Chapter 6
Luke walked into Russian class shoulder to shoulder with Tilden. None of the other students lifted an eye from their books as it was a common occurrence for Luke to come in with Tilden since he was being tutored before class. Luke tried to make his way to the usual seat, but Tilden discreetly flicked his eyes toward a seat in the front of the room. Luke groaned to himself—no more hiding with the other poor oafs who’d mistakenly thought Russian would be no harder than high school Spanish.
The class was starting a new lesson today, and for once Luke actually already knew most of the vocabulary from Tilden helping him make flash cards last night and the labeling of the kitchen. No wonder Tilden had insisted on labeling the produce in the crisper bins. The whole chapter was on Volodya and his grandmother going to the farmers’ market. He now knew the name for lots of foods he hoped to never eat: beets, cucumbers, tomatoes, and pomegranates.
Luke glanced over at his usual place; Sveta and Sasha were sitting against the window but no sign of Mike. Luke and Mike had frequently been late; but it was now twenty minutes late. Five minutes late had usually resulted in an incomprehensible interrogation by Tilden; Luke didn’t think he’d have the nerve to walk in twenty minutes late. Suddenly Tilden was looming over Luke’s desk pointing to an apple that he’d carefully balanced on top of Luke’s backpack.
“Where’s the apple?” Tilden rapped out in Russian.
Flustered, Luke answered, “In the backpack.”
Tilden made a big show of searching through Luke’s backpack for an apple. He pulled out books and demanded from the class if they were apples. He opened Luke’s lunch and waved the sandwich in front of Luke’s nose and demanded if it was an apple.
“Nyet,” Luke muttered as he searched his brain for the word for sandwich. Tilden had taught him the word this morning when they’d made it. He’d written it and taped it on the Baggie but Tilden had his thumb covering the word. Luke groaned; he couldn’t remember the word. Tilden had picked on him before in class, but never like this. The whole class was staring at him, some openly laughing. Finally in desperation Luke blurted out the words for bread and cheese. There was turkey on the sandwich also, but that word escaped him.
“Excellent.” Tilden flashed Luke a private smile, which made Luke feel hot and bothered despite the environment of Russian class.
How could it be excellent that he’d called a sandwich bread and cheese?
Tilden switched to English. “The goal of learning a foreign language is communication. Luka couldn’t remember the word for sandwich which is hardly surprising since it appears once in a text halfway through the chapter, but he finally came up with bread and cheese. In class, I will correct you for less than perfect grammar and construction, but in real life, communication is the key. I would rather have you stumble around and massacre the grammar and vocabulary than sit silently like little bumps on a log.” Tilden switched back to Russian and continued with the drill of the new vocabulary.
The bell rang and Luke automatically threw his books in his bag and started to leave.
“Luka, a minute please.”
Luke made a face and sat back in the chair but held his tongue until the rest of the class was gone. “What? Why’d I have to stay?”
“Did you forget about our little talk yesterday, about being in my sight, or with Milton or Trent?”
“But I’m worried about Mike.”
“I know, druzhok, but you need to let us handle it. Just try to do what you’re told.” Tilden pushed Luke’s hair off his forehead. “That will be hard enough.”
Luke nodded. “Did you have to pick on me today?”
“Well, you weren’t paying attention.”
“I was worried about Mike,” Luke repeated.
“I know.” Tilden gave Luke a quick hug. “You were also a good sport about it. I don’t think anyone will forget the difference between in and on or the word for sandwich.”
“So why do I have to get picked on?”
“Because you’re my partner. My expectations for you are higher.” Tilden leaned over Luke and wrapped his arms around him. “Are you OK with me picking on you a bit in class, being the nasty ogre? I won’t do it if you’re too humiliated, but it will really help the class learn the material. If I pick on anyone else like that, they’ll go crying to the dean.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Luke whined. But it had almost been kind of hot too, inappropriately hot. This was Russian class. Luke shouldn’t be thinking of those things, but when Tilden had looked at him with those blue almost violet eyes, it did something to Luke. It made his mouth dry and his heart race.
“I know. I won’t do it if you don’t want me to.”
“You’re teasing when you do it? You’re not mad?”
“Of course I’m not mad. If you don’t do the work I’ll punish you, but I’m not mad when you make a mistake.”
Luke looked at Tilden, lost in those amazing violet eyes. “I’ll do it—sort of a secret joke between the two of us.” Luke wasn’t going to tell Tilden it made him hot as hell. Oh, God, he got off on that gentle humiliation. He wanted to be the center of attention even if it meant a little humiliation. Fuck, he was messed up. He was in love with Tilden. Maybe he’d always been in love with his Russian professor with his kind expression and lean body. Maybe he’d stayed in Russian class because of that. Luke had known the minute he’d seen Tilden sitting in the group of tops at the television show that he was the choice. He’d been terrified that all the brats would know, would want Tilden, and he’d be gone before they came to his number.
“Maladets. We’ve still got nearly an hour before history. Why don’t we get tonight’s homework done, then it’s not hanging over your head.”
“As long as I can lie on the floor. It hurts to sit in these chairs.”
“Brat. I don’t feel one bit sorry for you.” Tilden playfully tousled Luke’s hair. “But you can lie on the floor. Just remember when we get to the verbs of motion and position you can be my demo, since you’re so keen to lie on the floor.”
Luke groaned dramatically. “Does it ever end with you?”
Tilden walked Luke to history class with plenty of time to spare. A cold breeze was blowing across the quad. The few dead leaves remaining in the trees snapped against their thin stems. Luke shivered, tucking his hands into his jeans. “Do you think it’ll snow?”
“Too early yet. Don’t you have any more clothes? That thin little jacket isn’t appropriate for late fall.”
“Are you going to dress me too?”
“Only if you insist on trying to catch pneumonia.”
They continued on in silence. Luke couldn’t help but smile to himself. He had his own blue-eyed hunk who cared if he was cold, who made his lunch, and who insisted he studied. Some wouldn’t consider Tilden a hunk, not ripped enough, too much an academic, but Tilden was his. Luke reached out and took Tilden’s hand. They walked the rest of the way hand in hand.
Tilden slipped his hand from Luke’s grip as they climbed the steps into the building. Luke hated the history and government building with its small windows and dark stone. It always reminded him of a prison where one of the many European rulers, who Luke could never keep straight, was imprisoned prior to execution.
As they approached the classroom door, Tilden melted away, trying to preserve Luke’s privacy. Milton was at the front of the classroom, fiddling with his laptop. Another boring slide show, Luke thought. He tried to slip into a back row, so when the lights dimmed he could close his eyes. Milton shook his head as Luke entered a rear aisle and flicked a chair up near the front with the back of his hand. Luke tried a pleading look, but he could tell Milton wasn’t going to buy it, and he trudged up front.
Luke watched the door, hoping to spot Mike. It was bad enough to sit up front, but it was twice as bad by himself. He didn’t see Mike enter, but in this moderate sized lecture hall he could hide in the back and be invisible. Luke flipped open his notebook and attempted to take notes. Luke remembered the expression on Milton’s face when he’d flipped through his notes yesterday. Milton hadn’t been impressed by the stick figures crawling around the margins or the elaborate games of hangman.
Luke’s ears still burned at Milton’s comment. “Boy, if you’re not going to read the material at least take notes. Creative invention will not pass my classes.”
Half the class period was over, and Luke had only managed to get three lines down, and these were headings copied directly from the slides: industrialization, Karl Marx, and colonialism. What did these three words have in common? Had Marx been an advocate of German colonization of Africa, or maybe he was an industrialist? The girl sitting next to him seemed to know. She was taking copious notes; she’d already filled three pages and was starting on her fourth. Milton mentioned something about Marx collaborating with a guy whose name sounded like English. With sudden inspiration, Luke decided he was the shopping store magnet responsible for the founding of Marks and Spencer. The name was probably anglicized because of World War II. Luke was sure the Brits had fought the Germans then, unless all those war films he watched were wrong. Luke’s mind was now lost in a world of men’s haberdashery and images of London burning with dashing lads parachuting from burning planes.
Still lost in his reverie, Luke hadn’t noticed that the class had ended and Milton had come up behind him and was staring at his notebook until he felt Milton’s hand on his shoulder.
“Dear boy, pray tell me what fighter planes and well dressed mannequins have to do with the Communist Manifesto.”
“That’s what you were talking about.” Luke gave Milton a sheepish grin.
“Were you even trying?” Milton glared hard at Luke.
Luke dropped his eyes back to his notebook, embarrassed. He’d been trying; it just didn’t make any sense, and he couldn’t seem to pay attention no matter how hard he tried.
“Did you take any notes this class period?”
Luke slid his notebook toward Milton, keeping his head down.
“Less than three lines.” Milton slapped the notebook down on the desk, making Luke jump. “Do you want to fail this class? Because that’s what it looks like. I show the slides for a reason. They have the bullet points to help people take notes. You’re not supposed to sit here drawing pictures.”
Luke stared down at his notebook. Not even aware of it, he picked up a pencil and started sketching a wild-eyed, angry face.
Milton tipped Luke’s books onto the floor. “Are you so disrespectful that you would doodle when I’m talking to you?”
Luke twisted his hands in his lap. He could feel Milton’s hot breath against the side of his face. Luke sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeve. Why did tears come so easy for him? He was a guy. He should square his shoulders, raise his eyes, and tell this nosy bastard off. Instead, Luke kept his eyes down and wished he could melt through the floor.
Milton’s voice was softer now, but no less insistent. “Look at me and answer the question.” Milton was squatting in front of Luke. He took Luke’s chin is his hand. “Talk to me, boy.”
Luke could feel the tears rolling down his face; he couldn’t stop them now. Milton got up. Luke made a grasp for Milton’s hand, suddenly afraid of being left alone. Luke felt a strong hand on his shoulder and heard a whispered reassurance before Milton vanished to the back of the room. Luke turned and choked out, “Don’t go.”
“I’m not.” Milton’s voice was measured and calm. “I’m just securing the doors.”
Luke buried his face in his hands and collapsed over his desk. He felt a hand under his arm, and he was dragged to his feet before he was pulled down to the floor with his back firmly against Milton’s chest, and Milton holding both his wrists. Milton said nothing; he just sat.
“Aren’t you going to yell at me for being an idiot? I’m too stupid to be in college. I’m just a useless pretty boy, a dumb blond.”
Milton continued to sit, silent.
“Let me go, you pervert. Fuck! Let me go.” Luke twisted and tried to get his wrists free. He kicked with his feet and felt a satisfied thrill when his heel connected with Milton’s shin. Milton never moved except to tighten his hold and shift his knees further back. “Let me go. You’ll make me miss class.”
“We’ve all the time we need.”
Luke slumped against Milton, emotionally spent. He could feel the tears coursing down his cheeks, and he couldn’t even wipe them since Milton still had hold of his wrists. Luke felt Milton place both of his small wrist into one hand and Milton shift his weight. A starched handkerchief, smelling of fresh spring scent detergent, was wiped across his face.
“Blow.”
Luke meekly blew, feeling like a three-year-old but too tired to resist. They were sitting on the floor backed up against a cement block wall. Dust and grime from years worth of students’ muddy shoes hung in the corners and was caked against the lower walls, escaping the janitors’ listless efforts. From this angle, Luke could see chewing gum stuck under several desks and an empty candy wrapper trapped under a chair leg. Milton’s body behind him was strong, solid, and unmoving. Luke’s cheek rested against the tweed blazer, and he could feel the wool rubbing against his face.
“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” Milton’s voice was quiet. It barely carried beyond Luke’s ear. In contrast, the strike of the second hand on the clock mounted above the door seemed to reverberate throughout the lecture hall.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Have you always had trouble in school?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened in high school?”
“Nothing.”
“I think we’re beyond that sort of answer. I’m entitled to more honesty than that.”
“I only passed because my dad gave the school a big donation and the teachers were sick of me. You satisfied now? I’m going to fail this class. You happy now?” Luke tried to jerk out of Milton’s grasp, but Milton just tightened his grip and waited. Luke watched the second hand circle the clock three times before Milton spoke.
“What happened in European history?”
“I had a new teacher; she’d just graduated from college the year before. I made her life hell. I played all the high school pranks to the extreme. I think I passed because she couldn’t bear having to teach me again. The principal said just about as much when he met with my dad and me. My father just looked disappointed and wrote a check. He yelled at me at home a lot for my grades, but they never got better.”
“Do you know how to take notes?”
“Not really.”
“OK. Do you know anything about European history?”
“No, I just told you that.”
“Doing poorly in school doesn’t necessarily mean you know nothing about the subject. You never had an interest in medieval castles or European battles?”
“I had a toy castle as a kid with a moat and catapults. Does that count?”
“Probably not.” Milton stroked the back of Luke’s neck with his thumb. “So what happens when you sit in my lecture?”
“I try to pay attention. I really do.” Luke squirmed trying to turn around to look at Milton’s face, even though he feared the expression he might find there.
“Settle down. I believe you.” Milton continued to stroke the back of Luke’s neck. “Just tell me what happens when you come to class.”
Luke took a deep breath, leaning into the comfort of Milton’s hand. “It’s like your words are floating above me three thousand meters in the air. They make no more sense than if they were in Japanese.”
“Do you get that same feeling in your other classes?”
“No, Tilden’s all over me if I zone out in Russian, and English is a small group discussion.”
“How does it make you feel when Tilden jumps all over you?”
Luke sat for a moment before answering. “Embarrassed. It use to make me angry, but in some ways I think I like it. He hasn’t given up on me.”
“Neither have I.”
“But I’m going to fail. I can’t take notes. I don’t know what you’ve been talking about for the last five weeks.” Luke’s voice rose in frustration.
“Shush. I know the problem now. We can fix this.”
“Just let me fail and be done with it. I’m too stupid for college,” Luke wailed.
“Stop now.” Luke heard the threat in Milton’s voice. “Do I need to put you over my knees?”
“I didn’t think you spanked each others brats,” Luke shot back.
“Well, that got your attention. I should have tried it sooner.”
“Would you truly spank me?”
“If I thought it was the best thing, I would. It’s not something I would usually do if Tilden was around, but I’m not going to say never. I’m a dominant, and you’re a submissive. I’m not your lover or your partner, but we do have a relationship. This is the way it works.”
Luke swallowed hard. He didn’t doubt that Milton would spank him. He looked down at Milton’s large hand wrapped securely around his wrists—that would hurt. “I won’t give you a reason to spank me.”
“Good, I’d rather not. Now are you ready to hear what we’re going to do about your academics?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Luke stiffened at first but then relaxed. Milton had said ‘good boy’ sincerely as praise, not condescendingly. To Milton freshmen probably were all boys.
“Do you think you can get up now?”
Luke stood and reached behind him and gave Milton a hand.
“I’m too old for sitting on the floor,” Milton said, stretching out his long limbs. “Lets get you cleaned up, and we can chat in my office in more comfort.”
Luke sat in Milton’s visitor’s chair, picked at his lunch, and watched Milton search his shelves for books, which he carefully stacked on the corner of his spotless desk. Luke rubbed his eyes; they still felt sore and sticky. His face had been frightening in the bathroom mirror; everybody would know he’d been crying.
“This will work,” Milton muttered to himself as he exchanged one book for another. “Finish your lunch.”
Luke obediently bent his head back to his sandwich.
“Ugh,” Milton grunted. “Stop fretting. Trust us. We have this under control. It’s not as if I’ve never seen a boy in full meltdown. Sheldon has you beat hands down. Now please eat. I don’t want Tilden thinking I made you so upset that you couldn’t eat.”
Luke smiled shyly at Milton’s last comment and took another bite of his sandwich. He imagined Tilden standing over Milton, his hands on his hips, glaring down at his friend and scolding him, his conversation laced with Russian phrases.
“My course will make more sense once you have the appropriate background. It sounds as if your high school dropped the ball with you, however you weren’t helping the situation,” Milton scolded.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted Milton’s lecture. A gray-haired woman poked her head through the door. She had a pair of gold spectacles perched on her nose and secured around her neck with a black, silk cord. “Professor Brown, there’s a student to see you, Anthony Dunlap. He says it’s urgent. I hadn’t realized you already had an appointment.”
“It’s all right, Matilda. This appointment was unscheduled. This is Luke Griffith. He’s a freshman in my survey history course. Will you take him out with you and show Mr. Dunlap in.”
Matilda gave Luke a long look. She had to be noticing his red, swollen eyes. Luke scrunched down in his chair, wishing he could disappear.
Milton must have noticed Luke’s discomfort because he added, “Luke’s not feeling well.”
“Come with me, honey. I have some cough drops in my desk. Poor boy falling ill in Professor Brown’s class. He’s hardly motherly.”
Milton sighed as if this was a longstanding discussion between the two of them. Luke gave Milton a pleading look but followed Matilda out without protest into the front office.
Matilda showed Luke a worn chair and started rummaging in her desk drawer for the promised cough drops. The drawer was crammed full of office odds and ends: paper clips, rubber bands, crumpled sticky notes, and dozens of pens. Finally she triumphantly pulled out a squashed packet of cough drops. “Ah, here they are. Take one. You look like you feel miserable.”
Luke reached for the packet of cough drops. He hated cherry flavored cough drops, but it was better for her to believe that he was sick than the naked truth that he’d spent thirty minutes on the floor crying and wrestling with Milton.
“How did you get your pants so dirty?”
Luke looked down. His black jeans were covered with a fine gray film. “I was sitting on the floor.”
“Were you dizzy? Did you pass out?” Matilda reached forward and felt Luke’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” She continued to peer at Luke over her glasses, her expression concerned.
“I didn’t pass out. I was sitting on the floor talking.”
“On the floor?” Matilda raised her thinning eyebrows in surprise. “I just don’t understand young people today. There are perfectly good chairs in that lecture hall, and you insist on sitting on the floor. No wonder you don’t feel well—breathing all that dust.”
Luke nodded. He wished she would quit babbling. Between the cough drop fumes and the earlier crying jag, he now had a splitting headache. Luke leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
“Honey, you look like you feel terrible.” Matilda dragged a giant purse out from under her desk and pawed through its vast interior. She pulled out a bottle of aspirin, its label nearly worn off, and a small Tupperware container. “Have a piece of fudge. I made it to send to my daughter, but you know it’s no fun if you give it all away. I think my waistline can handle a few pieces.” Matilda giggled conspiratorially behind her hand.
The thought of fudge combined with a cherry cough drop was stomach turning, but Luke didn’t know how he could escape the insistent nudge of the container and took a small piece. “Thank you, it looks delicious.”
“I’ll just pop out and get you a cup of water to take the aspirin. I’d send you home, dear, but it seemed Professor Brown wanted you to wait. He can be very opinionated when his orders aren’t followed.”
Luke swallowed the offered water and aspirin before he shut his eyes again. He wanted to go home, but he’d been ordered to stay. After yesterday’s experience with Tilden, he could imagine what would happen if he disappeared—a rapid trip over some top’s knees. The more Matilda chatted about her family, including play by play details of her daily walk with her Bichon, Luke began to think a spanking would be the lesser of the two evils. Maybe he could just go to the bathroom; he couldn’t get in trouble for going to the bathroom, could he? Of course Milton would point out that he’d been in the bathroom less than thirty minutes ago, and the bathroom was not where he’d been told to stay. Milton was a literalist; the bathroom wouldn’t count as out front with the history department’s secretary. Matilda launched into her second story about her wondrous Bichon, and Luke groaned to himself in frustration. Now desperate, he was ready to plead violent stomach distress to escape the Bichon’s adventures when Tilden walked in the door, Luke’s knight in shining armor.
“Good afternoon, Professor Blake. Professor Brown is in a meeting with a student. Do you want to leave a message for him?”
“No, I just came looking for one of my students, and he’s right here. Come on, Luka, let’s go.” Tilden plucked Luke’s backpack off the floor, swinging it over his own shoulder and then held out his hand to Luke. “It looks like you’ve had a hard day, we’ll talk about it at home.”
Luke grasped Tilden’s hand and staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against Tilden’s hip. Luke could feel Matilda’s eyes on him. Without looking, he knew her sparse eyebrows would be raised and that her mouth would be puckered into the stereotypical ‘O’ of surprise. Tilden had shifted his arm around Luke’s shoulders and was openly showing affection. At this moment, Luke wouldn’t have cared if Tilden stood with a bullhorn on the main quad and announced campus wide that he was Luke’s top; Luke wanted comfort and leaned harder into his top. Luke lay his head against Tilden’s chest, inhaling the scent—damp from the rain and a faint odor of cedar from a sweater only recently unpacked from its summer home.
Luke heard the murmur of voices passing over his head. Tilden was probably reassuring Matilda that it was normal for a student to be plastered around him clinging like a toddler to a mother who was desperately trying to place her little darling on Santa’s lap. From his position under Tilden’s arm, Luke saw Matilda press the container of fudge into Tilden’s hands. Luke heard his top’s expression of thanks and reassurance that Luke was fine and that a doctor wasn’t necessary.
Luke felt the cool drizzle against his cheeks and tried to wriggle out of Tilden’s grasp.
“Oh no you don’t. If I have to rescue you from the talons of Matilda, I get to hold you.”
“But everyone will see.”
“I think we’re too late for discretion. We’re on a reality TV show.”
“But the first episode doesn’t air for a few weeks.”
“Your little escapade at Delta Lambda blew your cover. Two of my third year Russian students retold the story with great relish; one even bothered to learn all the Russian slang for drunken carousing. You didn’t drink moonshine, did you?”
Luke flushed, thinking of Milton carrying him over his shoulder. “No, no moonshine.”
“Good, I was hoping the student was embellishing the story to use some new vocabulary. Improperly made moonshine can be deadly, blind you or worse.”
“You sound like my high school health teacher.”
“I’m serious, Luka.”
Luke heard the unmistakable warning in Tilden’s voice and was quiet. They walked together in silence, Luke enjoying the quiet comfort of leaning against his partner. He still couldn’t believe his good fortune. But what was Tilden going to think? Luke was sure kicking and swearing at Milton wasn’t going to go unpunished.
“Tilden?”
Tilden must have heard the hesitancy in Luke’s voice because he tightened his arm around his brat’s shoulder. “Luka, we’ll talk about it after your nap.”
“But...”
“No not now. And anyway it can’t be all that awful, or Milton wouldn’t have let you out of his sight.” Luke started to protest, and Tilden turned him and swatted him twice. “I said, not now.”
They walked the remaining way home without speaking. The town was quiet now that the fall leaves lay brown and crumpled on the ground. The gray sky hung low overhead, the air heavy with the dampness of the upcoming winter. Luke shivered and leaned into Tilden.
Tilden pulled out a ring of keys and unlocked the front door instead of opening the garden gate and going to the back. Luke stared at the entry hall as if it were the the first time that he’d seen it. Unlike the rest of the house, the entry hall was furnished in the Victorian style with a massive gilded pier mirror at one end and heavy velvet drapes framing the windows. Luke still couldn’t believe that he now lived here. If Tilden hadn’t had his arm around his shoulder, Luke thought his feet would’ve taken him back to his dorm room.
“Go get your pajamas on and hop in bed for a few hours,” Tilden said, unwinding his arm from Luke’s shoulder and giving him a small push towards their bedroom.
“It’s only two in the afternoon.”
“Did I ask you for the time?”
Luke shook his head and dropped his eyes to the ground at the mild reprimand.
“It’s OK, druzhok. You have to be exhausted with all that happened this weekend, I know I am, and my weekend didn’t include ingesting liters of alcohol. Off you go. I’ll come lie down with you in a few minutes.”
Luke changed into his pajamas; he usually slept in boxers but Tilden had seemed obsessed with nightwear, and last night he had searched through Luke’s clothes until he came up with proper pajamas. They were a light blue cotton; a gift from a great aunt at last year’s Christmas. He’d never worn them, and he felt like a character in a censor approved Texas film where the parents slept in separate twin beds.
Luke flopped down on the bed, determined not to sleep; sleeping during the day was for kids. He watched the rain splatter on the windows and drip from the patio table. It was cold in the bedroom; he shook the blanket out from the end of the bed and pulled it up over his shoulders. He flipped on his side and watched a sparrow bravely fight the drizzle at the bird feeder, its feathers fluffed up against the cold.
Luke woke to find Tilden propped up in the bed grading papers. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A couple of hours.” Tilden bent down and kissed Luke on the forehead. “I thought you didn’t sleep during the day.”
Luke gave Tilden a sheepish smile and shrugged. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“It’s been a stressful few days. I’m not surprised you’re exhausted. It probably explains a lot about what happened in history.”
Luke blushed to the roots of his hair. “I’m sorry. Is Milton mad at me?”
“No, he would’ve preferred that you’d told him that you didn’t know how to take notes and that you were lost in history classes without bruising his shins, but he’s not mad, at least not at you. He’d probably cheerfully strangle half your high school teachers.”
Luke felt his face grow hotter. “I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me.” Luke would’ve continued to apologize if Tilden hadn’t interrupted him.
“We’re tops. We understand the motivation, but we don’t condone the behavior.” Tilden’s voice had become firmer, and he had Luke trapped in his gaze.
“Ugh—I’m in trouble again.” Luke fingered the blanket that was tucked around his shoulders.
“I have a few lines for you to write.” Tilden handed Luke his blue notebook where on the top of the page he’d written two sentences in Russian. “Write each sentence twenty-five times.”
“They’re in Russian,” Luke whined.
“I’m aware of that,” Tilden said with a small smile. “You can translate them also. I wrote out the verbs in the infinitive and all the nouns and adjectives in the nominative case, so they would be easy for you to find in the dictionary. Don’t fuss, or next time I won’t be so generous.” Tilden tousled Luke’s hair and turned back to the papers he was grading.
Luke dutifully flipped through the dictionary for a few minutes. “I don’t understand the first sentence. ‘I won’t hit foot or leg Milton.’”
“I won’t kick Milton. Russian doesn’t have a separate word for foot and leg, and it’s in the instrumental case, so it literally means ‘I won’t strike Milton with my foot.’”
“Can’t I just do these lines in English?”
“No, druzhok. You might as well learn something from them. You’ve had plenty of practice writing in English. Of course, we could always do these in English, and you can write each sentence one hundred times.”
“No, Russian’s great.”
“Russian’s great. That’s a change. We might have a future Russian scholar, yet.” Tilden said with a twinkle in his eyes.
Luke wrote for a few moments before turning back toward Tilden. “Did Milton say anything about seeing Mike today in history? I was up front; I thought I might have missed him.”
“He wasn’t there. I stopped by his dorm room, but there was nobody home.”
“Oh,” Luke said and continued writing.
“Luka, don’t worry about it. I think Mike was just too embarrassed to face us today. Milton’s going to stop by his room tonight when he wouldn’t expect us.” Tilden bent down and kissed the top of Luke’s head. “In general, you shouldn’t talk when you’re writing lines. You’re supposed to reflect on the meaning of the line.”
“Yeah, once I wear out the dictionary finding the meaning. You could translate them for me?” Luke looked at Tilden with wide, pleading eyes.
“That would take away half the fun. I could make it harder and make you translate from English into Russian.”
“No, that won’t be necessary.”
“I thought you’d see it my way.”
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