ."
"There’s Tay!" Zac sang. Dan looked over to where he was pointing. The tiny kid in the blue jacket, taking the stairs so slowly you knew he was a kindergartener? That was Taylor, all right. Now if only Isaac would show up within the next few minutes, all would be well in the world. . .
And, as the mass of kids dissipated into the smallest trickle, Isaac emerged, scanning the parking lot unsurely before he started down the stairs. It might have been a trick of the light, but Dan thought he saw a small smile flicker across Isaac’s face when he spotted the car.
Taylor, meandering down the sidewalk at his own sweet pace, had barely reached the car when Isaac caught up to him. In fact, Isaac ended up wrenching the back door open for his little brother, because Taylor couldn’t do it.
"Hi, Dan!" Taylor sang.
"Hi," Isaac echoed.
"Hey," Dan grinned, turning the key in the ignition. "How was school?"
Taylor fumbled with his seatbelt. "Mr. Martinez, the principal, told me he was very proud of me, and then he gave me a Hershey Kiss. He gave Ike one, too."
"Did he?" Dan glanced into the rearview mirror and met Isaac’s eyes. "Really? Are you sure you aren’t lying?"
"No, it really happened," Isaac piped. Maybe not the way Taylor was describing it, he thought, but oh well. What Dan didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
"How about you, Ike?" Dan asked. "Did your teacher say anything to you?"
Isaac thought. "Yeah, she said that I shouldn’t allow outside forces to keep me from achieving my fullest potential."
"What does that mean?" Dan, Taylor and Zac chorused.
"I think she wants me to finish my holiday picture," Isaac said.