All for One by Ryne Douglas Pearson

the worst speller in room 18, something that diminished the respect he enjoyed from his peers not one bit, but which gnawed at him each time the requirement came to put letters into some proper order. A cold pit would open in his stomach, and from this some fiendishly unsympathetic beast would growl, loud enough to draw stares. It had done so seven times this afternoon.
    He tightened his stomach muscles, trying to crush the beast, as he went to the board for the eighth.
    Dooley rolled the chalk between his fingers and glanced to his opponent. A pair of tenacious little eyes met his and would not look away. Scrappy little fellow, aren’t you, El Presidente...
    Mary held the next card up and said, “Struthiomimus.”
    Joey faced the barren slab of slate and began to write. He could hear the squeal of chalk striking the board to his left. Sound it out. Struth... S-T-R-U-T-T No... A quick erasure with the heel of his hand. U-T-H Struthio... I-O Struthiomim ... M-Y-M No... Another rapid wash of skin on dusty slate. M-I-M Struthiomimus... He put the last two letters to the word, U-S. Us. Us. He dropped the chalk in the tray and turned toward Dooley.
    Mary checked Joey’s spelling while Dooley continued to struggle. “Saber Tooth Tigers!”
    Half of the students scattered about their desks erupted into a cheer, high and low fives passing from seat to seat.
    “Awright, Joey!” Gareth Ellis exclaimed from the front row.
    Dooley put his chalk down and faced his opponent. “You’re quick.”
    The urge to say something was intense, a surge that Joey choked off in his chest, where it thudded in a deep, bass repetition. A cry pounding to be freed. A cry that was offspring to the thoughts careening about his head. You don’t understand what it was like. What he was like. You can’t. You won’t.
    “You’re Joey,” Dooley said.
    Go away. Leave us alone. It’s all right now. Just go away.
    Mary cleared her throat, halting the one sided exchange. “Joey. You can take your seat. You did very good.”
    He backed away and waded through congratulatory offerings to his desk. Some were surprised that he wasn’t smiling.
    *  *  *
    Almost three, the final bell threatening, and Dooley watched order descend upon the class. Two students went about collecting any refuse from the floor, one took the erasers from the chalk tray and beat them semi-clean out on the stoop, another three gave the desks a quick wipe-down while the rest of the class, seated quietly, held their books on their laps.
    Elena went to the duty roster posted next to the coat closet and ran a finger down the names for this week. She was not one of the chosen and returned to her seat.
    Dooley came forward from his mini-seat at the back and stood next to Mary’s desk. “This is impressive.”
    She looked up from her lesson plans. “It’s what’s expected.”
    He nodded and stood quietly as two students approached the desk. Two that he recognized.
    “Miss Austin,” PJ began, Joey at her side, both avoiding the detective’s two-way gaze. “The council met with Greg yesterday.”
    Mary closed the lesson plan book and folded her hands over it. Seriousness molded her face. “And what was the decision?”
    “He admitted violating school rules,” PJ informed her. “His punishment is going to be serving two recesses in the library shelving books for Mrs. Toomey.”
    “That sounds appropriate,” Mary commented.
    Dooley said nothing until the two had returned to their desks. “They handle discipline?”
    “Of minor matters.”
    “Only minor?”
    Mary breathed slow and said quietly, “You’re as deft with insinuation as a you are at the chalkboard.”
    “I played along,” Dooley said. “You got your shot in. You showed me who was in charge. And them.”
    “You were a good sport today,” Mary agreed. “That’s all I know about you so far.”
    “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
    “It’s neither good or bad. It’s what you were like for a while.