“Do you know what Toro means in Spanish?” Rick asked.
“My name ain’t Toro,” Antoro replied.
“Nonetheless, do you know what it means?”
“No. What?”
“Bull. Plain, old, ordinary, common bull.”
Antoro, plainly insulted, retreated behind a sullen visage. Rick turned away from him and looked directly at the boy in the first seat of the first row. The boy was still smiling that blank, stupid smile.
“What’s so funny?” Rick asked.
The boy continued to smile.
“You,” Rick snapped. He looked at the card in the Delaney book. “Santini. What’s so funny?”
“Me?” Santini asked, smiling vacuously.
“Yes, you. What’s so funny?”
“Nothin’,” Santini said, smiling broadly.
“Then why are you...”
“He the smilinest cat in this whole school,” Miller informed Rick. “He smile all the time. Thass cause he an idiot.”
“What?” Rick asked, turning.
Miller tapped his temple with one brown forefinger. “Lotsa muscles,” he said, “but no brains.”
Rick looked at Santini. The boy was still smiling, and the smile was an idiotic one. There was no mirth behind it. It perched on his mouth like a plaster monkey. He felt suddenly embarrassed for having brought the smile to the attention of the class. Surely, the boy was not an idiot, but his intelligence was probably so low that...
“Well, try to pay attention here,” Rick said awkwardly.
“I’m payin’ attention,” Santini said innocently, still smiling.
Rick cleared his throat and passed out the signed program cards. He hated these damned orientation classes. The beginning was bound to be difficult, and it was made doubly difficult by the fact that there was really nothing to do without books and without... without a plan, he reluctantly admitted, realizing he should have planned out these first, difficult, getting-acquainted periods.
“We’ll cover a lot of interesting topics this term,” he said. “We’ll learn all about newspapers, and we’ll read a lot of interesting short stories, and several good novels, and we’ll cover some good plays, too, perhaps acting them out right here in class.”
“Tha’s for me,” Miller said suddenly. Rick smiled, pleased because he thought he’d struck a responsive chord.
“The acting, you mean?” he asked.
“Man, man,” Miller said. “I’m a real Tyrone Power type. You watch me, Chief. I’ll lay ’em in the aisles.”
The boys all laughed suddenly, and for a moment Rick didn’t know what the joke was. He understood suddenly and completely. Miller had used the word “lay” and that was always good for a yak. He wondered whether or not Miller had chosen the word purposely, or had simply blundered into the approving laughter of the boys. Whatever the case. Miller basked in his glory, soaking up the laughs like sunshine.
“Well, you’ll get plenty of opportunity to act,” Rick said, pretending he didn’t understand what the laughter was about. “And we’ll have all sorts of contests, too, for letter-writing, and for progress made. I’m thinking of awarding prizes to the boys who show me they’re really working. Like tickets to football games and hockey games, things like that. Provided I get some co-operation from you.”
“You ever hear of Juan Garza, teach?” one of the boys piped.
“No, I don’t believe so,” Rick said. “Who was Juan Garza?”
“He used to be in my class,” the boy said. Rick had located his card now in the Delaney book. The boy’s name was Maglin.
“What about Juan Garza, Maglin?” Rick asked.
Maglin smiled. “Nothing. He just used to be in my class, that’s all.”
“Why’d you ask if I knew him?”
“I just thought you might have heard about him. He used to be in my class.”
“I gather he was a celebrity of some sort,” Rick said dryly.
“He sure was,” Maglin said, and all the boys laughed their approval.
“Well, it’s a shame he’s not in the class now,” Rick said, and for some reason all the boys found this exceptionally funny. He was ready to pursue the subject further when the bell rang. He rose quickly and said, “I’ll see you all tomorrow, Miller, I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”
Miller’s brow creased into a frown, and the frown vanished before a confident smile. He came to the front of the room, and while the rest of the boys sauntered out, he stood uneasily by the desk, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Rick waited until the other boys were all gone. He knew exactly what he was going to do, but he wanted to do it alone, with just him and Miller present. Its effectiveness would depend upon Miller’s response, and he was sure the response would be a good one, once he separated Miller from the pack. When the other boys had all drifted out, he said, “Man to man talk, Miller. Okay?”
“Sure,” Miller said uneasily, staring down at his shoelaces.
“I’ve checked your records,” he lied. “You’ve got the makings of a leader, Miller. You’re bright and quick, and the other boys like you.”
“Me?” Miller asked, lifting his eyes, surprised. “Me?”
The flattery was beginning to work, and Rick pressed his advantage, smiling paternally now. “Yes, Miller, you. Come now, let’s have no modesty here. You know you’re head and shoulders above all of these boys.”
Miller smiled shyly. “Well, I don’t know. I mean...”
“Here’s the point, Miller. We’re going to have a damned fine class here.” He used the word “damned” purposely, to show Miller he was not above swearing occasionally. “I can sense that. But I want it to be an outstanding class, and I can’t make it that without your help.”
“Me?” Miller asked again, really surprised now, and Rick wondered if he hadn’t carried the flattery angle too far.
“Yes, you,” he pushed on. “Come on, boy, let’s lay our cards on the table.”
“I don’t know what you want, Ch... Mr. Dadier,” Miller said.
“I want you to be the leader in this class, the way you’re entitled to be. I want you to set the example for the rest of the boys. I want you to give me all your co-operation, and the other boys will automatically follow suit. That’s what I want, Miller. If you help me, we can make this class the best one in the school.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Miller said dubiously.
“I do know,” Rick insisted. “What do you say, boy?”
“Well... sure, I’ll help all I can. Sure, if you think so.”
“That’s my boy,” Rick said, rising and clapping Miller on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miller.” He walked Miller to the doorway, his arm around the boy. “Now take it easy.”
“Sure,” Miller said, puzzled. His brow furrowed once, and then he smiled again. “Sure,” he said. And then, almost arrogantly, “Sure!”
Rick watched him go down the corridor, and then he went back into the room and packed his briefcase. He had been smooth there, all right. Brother, he had pulled the wool clear down over Miller’s eyes, clear down over his shoelaces, too. Once he put Miller in his pocket, he’d get West, too. And once he got the two troublemakers, the clowns, the class was his. He’d used flattery, the oldest of weapons, and Miller had taken the hook without once suspecting any trickery. A leader, indeed! Rickie, he told himself, you are a bloody goddamned genius! The class had been troublesome, true, but he’d put his finger on the trouble spot and immediately weeded it out. That was the way to do it, despite what Solly Klein preached. These kids were humans, and not animals to be penned up and ignored. All you had to do was hit the proper chord.
He zipped up his briefcase, and when he left the room for his Unassigned sixth period, he was pretty damned happy, unaware that he would be elevated to the pedestal marked Hero within a matter of ten minutes.