Billy Dreams

by Ashley Ahearn

Fall Semester

Billy clenches the tongs, snaps them together and then selects a piece of dripping red sirloin from the cutting board. He reaches across the counter to place it on her plate as the line of students dressed in blazers, khakis and plaid, files by. She is wearing a crisp, pink button down and a navy pleated skirt. Pearls glow at her throat.

“This piece isn’t cooked enough for me.” She thrusts her plate back across the counter at him and points at another piece. “That one looks ok.” 

He grabs it and drops it onto her plate. He must never show any kind of frustration or disgust with the upper crust students of Essex Academy, to whom he serves dinner most evenings. Fortunately, Billy Farnham is not one to pick a fight. At 17 years old, he’s lanky, pimpled and painfully aware that these are not “his people.” This girl most of all.

She turns, plate in hand, and heads over to the salad bar. Lilly Scudder, the most popular girl at Essex Academy. Captain of the tennis team. Daughter of the headmaster. Billy is sure she doesn’t know his name, even though they both grew up here. His mom runs the dining services for the school—she’s worked here since before Billy was born—and now Billy works the dinner shift after he gets home from the public high school in town. 

Lilly’s father comes through the line next and peers at Billy over tortoise-shell spectacles. Willard Scudder IV has clear, light blue eyes, a long, aristocratic nose and a weak chin. 

“Hello, William,” he greets Billy. No one calls Billy that, except his mom when he’s in trouble. 

“Hello, Mr. Scudder.” He snaps his tongs and selects a perfect, medium-rare cut of sirloin. 

“How goes the math league?” 

“Fine, I guess.” Billy doesn’t get why the headmaster of the school pretends he’s interested in Billy’s gift with numbers. The truth is that Billy does indeed have a gift. When he was just eight years old his mother found him scribbling away on one of her clipboards as he waited for her to finish closing down the kitchen for the night. Sure enough, he’d been looking over the supply order, calculating exactly how many pounds of potatoes would be needed to feed 480 boarding students. Numbers have always soothed Billy—the way they flow and click together, adding, subtracting and dividing into themselves in such logical, beautiful order. 

“Well, I hope you’re considering a college education, young man.”

Billy turns to serve the next student in line.

***

On a crisp fall Saturday, the Essex Academy Redwings face off against the Essex High School Bulldogs for their annual football game. It’s a vicious rivalry, layered with years of socioeconomic spite. The Academy, with its hefty endowment, recruits top coaches and athletes from around the country. The public school, on the other hand, draws from the sons of the local loggers, teachers and other working class families from this quaint corner of New England.

Billy doesn’t play football, of course. He prefers to cheer the team on with his clarinet from the bandstand. He’s saved up his money from working in the dining hall to buy his pep band uniform and he thinks he looks quite dashing in his tall hat with green and white fluffy feathers. 

There are just minutes left on the clock and the Bulldogs are at the 10 yard line. The game is tied. Brad Singer, their star quarterback, flicks the ball sideways to Pedro Diaz, tight end. Pedro ducks right and then left, his green uniform zig-zagging through the wall of Essex Academy red, before diving into the end zone. Touch down!!

Billy and the band jump up and start playing the Bulldog fight song with all their hearts. As the final notes fade and he lowers his clarinet, Billy hears a chant rising from the red side of the bleachers. 

‍ ‍“That’s alright. That’s OK. You’re gonna work for us one day.” 

Billy scans the sea of red in disbelief. He picks out Lilly’s blond ponytail. Her cheeks are painted red with white stripes. She meets his eye and keeps chanting along with the others, mouthing the words in his direction. 

‍ ‍“That’s alright. That’s OK. You’re gonna work for us one day.” 

Keep chanting, Billy thinks to himself. I already work for you, anyway. The Bulldogs lose in the final seconds.  

***

“How was the game?” Billy’s mom asks as he puts on his apron the following morning. She sets down a tray of Eggs Benedict as students begin to shuffle in for Sunday brunch. Billy mumbles a response, pulls out a cutting board and starts slicing avocados for avocado toast. 

“I didn’t hear you,” his mom asks again. “How’d it go last night?”

“Same as it always goes,” he raises his voice at her. “The Academy won.” She doesn’t ask any more questions. She can feel the defeat in this son of hers, her only child. 

Willard Scudder IV walks into the dining hall and she looks up as he picks up a plate and comes toward her. 

“Two eggs, please, Lorna.” 

She still remembers him as he was when they first met. He was just back from a Harvard PhD in mathematics, ready to start his career as a teacher at the school his great-grandfather founded. She was barely 18, the daughter of the town barber, working in the cafeteria to save up for community college in Nashua. 

They made love in broom closets and pantries, and once in the walk-in freezer. It had been furtive and fun until the music stopped and she found herself pregnant. Lorna told no one who the father was. Well, except for Willard Scudder IV, who promptly married Daphne Winthrop, an old Harvard girlfriend. He and Lorna never spoke again, beyond professional smalltalk, but Lorna can still see the longing in his eyes.  

Billy has no idea that Lilly Winthrop Scudder is his half sister. And here she comes, strutting into the dining hall wearing tight black leggings, a Redwings sweatshirt and pearls, of course. 

“Sorry you guys couldn’t pull it off yesterday,” she taunts Billy.  

He reaches over to place a piece of avocado toast on her plate but slips, somehow, and the soft, green topping smears down the front of her red shirt. He does not apologize, just stares at her, and she falters at the steely belligerence in his clear, light blue eyes. “It should wash out,” she says, dabbing at her chest self-consciously.

Winter Semester

Billy has a secret. He sits with it quietly, letting his mind roll it around as he chops vegetables or scrubs pots. He wants to go to college in California and study math. No one in his family has ever been to college, or California, for that matter. His calculus teacher, Mr. Campbell, says Billy is smart enough and should take the AP Math exam. Mr. Campbell went to CalPoly and that’s where Billy wants to go, too. He took the test in the fall and now he checks the old brick post office on campus every day to see if his results have come in. He hasn’t told his mom anything about it. They probably can’t afford college, anyway. 

Tonight, Billy savors images of a sunny college campus as he mops the sitting room outside the entrance to the formal dining hall. The evening meal finished a few hours ago and the students have since put on their coats and traipsed back to their dormitories, rosy-cheeked and laughing through the snow.

On the far wall, looming over clusters of rich leather chairs and couches, hangs a portrait of the school’s founder, Willard Scudder I. He wears a crimson blazer and khakis. Clear, light blue eyes peer down at Billy from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. 

Billy pauses, resting the mop against his shoulder as he looks up at the painting. He can see the resemblance to the current headmaster. Willard Scudder IV has the same light blue eyes, long nose and weak chin. 

One of the wingback chairs is turned away from Billy, so he hasn’t noticed that it is occupied, but suddenly he hears someone crying softly. He resumes mopping, angling around the chair until he can see a messy blond ponytail over hunched shoulders. Lilly Scudder is still in her formal dinner clothes but her eyes have dark rings around them where tears have melded with mascara. 

“I didn’t know anyone was in here,” she says, wiping at her cheeks. 

“I gotta mop,” Billy says, then feels stupid. Of course that’s what he’s doing. “You doing OK?” he asks. 

“I’m gonna get a C in algebra. These equations just don’t make sense.”

“A C is not that bad,” Billy offers. 

“A C means I won’t get into Harvard.” She sniffles. “Anything below a B and there’s nothing my family legacy can do to outweigh that.” 

“Oh,” Billy says, not knowing what else to say. “Can I take a look?” 

She angles her notebook toward him. 

y = 7x² + 4x² - 18. Solve for x.

Billy can see where she’s started to manipulate the equation, moving the 18 over, adding the x² together, but then the numbers begin to morph and spiral into flowers and 2 birds, each petal and feather etched in fantastic detail. He stops and looks up at her. “Nice drawings.”

“They won’t get me into Harvard,” she sighs into her hands. “My dad loves math so much. Why didn’t I get those genes?” She looks up. “It’s Billy, right?”

Miracle of miracles, she knows his name. 

“I took algebra a few years ago,” he says. “It’s not for everyone but it made sense to me.” He rests the mop against the back of her chair and crouches beside her. Together they work through several equations. Billy is careful to speak slowly. He is also careful to hide how much he loves solving the mystery of X for each equation. It tickles him every time. 

“Now if you can just take my quiz for me tomorrow.” She smiles through her raccoon mascara, suddenly not so polished and poised. 

“I’m in AP Calculus this year. I can help you after I mop in here on Tuesdays.”

“You’re in AP Calc? I had no idea.” 

“No idea, what? That I’m not some dummy serving your food?” Billy stands to go.

“No, I mean, I just…” She shuffles her papers together. “I just never really talked to you. I didn’t know.” 

“It’s Ok. Good luck on the quiz tomorrow. I’ll see you on Tuesday.” 

***

Lilly fails the quiz, but she doesn’t give up. She and Billy meet every Tuesday night and he patiently breaks down the equations for her, no matter how obvious they are to him. Lilly brings him sketches—of trees, old brick buildings, birds—all in the margins of her math notebook. They are excellent, and Billy tells her so, but Lilly just shrugs and smiles sadly.

“They won’t get me into Harvard,” she repeats. Neither, it becomes clear, will Lilly’s math scores. As the winter semester drags on, Lilly bombs quiz after quiz. “I just get so nervous. My hands start to sweat and then the numbers blur. There’s no way I’ll be able to scrape together a B in this class.” 

“Screw Harvard,” Billy erupts one day. “Why do you even want to go to that school?” Lilly is quiet for a moment. 

“I don’t know. It’s just what’s supposed to happen.” 

“Well I hope you can take art classes there,” is all Billy can respond. 

“What about you, Gandalf?” (She’s started calling him that since he revealed his love of Lord of the Rings. Gandalf is the only character she knows.)

“I dunno. I kinda like the idea of California. I’ve never been. CalPoly is supposed to have a good math program.” He stops. “But even if I get in, I doubt we can afford it.” An uncomfortable silence stretches between them, words unable to span the wealth gap between her family and his. 

“Can’t you borrow money or get some kind of scholarship?” 

“Maybe. I dunno.” It’s too much to try and explain to her. 

Spring Semester 

Billy checks the post office before dinner. There is an envelope with his AP math test result in it. He waits until he is by himself before clumsily ripping it open. His score is almost perfect, ranked one of the highest in the state. Can it be possible? Could he have a chance at college? He can barely contain his excitement as he ties on his apron and gets ready to serve steamed broccoli and potatoes au gratin to the students lining up in the dining hall.

Lilly and a group of her girlfriends on the tennis team stand together waiting their turn. They are wearing pleated tennis skirts and red collared t-shirts. The line shuffles forward until they are across from Billy. He and Lilly never talk in public. It’s an unspoken rule. Their math sessions are secret and she does not acknowledge him in the dining hall beyond a casual “hello.” But today he can’t help himself.

“Lilly, I aced the math exam. Top in the state.” His voice cracks high on the word ‘state.’ Her friends look at her, confused, as Lilly stiffens. He can see panic flash across her face, then embarrassment, and he realizes he’s overstepped.

“Uh, that’s great?” She turns to her friends, feigning confusion, as if to say, who is this weirdo telling me about his test scores?

Billy pushes his glasses up his face and scoops some potatoes onto her plate. “I just thought you’d want to know.” His voice trails off. 

“Sure,” she says sarcastically. “Thanks for keeping me posted!” Her friends giggle as they walk away. 

***

After dinner, Billy crouches by the walk-in freezer. His head rests on his forearms. He hasn’t bothered to take off his apron. All he can do is replay the mortifying episode from dinner over and over in his mind. 

He has been helping Lilly with her math homework for weeks now. And sure, they weren’t sharing their deepest, darkest secrets, but he thought they were friends. How could he be so stupid? Embarrassment rolls up from his stomach and lodges in his chest as he relives the moment once more. He can see her giggling with her friends and walking away. But he also sees something else. He’s sure of it. Her eyes flashed at him for a split second, and she looked trapped and sad, as if she wanted to be excited for him but didn’t have the courage to show it in front of her friends. 

Still, it hurts.

His mother sits down next to him and hands him a can of coke. 

“Tell me what’s going on, sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t want to talk at first. He hardly tells his mom anything these days. How could she understand? But her eyes are soft and she waits and sips her coke until the words start to pour out. He tells her about helping Lilly and how bad she is at math. He tells her about Lilly’s beautiful drawings and how she should just let herself embrace what she loves and forget Harvard and go be an artist. His mother listens quietly. 

“Lilly’s trapped,” Lorna says to her son. “Just like her father is. They all are, even though it might seem like they have it all.”

“Well, aren’t we trapped, too?” Billy asks, training his piercing, light blue eyes on her. Before his mother can respond, he pulls the rumpled test score envelope from his pocket and hands it to her. She puts her hand to her mouth as she looks it over. “Oh my God, Billy. This is incredible.”

“I want to go to college, Mom.” The words bubble up from the secret place where they’ve been sleeping. There are tears in her eyes as she looks at him. “I want that for you, too, honey.” 

***

The days are lengthening and all the flowers around the perfectly-manicured campus are in riotous bloom when Billy walks to the post office. He is nervous. Spring semester is almost over and he still hasn’t heard from CalPoly. It’s the only school he applied to and he asked for a lot of financial aid. It probably won’t work out, he tells himself. 

He hasn’t talked to Lilly since the incident. She avoids eye contact in the dining hall and stopped showing up for their sitting room math sessions. Billy knows he could be mad about it, or hurt, but instead, he is worried. Lilly quit the tennis team. He can tell because she doesn’t come to the dining hall in her uniform anymore, or hang out with those girls. He wonders if she failed algebra. He sees her by herself sketching in her notebook all the time, and she’s stopped wearing pearls. 

The pond at the center of campus sparkles in the spring sunlight and it takes Billy’s eyes a moment to adjust as he walks into the dim post office. He finds his box and unlocks it. There are two envelopes inside. The first bears the green CalPoly insignia. His stomach drops. He doesn’t have the courage to open it yet, so he flips to the second envelope. It’s a larger manilla folder with no stamp, which means it’s from someone on campus. He flips the metal clasp open at the back and pulls out a drawing. It’s Lilly’s work. He knows immediately. 

It’s an image of him, he realizes, standing in front of the portrait in the sitting room where they first met. His light blue eyes match the eyes in the painting, looking down on him. Lilly drew him holding what looks like a mop at the bottom, but then the smooth handle transforms into a gnarled wizard staff. At the top flies a green flag with the CalPoly logo. On the page around him, numbers and equations swirl in the air, as if spewing like spells from his staff. Below, there’s a short note in Lilly’s careful hand. 

‍ ‍Gandalf, 

‍ ‍You will do great things and solve all the problems. I will keep drawing, just like you said I should. Look me up if you’re ever in NYC. I’m going to study art. Maybe you were right after all. 

‍ ‍I’m sorry, 

‍ ‍Lilly 

Billy holds the drawing against his chest and smiles. Then, slowly, he opens the other envelope.