River
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Chapter 31 - Mark at School
So far: River had her first day at high school, and all goes well. Her
Ojibwe teacher had a sly way of letting her teach the language and
history to the other students, without them knowing that she was
really in charge. The river cured a newcomer to the school, although
not in the way one would expect. And finally we discovered what Chip's
secret was. Now we go back a few hours and go to Mark's first day at
school.
----- ------ -------
Mrs. Cutler looked about the room, and her eyes fixed at the big boy
at the back, crammed into a desk too small for him. They had moved a
larger desk in from the Grade 8 class, but it was still tight on him.
Clearly the boy must have learning difficulties to still be in Grade
Five at his age, she assumed. She decided to test his reading ability
by letting him read the first passage in one of the books in the small
classroom library. Traditionally she let the first student pick the
book. Even his choice of book would be an indication of his ability.
There were a few Grade Three and Four level books on the shelf, as
well as a few at Grade Six or Seven levels.
She looked down at her seating plan. "Mark Waters," she said. "We need
a story. Your choice."
Mark looked up sharply, a bit surprised to be called on so early in
his first day in class. He paused for a second, and then started to
speak.
"Thank you Mark," Mrs. Cutler said. "That will be enough for now. Tell
me, where did you first hear that story?" Almost every student booed
her decision to pause the story, crying out to find out what happened
next.
"Just now," Mark said. "I have heard other stories like it, and Tall
John George, my Ojibwe teacher, tells me stories like it, but I made
it up when you said you wanted a story. I hope it was good enough."
"It was, Mark. Do you think you could finish it? Do you have a
computer? Can you type? I think the students would like to hear, or
read, the rest of the story." There were cheers of agreement in the
room. "This class is about reading, not making up stories. You will do
that in later years. But if you could get the rest of the story on
paper, then other students could read it. It would help them with
their reading, and everyone else will hear how the story turns out."
"Yes ma'am. My father has a computer, but I don't type very fast. Not
as fast as I think, anyway. But my sister, River, is a very fast
typist, and maybe she can type the story as I say it. It is a very
long story though."
"But an interesting one," Mrs. Cutler said. "One we all want to hear.
But reading time is over, and now we have to do math. Here is a
worksheet for division, to see how good you all are with numbers. Do
as many as you can, and then stop if you don't understand." She handed
out a sheet of questions, and the students hunched over their desks as
the teacher went from student to student to assess their grade level
in arithmetic. Most had no problem with the first half page, dividing
with single digit numbers. The bottom half of the page had division
with double digit numbers, and most students could do that, although a
few were struggling. On the back, the same two levels of work were
involved, but now remainders were required.
When she got to the back of the room, she saw Mark's paper neatly on
his desk. He was talking to the boy next to him, and Mrs. Cutler was
about to rebuke him for it when she realized that he was helping the
other boy. Brian Johnson had been a borderline student in math last
year, actually in all subjects, but Mark was showing him how deal with
remainders in the problems. And the other boy seemed to understand,
and was working out how to do it on his own. The teacher flipped
Mark's paper over, and scanned the answers. They all seemed correct,
including the most difficult section.
"Very good," she said. "Let's take up the papers and see how you all
did. Every student will give the answer he or she got, and if others
got something else, put your hand up and we will find out what the
right answer was."
They went through the first nine questions quickly, and no one had
different results. But on the tenth question, a student said 66
divided by 11 was 5. Mrs. Cutler waited for the others to put up their
hands, but only Mark did. She asked him what he got, and he said 6.
That led to more than half the class also raising their hand in
agreement. The teacher had seen the correct answer on many of the
papers, and realized that they didn't want to say their answer was
different in case it was wrong.
"Mark, can you come up to the board and show us how you got that
answer," Mrs. Cutler asked. Mark came up and took the chalk from the
teacher, who realized that the boy was several inches taller than her,
which she found unusual and unsettling.
Mark wrote out the problem on the board, and completed it, telling the
class what he did in each step. The teacher then changed the question
to 68 divided by 11 and Mark then added the remainder into his work.
After the worksheet, Mrs. Cutler had a good idea which students had
been successful at a Grade Four level, and went into her first lesson,
which dealt with decimal fractions. She continued that until the bell
rang for recess, and she let the students out, with Mark following
behind.
Mrs. Cutler took the break and went to the principal's office to speak
with Mrs. Karsen. "It's about Mark Waters," she started.
"Oh no, he's already causing problems? I was worried about that," the
principal replied.
"No, it isn't that. He's a great student. Polite, helpful, and he is
even helping other students that aren't so far along. His English
skills seem to be at a Grade 9 level or more, and he is well ahead in
math. I'm wondering why someone his age has been held back to Grade
5."
"He hasn't been held back," Mrs. Karsen said. "He is only 10, soon to
be 11. I suggested a higher grade for him, but his mother insisted
that he stay with his peer group, even though he is physically much
bigger."
"He is only 10?" Mrs. Cutler asked. "He looks like he should be in
high school."
"Just a growth spurt," the principal said. "Although I don't know of
any other kids with that kind of spurt. I sent for his records from
Toronto, and the picture shows Mark, although his height and weight
are listed much lower than now. There was no record of any aggressive
behavior. In fact, there was one notation where someone else was
accused of bullying him."
"Goodness," Mrs. Cutler said. "I'll have to get back to class before
recess ends. I intend to keep an eye on the boy."
"Please do, and let me know if there is anything I should know."
The rest of the morning went normally, and Mark went down to the
cafeteria carrying the paper bag containing the sandwich that River
had made for him this morning. He stood in the doorway, and looked
around, seeing his classmates primarily at two tables. He started to
head that way, and then saw a boy sitting alone at a table, with no
lunch in front of him. Mark headed that way.
"Can I sit here?" he asked. The boy looked up sharply, and then down
again.
"You are too late," he said. "They already took my lunch. First day
too. I have nothing left to give you."
"I wasn't planning to take anything from you," Mark said. "Who took
your lunch?"
The boy looked up confused, and then apprehensively pointed to four
boys laughing at a table in the corner.
"What is your name?"
"Chester Mims," the boy said. "I'm in Grade 6."
"Wait here Chester, I'm going to get your lunch back." Mark then
headed over to the table and stood in front of the boys, who
immediately noticed, and stopped laughing. "What's up, Tonto," one of
the boys said. Over the summer his time in the sun had darkened Mark's
complexion, and he really did look like a First Nations student
especially with the native necklace he wore. To Mark that was a
compliment, not a slur.
"You took Chester Mims' lunch," he accused the group in general. "I
want it back."
"Yeah?" What if I don't want to give it up?" one of the bigger boys
said menacingly.
Mark put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and started to squeeze. "I
suggest you give it up quickly, or there might be trouble. Are you
left-handed?"
"Nooo," the boy said, grimacing at the pain.
"Well you will be for the next few months while your arm is in a
sling, if you don't give me that sandwich. Now!"
"Here," the boy said, tossing him a brown paper bag. "Probably wasn't
anything good in it."
"Did you take anything else that doesn't belong to you from him?" Mark
continued to keep the pressure on.
"Yeah, a twoonie," the boy said. "It's in my pocket. Let go of me and
I will get it."
Mark let go, and as the boy fished for the money, he spoke to the
entire group: "Chester Mims is my friend, and if any of you do
anything to him, you can count on me doing much worse to you. And the
entire Grade 5 class is off limits to you as well. He turned and
walked away. As he did, he heard one of the other bullies complaining
to the first for giving up the food and money. "You didn't feel what I
felt," the boy said. "He is stronger than my Dad."
"I am so dead," Chester said as Mark tossed his lunch and the two
dollar coin in front of him. "They will kill me now."
"No they won't," Mark said. "If they even look at you funny, you tell
me. You are my friend, and I don't let bullies bother my friends."
"What?"
"I said I don't let bullies bother my friends," Mark repeated.
"No. The bit where you said you are my friend. Do you really mean
that?"
"Yes, why?"
"I ? I've never really had a friend before. And you are so big. Why do
you want a little Grade 6 for a friend?"
"I'm only Grade 5," Mark said. "Though I am pretty big. Don't you want
a friend?"
"Yes. Yes please. I ? I just can't believe it. My life has always
sucked. I can't remember when anything this good has ever happened to
me."
The two boys chatted over lunch, getting to know each other. Mark
actually compared Chester to Paul, his old Toronto friend, who was
into the same comics, computer games, and books. Chester was actually
smiling as he headed off to class.
Meanwhile, over at the bullies' table the four were plotting revenge.
"We can't let that punk muscle into our action," the tallest of the
four, Josh Neil, said.
"I don't think he is muscling in," Aiden Roush, the boy who still had
a bruised shoulder, added. "I saw him give the money to the little
squirt."
"Well we can't let him cut off the entire fifth grade. We need to find
punks in there with cash," Tyler Tutt said.
"He's strong," Aiden said. "My shoulder still hurts, and I don't think
that is the worst he could have done."
"But there are four of us," a chubbier boy, Zak VanEssen said. "We can
take him."
"I don't know," Aiden hesitated.
"Listen, this is what we do," Josh said, and kneeled over the table,
ignoring the warning bell for the end of lunch.
----- ------ ------
It was the following day when the bullies pulled their plan into
action, Mark was among the last of the boys headed to the bus.
Suddenly, four boys leapt out of the bushes near the entrance, holding
a hockey stick, baseball bat, a large stick, and a knife.
"You're going down, punk," Aiden said, holding the knife.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Mark said. "The last kids to jump
me wound up in hospital. And they were a year older, and bigger than
you guys. Drop the weapons and you won't get hurt."
"You're the one getting hurt," Aiden yelled. "Get him, guys."
Tyler came in from the left and Josh from the right, both swinging
their weapons, the hockey stick and the baseball bat. As they swung,
Mark dropped to the ground, and their blows missed. Missed Mark, that
is. The baseball bat collided with Tyler's face, and Josh got the
hockey stick full on his temple. Both boys dropped, even as Mark was
rolling back into a defensive stance.
"Shit, he's a ninja," Zak shouted, dropping his stick. Aiden hesitated
and then turned to run as well, but ran right into Steven Handel, the
Grade 7 teacher, sticking his knife into the man accidently.
"Ow!" the man said, grasping his side but holding Aiden with one arm.
The knife had barely scratched him but had ruined his suit jacket. "I
saw it all." He turned and Mrs. Karsen was there. "Those four punks
from my class last year did it. They attacked this new boy, and hurt
themselves. Are you okay?" he asked Mark.
"Fine. A little dusty. I tried to warn them," he said.
"Somebody should call an ambulance for these two, and the police for
this one. Carrying a knife will interest them," Mr. Handel said.
"Are you sure that other boy had nothing to do with it?" Mrs. Karsen
said. "Boys don't just go around attacking other boys for no reason."
"It was because of me," It was Chester, speaking up tentatively. "They
took my lunch yesterday and a twoonie. Mark got them back. I think
that is why they went after him."
"Had they ever taken money from you before?" Mrs. Karsen said.
"Nearly every day last year," the boy said.
"And others?" she asked in amazement. The students had abandoned the
buses when the fight had started, and now were clustered around them.
More than a few students in the crowd nodded.
"I told you last term that those students were causing problems and
bullying," Mr. Handel accused the principal. "But you didn't want to
listen."
"But they were such good boys," she replied.
"Yes, in Grade 3 when you had them. Kids change. We need to get them
straightened out now, or they will wind up as thugs."
Mrs. Karsen paused for a second, and then shook herself into action.
She clapped her hands to quiet the chattering crowd of students. "I
want to see all of you on the buses immediately. Except for Chester
and anyone else who these boys had taken money or possessions from."
Just then the ambulance pulled up, and EMTs rushed out to tend to the
fallen boys. Tyler was stirring groggily, but Zak was still out cold.
"Who was the fourth boy?" Mrs. Karsen asked. "Josh Neil I expect."
"Yes, he ran off when the others went down," Mr. Handel said. Come on
you lot. He took a rather large group of students into the Grade 7
classroom, just inside the door, and found that the 32 seats in the
room were not enough for everyone to sit. Mark stood near the front,
as well as several others who lined the back wall. The police arrived
a few minutes later and Mr. Handel described what he had seen. He had
come out of the door just as the boys surrounded Mark and started
yelling at him.
Mark was taken into a separate room to talk to one officer, while the
other took names and information from the others who had lost money to
the boys last year. Apparently four others had been accosted that day.
Chester was led off with the officer who had taken Mark, and was
relieved to see his new friend was smiling as the officer brought him
back. It made him less apprehensive about being questioned. "Just tell
the truth," Mark whispered as they crossed paths.
Alison arrived about a half hour after the end of classes, which meant
she must have been speeding on the trip to Terrace Bay from St.
Mary's. She was relieved to find Mark unhurt, and then proceeded to
take a strip off the principal, threatening to take Mark out of school
if they couldn't protect him.
Mark finally had to get her to calm down. He pointed out that the
school had done nothing wrong, and that Mr. Handel had been at hand to
see everything. As the adrenaline let up, Alison realized she may have
overreacted, and apologized to the principal, who graciously accepted,
and offered her apologies in kind, noting that the four boys would be
suspended, with possible worse repercussions, depending on the police
investigation. Mark would be held completely blameless.
Everything would have been fine at that point, but then Charles
VanEssen stormed into the meeting as it was about to break up,
screaming that he wanted to know which boy had put his son into the
hospital.
"You should have asked at the hospital," Mr. Handel said. "It was
Tyler Tutt who hit your son. I saw it. They were attacking another
boy, and missed, hitting each other."
"I spoke to Tyler at the hospital. He said there was a high-school or
college age boy in the school, and they were just protecting
themselves."
"I can assure you that there are no students in the school this year
who are older than Grade 8," Mrs. Karsen said.
Mr. VanEssen then noticed Mark. "What about that boy? He certainly
looks older than Grade 8."
Mark stood up, and moved within a few feet of the irate parent. "I am
in Grade 5, sir."
"Do you think I am a fool?" the man said, starting to lose his cool.
"What I think is not important," Mark said calmly. The man was four
inches taller, and 50 pounds heavier, but Mark was not intimidated.
"What you say or do is what people judge you by."
"Why you little ?" The man took a swing, and Mark ducked it easily,
dropping into his defensive stance. The older man had no chance to
take another swing, as the two police officers grabbed him. But he
tried, and struck the female officer on the side of the head with a
glancing blow as they subdued him. He rode back to the police station
in the back of a cruiser.
Mark drove home with Alison, and got to the campsite where an anxious
River was preparing a dinner for the family. Dale, who had been called
by Alison from Terrace Bay, was home early, and Mark had to recount
his adventures for the family.
River wanted to know if Mark needed a trip to the river to cool down,
and he declined. "The river gave me what I needed already," he said.
"I'm big enough, and quick enough, and I have a sense when someone is
about to hit me. That lets me get away most of the time. There is
something I would like you to do, though."
"What is that?" River asked.
"I need someone to type some stuff up for my English class. Quite a
bit, actually." He recounted his telling of the story to his fellow
students, and the teacher's request that he get it on the computer.
"That sounds like a lot," River said. "Do we have the computer at
home?"
"Yes, I brought it to do a few things tonight," Dale said. "But I
don't want you taking it into the river and ruining it."
"I do want to take it into the river, and I can promise that it won't
be ruined, or hurt in any way. We really will need to get another one.
I need some time with it for my homework too. Now that the house in
Toronto is sold, we should be able to afford another one."
"The house is sold," Dale admitted, "but that doesn't mean we have the
money yet. When it comes through, we'll talk about another computer."
"Okay, but until we get one, can you make sure to bring the old one
home each night? I can do my homework in the river in the morning."
River then turned to her brother. "And it sounds like we have a couple
hours of work if you want the whole story on a stick. You'll have to
get up early with me."
"River," Alison shouted. "You can't wake him at two a.m. He's only 10.
He needs his sleep."
"Why? I certainly hope it isn't because he is a growing boy. He
doesn't need to do any growing for a couple more years. Relax. He will
be refreshed and energized by his time in the river, just like I am.
And you will even be able to save cooking him a breakfast in the
morning."
"Nooooo!" Mark said. "I still need my breakfast. I like bacon."
Mikayla
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