Mrs. Thompson, the town librarian, was waiting outside the building for me. “You didn’t get my email?” she said. “We had to start half an hour earlier than normal.”
“I don’t have anything from you,” I said. I’d checked my messages during breakfast.
Mrs. Thompson smacked her forehead. “I must have sent it to just Yunie.”
“I’m going to kill that girl. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thompson. The kids must be bored out of their minds . . .”
“Actually, they’re doing fine,” she said brightly as we walked inside. “She found a wonderful replacement.”
“Replacement?” I thought Yunie had been joking before, so I assumed I’d be alone.
“Right in here,” said Mrs. Thompson.
I’M GOING TO KILL THAT GIRL, I thought.
“Ready?” Quentin shouted from underneath the pile of laughing, squealing children. “One, two, three!”
He rose to his feet, kids clinging to his back, hanging off his biceps, sitting on his shoulders and using his hair as a grip. He made a slight bounce as if to throw them off, but they just shrieked with delight and hung on tighter. He was even stronger than he looked.
“Raargh!” he play-screamed, slowly spinning around underneath the toddler mountain until he faced me. “Raaaaa . . . oh . . . hello.”
“He’s been a treasure,” Mrs. Thompson said adoringly. “I’ve never seen them take to anyone so quickly.”
“Teacher’s here, you little apes,” said Quentin. “Quiet down and get to your spots. Or else I’ll smash your heads open and eat your brains.”
I thought someone would have an objection to that, but the kids all laughed and scrambled into neat rows at his behest. They plopped down onto musty blankets and cushions on the floor. Some were still talking and shoving each other.
“Change to stone!” Quentin shouted, wiggling his fingers like he was casting a spell. The children immediately straightened up and closed their mouths in intense concentration, sucking in their cheeks and biting their lips.
Call me a hypocrite, but I genuinely didn’t want to make a scene here, of all places. I decided to just power through it. Plus the kids really did seem to like him. Kids could smell evil like dogs, right?
“How did you get them to behave like that?” I whispered as I slid onto the reader’s bench. Yunie and I had never been able to rein them in so quickly.
“Mind control,” he said. He sat next to me and handed me a book. “You can begin any time now, laoshi.”
That was a little more respectful than necessary, but whatever. “Father was eating his egg,” I read. “Mother was eating her egg. Gloria was sitting in a high chair and eating her egg, too. Frances was eating bread and jam.”
“Omnomnom slurp slurp gulp,” said Quentin. “Burp.”
I was about to glare at him for going off message, but the kids giggled and rolled in their seats.
“ ‘What a lovely egg,’ said Father.” I read on. “ ‘It is just the thing to start the day off right,’ said Mother. Frances . . . did not eat her egg.”
Quentin gasped as if the fate of the world rested on that little badger eating that egg. The kids did the same.
He was like a goofy morning show puppet. I smiled in spite of myself and went on. “Frances sang a little song to it . . .”
We settled into that rhythm, where I did the word-for-word reading, and Quentin made sound effects, spot-on animal noises, and embellishments that kept everyone awake.
“HOW hungry was that caterpillar?” he’d shout.
“VERY!” twenty young voices would respond.
It worked. It was a lot more raucous than normal, but a lot more fun. We almost didn’t want to break for lunch.
The librarians herded the kids toward the pizzas that served as the bribe to get them here in the first place. The picnic tables outside the library were reserved for the readers, to give them a moment’s peace.
Quentin sat down at the far end of the table from me as I took out my lunch. He glanced at the distance between us as if to say, See? What you wanted.