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most of his life. It was conceivable that he’d graded papers analyzing Wilson’s Fourteen Points written by boys who would later shatter Japanese naval power at the Battle of Midway.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” He studied our faces. “None of you look particularly rested, but I trust you enjoyed your summer holiday.” His words were carefully chosen and his voice had a cultivated British accent. Right then, a boy’s face appeared in the door’s rectangular window. The boy twisted the knob and banged on the door. No one dared let him in. Mr. Guy opened his briefcase and sorted loudly through a stack of papers, ignoring the disruption. I noticed a small pink hearing aid in his right ear. The boy at the door gave one last knock before giving up.
I looked out the window just as a girl with long red hair pushed open the doors of Astor and raced down the front stairs. She carried a large leather bag and was headed straight for the outside of our classroom. The girl’s hair was so fiery and bright that it hurt to stare at her. Mr. Guy passed out the course syllabus. He turned to the board and saw what Race had written.
Mr. Guy didn’t speak so much as sing the words, punctuating each one with a snap of his fingers. “What is the meaning of this? Is this a new word for us?” He continued his ratatat snapping. “One does not use a dildo unless one knows the meaning of a dildo.”
Race fidgeted in his chair, leaned over, and whispered something to Stuyvie.
Mr. Guy stood in front of Race. “Leslie, could you possibly enlighten us?”
Leslie. I laughed to myself. Leslie was his name, not Race. I instantly liked Mr. Guy.
During this confrontation, I heard a tapping sound. Outside, the girl with the leather bag crouched down, trying to push the window open. Mr. Guy, addressing Race, stood with his back to us.
“Leslie, be of ser vice to the class. Teach us the meaning of dildo .” He sharpened his inflection but stayed calm.
“The meaning of dildo?” Race asked. “I don’t know, Mr. Guy. You tell me.”
Stuyvie’s body rocked with stifled laughter.
I leaned over to the window and unlatched it. The room was warm, and I didn’t think anyone would mind the fresh air.
“Young Leslie, is it not poor form to use a word one does not understand?”
I pulled the window open and gazed down at the curly-haired girl. She lifted up her bag for me to take.
“We would all like to learn the definition of this new beautiful word and add it to our burgeoning vocabulary. Accompany me, Leslie, to the board.”
As Mr. Guy led Race over to the blackboard, I reached for the handles of the girl’s brown tote bag. The dark leather felt soft and well traveled. I hid the bag under my chair. Chester glanced over at me, and I shrugged. Race glared at Stuyvie. The tops of Race’s ears had turned bright pink. He dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
Mr. Guy and Race stood at the front of the class behind a table and a lectern.
“Bring me a dictionary.”
Race ambled to the bookshelf, lifted the heavy text, and placed it on the table.
“Let’s see, now,” Mr. Guy said, putting on his glasses. “Our new word begins with a ‘d,’ unless that is, our Leslie here’s dyslexic. You didn’t mean to write ‘bilbo,’ did you?”
A few people snickered.
“ ‘Dilapidate,’ ‘dilate,’ ‘dilatory,’ that last one means ‘tardy,’ by the way, yes, ‘dildo.’ Ah, the origin is unknown. Not from the Greek or even from the Latin. Circa 1598, though, so we have a bit of history here, ten years after the great Spanish Armada was routed by the British. You want to write the following on the board, Leslie.”
Mr. Guy turned toward the blackboard and I could hear the girl outside grab hold of the window frame.
Mr. Guy spoke slowly. “An object serving as a penis substitute for vaginal insertion.”
As he spoke, I could hear the girl climbing. Her feet against the brittle shingles. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her arms flexing,