Chapter 12 Arthur Make a Difference in a Kid’s Life
Arthur: Make a Difference in a Kid’s Life
“What, are you just carrying the jars around with you everywhere now?” Arthur asked. He’d been driving full speed down the road when she’d produced his out of nowhere and forced him to draw. She was like a magician, this one, a sleight-of-hand master.
Or maybe she just kept it in her purse.
“I’ve got to say, Arthur. This one’s a little corny.”
She wasn’t wrong. It definitely gave “late 1990s DARE presentation” or “very special episode / after-school special” or even “The More You Know.” Maybe those early TV years when he was little were where he got his idea of what it meant to be a teacher.
He was just old enough to have caught some reruns of The Magic School Bus and even, later, a little bit of the tail end of Boy Meets World thanks to the wonders of streaming.
Those programs made teaching seem like this magical, all-rewarding thing.
He missed thinking that it was.
“It is corny,” he said. “And it’s also vague. It’s something an idiot college kid thought up.”
“Not an idiot, an optimist. Come on, tap into that part of yourself.”
They were stopped at a red light, and Arthur took the opportunity to shut his eyes tight, racking his brain for an idea of how he could bring this one to life.
“It’s not in your brain,” Wren said, reaching over and touching his chest with a jokey seriousness. “It’s in here.”
“Who’s being corny now?”
He thought of his students. They’d called him corny more times than he could count, or more frequently, they called him cooked.
Especially during the TikTok debacle, but also every other day.
He was always doing something cringe that meant he was cooked, like wearing a tie, having the wrong color socks on, or trying to educate them.
He wasn’t the worst teacher on the staff.
They didn’t hate him, but they didn’t particularly seem to like him, respect him, or think they needed him in any way.
How exactly was he supposed to “make a difference” in one of their lives? Whatever that even meant.
“There is one kid…” he said, trailing off and remembering.
“Yeah? Go on,” Wren said.
“It’s…No. Well, maybe. I mean…I guess it’s worth a shot.”
“I don’t know who or what you’re talking about, but I one hundred percent agree.”
After a quick stop to hit the ATM and give Arthur a chance to access the school directory, they found themselves outside Martin Lamb’s listed address with three hundred dollars in cash. And a Snickers bar, but that was for Wren.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked between bites.
“Well, with any luck he’s still really bummed out and needing money for band.”
Wren crossed her fingers sarcastically.
“He wouldn’t let me buy the trumpet for him before, but I don’t know, maybe I can get him to change his mind.”
“ ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe…’ ” Wren mocked. “Where’s your confidence? Don’t you think you can do this?”
Arthur was tired. “I don’t know, man. I just work here.”
“Well, you’re never going to make a difference in anyone’s life with that attitude.”
Arthur knew she was busting his chops, but he couldn’t help but think she was right.
“You know who’s good at this stuff? Tristan,” she said. Before Arthur could protest, Wren was already dialing on her cell phone.
“He usually talks people into giving him money.”
“So just take whatever he says and do it backward,” Wren said.
“Go,” Tristan answered, and Arthur rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck back there. Tristan was a go guy.
“Hey, Tris,” Wren said. “Got a little bit of a sitch-ee-ation here that we could use your expertise in.”
“What’s up?”
“Arthur wants to help this kid at school who needs six hundred dollars for a bassoon, but the kid won’t take the money. Too proud or something.”
Arthur leaned in, feeling the need to correct her: “That was only half right, but…yeah, that’s basically the gist. I have to get this kid to let me help him.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Tristan said. “You don’t have to. You get to.”
“Yeah…right. So, any advice?”
“Well, it’s like what Wren said: Anyone with pride isn’t going to want to take a handout. You’ve got to make it seem like he’s doing you a favor, or even better, like he really deserves the money.”
“OK,” Wren said. She turned to Arthur. “That makes sense.”
“Yeah, and if all else fails, just slip him the money and run. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”
“Tristan, you are a national treasure.”
“Thanks, Wren. Now I gotta run. You guys good?”
Wren nudged Arthur with her eyes and tilted her head toward the phone. Say thank you!
“Uh, yeah, thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver and all of that.”
“All right, cheers.” Tristan hung up. Cheers.
Arthur paused for a second and tried to check his attitude.
He’d been thinking about Martin, remembering when he’d been in his class.
The kid was aways drumming with pencils, tapping his foot to a beat, and humming.
It irritated the kids sitting next to him to no end, but now it was all making sense: He just loved music.
It would mean a hell of a lot to Arthur if he could enable Martin to actually pursue his passion.
It was ridiculous that a few hundred dollars should stand in the way of something so important.
“OK,” Arthur said, steeling himself. “I’m ready.”
“Let’s go, then,” Wren said, opening the door, then thinking better of it and shutting it again. “Actually, I just got hit by a tsunami of exhaustion, so maybe I’ll just wait in the car.”
The house was nice, or, rather, was probably nice at one point, but now was in desperate need of repairs.
As he walked up the front steps, Arthur felt as though his foot might go through one of them at any point.
Gutters were falling down and the windows were permanently smudged.
The place was probably somehow worth five million dollars, Arthur thought bitterly.
After a knock on the door, Martin himself answered, wearing an oversize T-shirt.
“AP? What are you doing here?”
“Hey, bud. Can I come in?”
A confused Martin nodded and stepped aside. Inside, the TV was blaring. An elderly woman was sitting on the couch watching some talk show at an extraordinarily high volume.
“That’s my grandma,” Martin said. Arthur raised his hand to wave, but Martin quickly grabbed it. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. She gets confused and she’ll probably think you’re here to rob us.”
“Understood. I don’t want to frighten her.”
“Oh, it’s not her I’m worried about,” Martin said ominously.
Arthur shook the comment off. “I’m actually here to do the exact opposite.”
“Why are you being sus? You’re freaking me out.”
Come on, Arthur, just come out with it already.
He led Martin into the kitchen, out of Grandma’s sight, and took a look around as they walked.
The inside of the house was no better than the outside.
It looked like someone had made a valiant attempt to keep things clean—probably Martin—but there were a number of burned-out lightbulbs, blinking appliances, and loose floorboards.
The place was in dire need of a handyman.
“Is it just the two of you here, you and her?”
Martin nodded. He remembered now, hearing a rumor last year that Martin’s parents weren’t around.
Kid always got his work done, never acted out, never let it show.
But now it was all too painfully obvious.
From what Wren had told him, she had spent a lot of time in a house not too unlike this.
It was a tough and lonely way to grow up.
“Well, listen,” Arthur said. “I know it’s not much, but I really wanted you to have this. No strings. No paying me back. You can get that trumpet if you still want, or anything else you might need.”
He pulled the wad of bills out of his pocket and held it out.
Martin just shook his head no.
“I can’t take that.”
“It’s for you. It’s really OK.”
“Nah, my grandma will kill me if she finds out I took a handout.” An elderly boomer. Of course she would. “She says people should work for their money. What I don’t get is why it’s OK for her to get checks from the government, though.”
“Don’t waste your brain power, it’ll never make sense.
Listen.” Arthur thought. He considered just accepting the boy’s answer and leaving.
But no. He was here on a mission. He needed to be confident, have the right attitude, like Wren said.
No one was ever going to look up to him if he couldn’t project strength and authority.
“If she asks, just tell her it’s an investment. ”
“An investment? In what?”
“Anything. You’re a smart kid. I did all kinds of stuff when I was your age. I mowed lawns, washed people’s cars. You get a bucket, some soap, and a sponge and you can make yourself a good little allowance.”
Martin pressed his lips together, thinking, staring at the money. But he still wasn’t moving to take it. Arthur decided, even though it physically pained him, to try some of Tristan’s advice.
“You know, when I was a kid, I really wanted to go to this chess tournament that was out of state. My parents said I could go, but I had to pay my own way.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. The difference was, I had the money. I told you, I worked all the time when I was a kid. I could have afforded it. But I was so uptight and scared to let it go that…well, I still think about what I might have missed out on.”
Martin nodded, understanding.
“It would really help me out if you’d take this, so I know my mistake wasn’t for nothing.”
Damn, Arthur. That was good, he thought. He was proud of himself, and especially so because every word had been true.
Finally, Martin reached out and took the cash.
“OK. But just as an investment.”
They shook hands.
Suddenly, Arthur realized—“Why don’t I hear the TV anymore?”
Moments later he came sprinting out of the house, Grandma behind him, swinging a bat over her head like a helicopter propeller.
“Wren, start the engine!” he yelled. Wren, just waking up from a car nap, eyes wide, did as she was told. Arthur made a mental note of how quickly and smoothly she shifted into Getaway Driver mode. He would have to ask her some additional questions about her past.
But only if they survived this.
Arthur stumbled down the stairs, sprinted across the front lawn, and dove in. In an instant, they peeled away, just in time to dodge the bat, which Grandma had hurled at them like a tomahawk.
“So…how did it go?” Wren asked.