“And we’re sorry,” Bruce interrupted him impatiently.
“We’re so sorry,” Black Ryan said.
“Yeah, we are,” Ryan said.
“I’m really, really sorry,” Liam muttered, glad that it was almost over.
“Thanks, guys,” Peaches interrupted them. “It’s always hard to admit when you did something wrong.” She turned to the class again. “These guys will be helping out in school a few days a week until the holidays, so you’ll be seeing them around.”
The class applauded for no apparent reason—almost every class had applauded—and then everyone began talking at once. Except for Ted, who raised his hand.
“Ticktock!” Mrs. Watson shouted.
“Applesauce!” the class shouted back and then sat silently in their chairs.
“Ted has a question,” the teacher said. “Go ahead, Ted.”
Stuart stared at his son. This hadn’t happened in any of the other classes.
Liam glanced at his mom for assistance, but she was smiling at the boy who’d raised his hand. The boy’s name was Ted. He was a nice little kid. Liam was teaching him to play Settlers of Catan at the Strategizer.
Ted put his hand down. He sat very straight and didn’t seem nervous about talking in front of his whole class and a bunch of adults and big boys.
“Did you guys have fun?” he asked.
Liam shook his head. That night had not been fun. It was a total nightmare. But the other boys chuckled.
“Yeah,” Black Ryan spoke up with a slow smile. “It was pretty fun.” Peaches glared at him and he cleared his throat. “For a few seconds anyway. We didn’t mean to ruin the whole playground.”
“The fire was awesome,” Bruce said. “I can’t deny it.”
“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “It was pretty cool.”
Peaches scowled. This was not how this was supposed to go. There was nothing cool about it.
“Well, thanks to their fun, cool time, you will all have to put up with recess and after-school playtime in a much smaller area until we get the playground fixed up, which could take until spring or even next fall. How cool is that?” she said.
“Not cool at all,” Stuart remarked. It was the first thing he’d said.
All eyes shifted to Stuart.
Burn our shit and you’re in stitches
Your cool trick pissed off my bitches!
“Fire is bad,” he continued recklessly, already disagreeing with himself. There was nothing wrong with fire; fire was fucking awesome. “Fire is bad when you destroy other people’s property with it.”
“My dad got mad when the landscaper burned leaves in our backyard,” Lily van Dusen spoke up. Her family lived in the corner house on Tompkins and Degraw. It was one of the envies of the neighborhood.
“We have a firepit. For s’mores,” another girl said.
“I set my cat’s tail on fire by an accident,” a boy named Loden said. “With a blowtorch.”
Peaches was pretty sure it wasn’t an accident. Loden was a psychopath. He had once ground his own forehead into the bricks of the school building because he wanted to look like he was built out of Minecraft bricks.
“Anyway, we still have part of the schoolyard,” Ted announced, breaking the tension. He hugged Stuart’s side. “Bye, Dad. We have to go to art now.”
“Later, skater,” Stuart said. Ted was such a good kid.
“It is what it is,” Mrs. Watson announced sagely to the room. She clapped her hands and shouted, “Onward!” The children hurriedly lined up in ordered pairs in front of the door. “Leaders, lead us to art!” she cried, and the children filed out of the room.
“Amen.” Peaches sighed. “Come on, boys. Just the fifth grade and then you’re done.”
* * *
Mandy had just finished roasting the duck from 4 Cheever Place apartment 2A’s Farm to Front Door box. It was a little burned on the bottom and the kitchen smelled like sizzling hair because she’d singed her arm hair removing the duck from the oven, but still. Who would have thought she’d ever manage to cook a whole duck?
Now it was time to toss the shaved beets and Jerusalem artichokes in their sesame oil and ginger vinaigrette dressing and add a sprinkling of chopped peanuts and scallions for garnish. There was a single duck egg in the box that Mandy wasn’t sure what to do with. The little illustrated instruction card for the egg seemed to have slipped out the seam of the box and gotten lost.
Her cell phone rang on the kitchen counter. It was a Brooklyn number, possibly Ted’s school. Mandy took the call.
“Mrs. Little? This is Billy from the Brooklyn Strategizer.”
“Oh, hi.” Mandy broke off another morsel of pot cookie