God's Kingdom by Howard Frank Mosher

Miss Hark.
    â€œYou may resume your seat, Dubois,” Miss Hark said, “when, and only when, you confess to cheating.”
    *   *   *
    As the afternoon wore on, clouds began to sail in from the northwest. The wind picked up and the classroom windows rattled in their wooden sashes. Stooped over at the blackboard, Gaëtan reached under his tattered jacket and rubbed the small of his back. From time to time he twisted his head and glanced fearfully at the skeleton. Jim thought about going for Prof but didn’t. Gaëtan seemed determined to fight this battle himself.
    At two twenty-five Gaëtan waved his hand. “Mademoiselle Kin’son,” he said. “ S’il vous plaît. ”
    â€œAre you ready to confess, Dubois?”
    â€œ Je dois aller aux toilettes, Mademoiselle .”
    â€œFine. When you admit that you cheated on your examination, you may go to the boys’ room. Not until.”
    Gaëtan lifted one large brogan, then the other, like a nervous horse. Jim thought of the quart jar of coffee his friend had drunk at lunch. The boy must be in agony.
    Across the aisle, Becky gasped. Her hand shot to her mouth. She was staring at Gate, bent over in his too-small suit like a ragged old man. The entire class was staring at Gaëtan. A stream of liquid came pouring out of the frayed cuffs of his trousers, splashing over his square-cut shoes onto the floor of the classroom. On and on it came, more than Jim would have thought possible.
    Miss Hark frowned at the class. She looked over her shoulder at the clock. “You still have five minutes. Double-check your—”
    Miss Hark made a strangled noise in her throat and lurched to her feet. She pointed at Gaëtan, standing in the spreading pool of his own urine, then at the door. “Go!” she shrieked. “Get out.”
    Gaëtan remained bent over at the blackboard. “I do not cheat, me!” he shouted.
    â€œI don’t care if you cheated or not. Get out of my class, you stinking Black Frenchman.”
    Gaëtan shook his head. “With respect, Mademoiselle. I do not cheat.”
    The puddle at Gaëtan’s feet crept toward Miss Hark’s desk. She started to back away. Just as she bolted for the door, it opened and Prof stepped into the room. “Excuse me, Miss Hark. The hockey game this afternoon’s been canceled because of the weather. There’s a major blizzard coming in from Canada. I want you boys and girls to bundle up and go straight—Miss Hark? Are you all right?”
    â€œHim!” Miss Hark shrieked, pointing at Gaëtan. Then she rushed past Prof and out the door.
    At the blackboard, Gaëtan straightened up and turned to face the class. A dark stain covered the front of his trousers.
    â€œ Pardon, ” Gaëtan said. “ Pardon, monsieur le professeur . J’ai shame.”
    Eyes down, Gaëtan walked to the back of the classroom and removed his overcoat from its hook. He threw his new skates over his shoulder, picked up his lunch pail, and left the room.
    â€œThis is most unfortunate,” Prof told the class. “I’m sorry you folks had to witness something like this.”
    â€œProf,” Jim said. “Miss Hark accused Gate of cheating, but he didn’t.”
    â€œI know he didn’t, son,” Prof said. “You go find your friend and tell him I know he didn’t do anything wrong. The rest of you people are dismissed. Leave your tests on your desks. I’ll collect them.”
    As the students got to their feet, Prof said, “Keep your faces covered up on your way home. It’s murderously cold out there.”
    *   *   *
    Gaëtan’s brogans sat side by side on the riverbank. On the dark ice below, Jim made out the diagonal telemarks of Gaëtan’s long skating strides. Hurriedly he kicked off his boots and laced up his skates. Jim knew that he could never overtake his