Children of the Knight (30 page)

“In the world today, I hear that what doth be wrong for some be right for others, and what be
injustice
for some be
justice
for others. Be assured of this, my young knights-to-be, right and wrong doth be for all peoples and all situations. The truth of what be right and what be wrong comes from God and his hold upon our hearts. We must striveth at all times to elevate the good half of ourselves, rather than give in to the bad. Only then can we achieve greatness.”

Esteban raised his hand, and Arthur waited patiently. “What if, like, you give some
vato
a mess a chances and he keeps screwing ya on purpose? How can we have mercy, like you been saying, for guys like that?

Arthur smiled warmly. “Ah, Esteban, there doth be no limit to mercy, and the treacherous need it most of all, for how else canst they learn?

Esteban fell silent, considering this answer while the other gang kids began murmuring amongst themselves. This was an idea they’d always believed would never work on the streets and so it had never been attempted. But now Arthur had gotten them wondering, which was precisely his intent.

T
HAT
afternoon, Jenny stood before her eleventh-grade English class taking roll. Of the thirty-nine who should be present, today she only had twenty-five. And all the missing were boys. What was going on? Admittedly, most of these boys seemed to hate school, and their attendance was hit and miss anyway, but now she hadn’t seen them for several days straight.

Teachers were supposed to call home when kids missed more than three days, but how could she call all these parents when this attendance pattern was occurring across every one of her classes? She’d be here till six o’clock every day just making calls, and when would she grade papers or prep lessons?

Shaking her head in confusion, she addressed the class. “Anybody know what happened to the kids who’ve been absent a lot?”

Heads shook disinterestedly, but no one answered. “Okay, well, pass forward your homework.”

A few papers drifted languidly up the rows to the front, and Jenny collected them, gazing in consternation at the small number.

“This is all the homework? Ten papers?”

The students just shrugged again and looked bored. Dejected, Jenny set down the papers on her impeccably ordered desk and turned back to the class.

“Okay, pull out your copies of
The Great Gatsby
and we’ll continue.”

Groans arose as backpacks came up and hands went digging for the book. Some ignored her request completely. One boy continued doodling; another put his head down, while two girls passed a nail-polish bottle back and forth.

Jenny eyed them all with wonder and annoyance. Here she was doing her best and they didn’t even care. Of course, she reminded herself,
you
have a choice to be here, they don’t. And they don’t have a choice of what English class to take, either. Fighting back her annoyance, she set out to implement her lesson plan for the day and sought to make it as fun as possible.

T
HE
following afternoon, hundreds of tired, but emotionally satisfied youths crammed around Arthur within the chamber for their daily discussion. Arthur and Lance had spoken of their growing need to find another, much larger, venue to conduct trainings and meetings and to make plans, but neither could think of an option. Even Esteban, who joked about using the old Coliseum downtown, had no viable suggestions. The sheer number of recruited kids was daunting.

Word would go out on the streets about Arthur and his crusade, and every day there would be new faces amongst the throng. Some were disaffected gang members looking for something more challenging or fulfilling, while others were just cast-offs like Lance who needed a home.

As always, Arthur sat on his throne, which several of the girls festooned daily with flowers they’d bring with them. Lance sat at his right, sitting taller and more confident in his seat, which pleased Arthur.

“Here, in your land,” he told the assemblage, “I have beheld much divisiveness between the various peoples. Such be true of mine own time as well. Humanity hath not changed much, I’m afraid. As was true then be true now—thou havest all been conditioned by thine elders that cultural separatism be an integral part of thine identities, that differences beeth of greater import than similarities. This doth be totally false, my noble company. No matter our background, we doth all be children of God and thus far more similar than different.”

The kids looked at each other thoughtfully—black and white and brown and Asian and Pacific Islander and gay and straight and those who weren’t certain who or what they were or would be. As they digested the king’s words, they forced themselves to look past the physical differences around them and consider what was inside, but still they hesitated to accept Arthur’s proposition.

Seeing their hesitation, Lance stood to face the king. “May I, sire?”

Arthur nodded, pleased that Lance wished to take a stronger role in these meetings. Lance smiled for Arthur’s benefit and then turned to gaze at the crowd. All eyes were fixed upon him expectantly—he was one of them, after all, and they looked eager to hear what he had to say.

“When I first met Arthur,” Lance began, butterflies doing cartwheels in his stomach, “I thought like he just said. I’m Mexican, an’ I grew up on the streets or in foster homes my whole life.” His voice grew more confident with each word. “I learned from black adults that Mexicans were dirty, from Mexican adults that blacks were dangerous, from white adults that I was lower cuz I had brown skin, and from straight adults that gay people were perverts who should all be killed.”

There were gasps, nods, and head shaking from various kids in the crowd. Most of them had heard the same things.

“I started to think like that too, just like all the other kids I knew. But when I got into skating, I met black skaters and white skaters and Asian skaters, and I found out we were all the same. We loved skating. We cried when we got hurt. We bled when we got cut. There was nuthin’ different enough about any of us to be important. All those hater adults who taught me wrong should be ashamed. The only group I still hated on when I met Arthur was—” He paused and looked embarrassed. “The gay kids.”

Some of the gang members laughed and high-fived each other. Lance glared them back into silence. Then he met Mark’s gentle eyes, and the blond boy gave him that shy little smile.

“I was wrong there too,” he announced in a commanding tone. “When I got to know Mark and Jack, it was just like with them skaters I hung with. I ain’t no different than any gay boy in here and neither is none a you, I don’t care how hard you are. They didn’t choose being gay any more than I chose being Mexican or homeless.” His eyes roamed the sea of faces before him. “If we’re gonna make this whole fellowship-thing work, if we’re gonna take all this
might
we got and change things to make ’em better, we can’t be hating on each other, or anyone else out there who don’t look like us. We
have
to be a team!”

“Like those Avenger guys!” Mark shouted excitedly and began applauding vigorously. “Lance is epic!”

The chamber erupted into thunderous clapping and foot-stomping approval, even from Esteban and Reyna, which caused Lance to blush with embarrassment. They were supporting…
him
! He turned to Arthur, whose beaming smile of pride warmed his heart more than all the applause in the world.