The last ten years of teaching the seventh grade in Tully had taught me what to expect for the first day of school, the most important event after the fourth of July. Lines of scrubbed, anxious children with squeaky new shoes began forming around an hour before the bell above the creaky door even thought about ringing. Their mothers beamed with pride as they wore their best pearls and brought in new Tupperware containers full of crumbly snickerdoodles ready to impress. As soon as the bell rang, the mob of over eager mothers swarmed in, dragging their children along. After enjoying their two minutes in the spotlight as I oohed and aahed gratefully, they would linger around to make sure no one had outdone their beautiful treats and leave immediately when they saw how much nicer the neighbor’s pie looked. It was a tradition, a mark of the constancy and familiarity that made Tully so comfortable.

Billy Becker made this year different for me. Thirty minutes after the bell had rung, I had finally managed to push all of the moms out the door. With a sigh of relief, I turned around and faced the kids with a bright smile. “Hello, everyone! I’m Ms. Fowler! I’m so excite-“

I was interrupted by three knocks on the door. I turned around to see a tall, lanky boy staring through the window. He stuck his perfectly combed brunette head into the room. “Good morning, Ma’am. I’m sorry I’m late. My father took a wrong turn,” he shrugged. His voice was low and confident. His freckly face was refreshingly honest, unlike the competitive, tricky kids the school usually attracted and his wide set green eyes were confident, warm, and sparkling with genuine excitement. “I’m Billy Becker.”

Billy Becker. Why did the name sound so familiar? Becker…Becker…oh, Becker! This must be William Becker, son of Richard Becker, the man responsible for the school’s new library and courtyard. The Beckers were known around Tully for their wealth, generosity, and talent. Each of the Becker kids was exceptional at something. Katherine was a musical prodigy who played six instruments by the age of four. James was a math whiz, taking college level courses in math by sixth grade. Having William Becker in my class would definitely be interesting, but mostly nerve wracking.

I gave a nervous smile. “That’s quite alright, William –“

“Ma’am, call me Billy.”

“Billy. Alright. There’s a desk right there in the corner.”

“Thanks, Ma’am.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his fancy dress pants as he sauntered over to the back. With this interruption, I had lost track of my speech. “Um, alright. Well. I’m Ms. Fowler…” With a sigh, I abandoned the speech entirely. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

-

News gets around faster than the ambulances in Tully. It wasn’t long before mothers began lining up along the door an hour before the dismissal bell rang to catch a glimpse of the famed young man. They chattered and strained their necks to see him, all behind the pretense of picking up their own little angels. But the news grew old in about a week and mothers ran instead to the new beauty parlor that opened on 52nd street.

-

The school was filled with robots instead of students, it seemed. The students’ faces remained emotionless as they churned out answers for math equations and recited answers for history questions. But Billy was different. In games, the tension of competition filled the room and Billy was the only one left smiling after the first few rounds. He asked questions often, with genuine, childlike curiosity and wonder in his eyes. While his classmates loved straight A’s, Billy loved learning.

He never had a backpack or a lunch pail. When the bell for lunch rang and the students would eat at their desks, Billy would pull an apple out of his pocket and park himself right in front of the bookshelf where he would devour the words of Dickens and Orwell much faster than the bright fruit.

Billy was never late after the first day. In fact, he was always the first in line after that. Every morning, as soon as the bell rang, I’d come out of the classroom and find Billy sitting with his long legs crossed in the front of the line with a book in his lap. He’d look up and greet me with his warm smile and a bright “Good morning, Ma’am!”

However, on the bright Thursday morning of November 3rd, Billy was absent for the first time. He must be running late, I thought. After all, he often told me about how busy his parents were. Sometimes they got caught up in things and couldn’t leave until it was over. I shrugged and we went on.

Billy finally did show up an hour later and soundlessly made his way to his desk. The students paused for a moment and then continued taking notes. I waited for his greeting so I could greet him just as warmly and ask what kept him, but the “Good morning, Ma’am” never came. Instead, he quietly began taking notes like his classmates, mechanically.

At lunch, I went over to Billy at the bookshelf and knelt down next to him. “Hey, Billy. Are you okay?” I asked. He looked up and I gasped. A blue and purple ring encircled his eye and his eyelid drooped. “Billy, what happened?!”

He acted as though he forgot the bruise was there. “Oh, that? I just…I fell. Hard. It happens all the time; I’m pretty clumsy,” he laughed nervously and, suddenly self-conscious, turned his face away. There was a different tone to his voice. It wasn’t warm or bright or confident anymore. It was empty. “It’s nothing,” he shrugged. It seemed as though he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince me.

-

That was the only break in routine for a while. The next day was normal with Billy at the front of the line in the morning with a big smile. His black eye turned yellow after a while and his greetings became warm again, but his eyes never regained the sparkle they had before. I had never dealt with anything like this before but I trusted Billy to get help if he needed it. He was a smart kid with a great family. Besides, I shouldn’t be meddling in the kids’ personal lives anyways.

During lunch the next day, Billy sat in front of the bookshelf immersed into a book, like usual. However, today, it wasn’t the usual classics he was reading. Today, it was the school’s handbook.

“How’s that book?” I laughed.

He looked like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He chuckled nervously. “It’s not Animal Farm, but it’s still interesting.” He must have seen the doubt on my face because he hastily flipped some pages and added, “I mean, look at this! The school was started 20 years ago. That’s a long time!”

“Oh, Billy. Well, have fun,” I laughed and let him go back to the book. I laughed but his empty eyes scared me.

-

“Lucy, give us the answer for number 17.”

“x is 7.” Lucy said confidently.

Smack. Pop!

“Good job! Michael, how about 18?”

Smack.

“Is it 3?” Michael asked.

“No…here let’s take a look at what you d-“ Pop! Pop! “Is someone chewing bubble gum in here?” Smack. The room fell completely silent. Children looked around for the culprit, eager to point him out first. POP!

“Billy?!” My mind was reeling. Of all people, it was Billy?! Why? How? He knew it was against the rules! “Billy, throw that away! And see me after class!”

Billy’s cheeks burned red as he made his way to the trash can and spit out the rubbery wad of pink. I tried to continue the lesson but the feeling of disappointment was hard to overcome. As I continued going through the answers with the students, I was only half listening. Billy was the most well behaved child in the room. If I was being honest, he was my favorite. He knew all of the rules and never broke any. So why today?

I even made excuses for him. Maybe he just forgot. Maybe he missed that page while reading the handbook. Maybe some other student had ripped a page out in the past and Billy didn’t notice. The incident plagued me well into the afternoon.

Finally, the bell rang and Billy came up to my desk. “Billy, you could have gotten detention for that. It’s in the handbook.”

“I’m sorry.” He shuffled his large, shiny dress shoes, looking down at the floor.

“Why did you do it?”

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he muttered again. A sense of relief washed over me. See, he didn’t know! That’s all.

“That’s alright, Billy. Don’t do it again. You’ll get a detention,” I warned.

His face flickered for a moment but he kept his face down and murmured, “Yes, Ma’am.”

-

Smack. Smack. Pop!

“Ms. Fowler! Billy is chewing gum again!” Lucy whined loudly.

“Billy?” No. It couldn’t be. Hadn’t I just talked to him about this yesterday? “Billy! I’m giving you a detention! We talked about this yesterday!”

“Okay, Ma’am. I’m sorry,” Billy’s face was somber but, even from far away, I could see the sparkle in his eyes that had been gone for so long.

-

As the students leaped out the door at the ring of the final bell, Billy stayed at his desk, reading as intently as ever.

“Billy!” He jumped and stood up, putting his book away. “Billy, why? Didn’t we talk about this yesterday? You knew you weren’t supposed to!” The words burst out of my mouth before I could stop them. Disappointment and rage bubbled up inside of me and took control of my tongue.

I looked him in the eyes for the first time in so long and realized that this wasn’t the same Billy as before. His eyes didn’t fit the rest of his young, innocent face. His eyes belonged to someone who had seen too much harshness, experienced too much pain. His eyes belonged to an old, bitter sailor from the books he always read, not the sweet, childish Billy I knew.

“Why, Billy?” I managed to ask. He shrugged. My eyes fell to his rolled up sleeves and I found my answer. Trails of bruises lined his arms and bags sagged under his eyes.

“Detention means I don’t have to go home."