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“Can we sit anywhere?” asked Susy Jordan, racing to claim a place at the head of the class. She hurled herself onto a trunk and announced, “This is my seat.”

“Fine. You sit there. Brad, go sit next to your sister.”

“Do I have to?”

Brad,” said Susy. Brad skulked over and settled onto the edge of the trunk. His sister pinched his arm, scolded him in low tones, “Don’t make trouble, brat.”

“Don’t call me brat.”

“Don’t be one.”

“Hey, hey,” I said. Susy beamed. “I apologize for my brother, Mr. Robinson.” It cheered me to know that at least one potential discipline problem would be taken in hand without intervention on my part. The other problems, it seemed clear, would be Matt and Larry Harris, who remained over by the dungeon, picking up pieces of the model, holding them aloft in the bare-bulb light, saying things like “This is nothing. I could build this shit.”

“Guys, put that stuff down and come over here behind Susy and Brad.” I didn’t want these two in the back of the class — the traditional place for class clowns, spitball throwers, and general fuckups.

“What do we do with these?” asked one, displaying his powerful longbow. “Under the stairs,” I told them. “That goes for everybody. All toys in the cardboard box beneath the stairs. Pronto.”

One by one, the kids came forward and consigned their playthings to the box. Jane’s toy, it turned out, was the stick she’d been using, earlier, to draw dirt pictures of fish. This sad fact earned from Sarah, of the wet red mouth and dog-faced shoes, the harsh comment “That’s your toy? A stick?”

More sobbing from Jane. I had to step in and say, “One of the things I hope to teach you this semester is the importance of tolerating diversity. Who can tell me what the word ‘diversity’ means? No one? Diversity means difference. We’re all different people, with different beliefs, different styles of clothes, different toys and hobbies. And what are some of our special hobbies? Anyone?”

“Helping my mom in the kitchen.”

“Superb hobby, Susy. Uh, let’s see. Steven. Steven, do you have a favorite hobby that you like a lot?”

“Snorkeling in the pool.”

“Another fine hobby. David, how about you? What do you do for pleasure and amusement?”

David, still cradling Tim in his arms, said, from the back of the class, “My mom and dad hardly ever come home, so I have to spend most of my time taking care of my brother. Does that count?”

“Well, actually, no.”

From overhead I could hear Meredith’s footsteps, the creaking of the floorboards. Meredith was probably cleaning juice glasses and coffee cups in the kitchen. Or setting out napkins and plates for lunch break. After a moment she came partway down the basement stairs — interrupting the Harris twins’ Byzantine tales of neighborhood bow-hunting expeditions under cover of night — and said, “Excuse me a moment. Pete, the drain’s clogged again.”

“Be right up, hon.” I went to the metal tool cabinet and got out the plumber’s snake. I coiled the snake like a whip and instructed, “No one leaves his or her seat. There will be no talking. If I hear a single sound from down here, you will all be held accountable.”

Upstairs, Hope was still hunkered down under the table. Chair legs caged her. I hadn’t even noticed her absence from the class. Meredith said, “She won’t come out. Poor baby.”

I pulled back a chair and crouched down, got eye level. “Hope, don’t you like school?”

“No.”

“All your friends are here. We’re going to have a swell time. I have a lot of fun games planned for later. Won’t you come downstairs?”

“Leave her be, Pete. I’ll stay up here with her. She’ll be okay. Look at this drain.”

Sure enough, it was backed up to the rim; piled cups and glasses loomed like a crystal city submerged beneath soapy water that stung my wounds when I reached in for the food trap. I cleared space around the drain and slithered the flexible copper snake into the pipe. It went a foot. I could not force it farther.

“Fuck.”

“Not in front of children, Pete.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I administered a couple more futile plunges with the snake. Meredith watched over my shoulder. Whatever was in there, it was really in there.

“Do we have Drāno?” I asked.

“You’re not supposed to pour Drāno through standing water, I don’t think.”

“Hmn. Maybe this’ll drain out over time. We can pour Drāno in later.”

I re-coiled the wet snake and bent down to peer at Hope beneath the table. She’d gathered herself into a ball, pale child’s arms tightly wrapping dirty knees. Her staring eyes were wild.

“Don’t make me drag you out of there.”

“Pete!”

“Okay, okay. Relax. I was only kidding.” And then, to Hope, this warning: “If you get behind in your lessons you’ll have take-home makeup assignments.”

On the way downstairs I made sure to shut the basement door, locking the bolt securely from the inside, to prevent any more intrusions.

The kids, all nine, were sitting quietly on their trunks. All except Tim, who was still in his brother’s lap, rocking, whimpering.

As I came down the creaking steps David raised his hand. “Mr. Robinson?”

“Yes?”

“I need to change him.”

“Can it wait?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

How very tiresome. “All right, go ahead.” David hoisted his brother and headed for the stairs, but I blocked his path. He said, “It’s best if I do this in a bathroom.”

“I don’t mind if you do it here. You can rest Tim on top of the furnace. The rest of us will continue with class, and you can listen in.”

David didn’t look enthusiastic about changing his little brother on the furnace, but I insisted it was okay, he didn’t have to be squeamish, it wouldn’t distract the rest of us in the least. Finally he gave in and retired to the back of the basement, where, in dim, forty-watt light, he unsnapped Tim’s jumper. I took my place behind the podium. I kept the plumber’s snake by my side. Susy and Brad sat at attention in the first row, ready to jot notes. Matt and Larry hunched forward like hoodlums in their seats. Steven and Sarah, sharing the trunk behind the Harrises’, made a sweet couple. Next came Jane. Near her feet the bison mascot rested on its sunk-in drain grating. I exclaimed, in my best oratorial style, “Everybody, repeat after me. Diversity! Tolerance!”

“Diversity. Tolerance,” said Susy Jordan.

“All of you. Diversity! Tolerance!”

“Diversity. Tolerance.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing. Louder now. Diversity! Tolerance!”

“Diversity. Tolerance.”

“Much better. Again with feeling. I want to hear you. You too, David. Raise the rafters. Together now. Diversity! Tolerance!”

“Diversity! Tolerance!” the youths chorused.

“Excellent. That’s your class motto. Learn it and don’t forget it.”

It was also, I’d decided, a perfect centerpiece slogan for the mayoral campaign. Listening to those kids chant gave me such a high.

“How’s it going, David?” I called to the boy performing childcare at the back of the room.