"All right," Miss Rhodes says, smiling broadly this morning. "Where did we leave off yesterday?" "We were talking about the ways they lined up for battle!" Mitch Stevens yells from the back row. "Ah, that's right," Miss Rhodes answers. "Who remembers what that was called?" Multiple hands shoot up in the air. Miss Rhodes surveys the class, looking pleased. "Jeremy?" "It was called a flanks formation," Jeremy answers. "Very close." Miss Rhodes walks over to the board and writes out a word.

PHALANX. "It's pronounced 'FA-links,'" she says. "And what does this word mean?" "It means they stood side by side, locking their shields and moving like one gigantic wall," Jeremy answers. "No one ever broke ranks or fell behind. That way, the enemy never got through." "Excellent," Miss Rhodes says. "Now let's talk a little bit about the weapons they used. Which, out of all of them, was the most important?" I'm only listening with one ear, because I already know the answer.

Any Spartan warrior's most essential tool in battle was his shield, an enormous bronze disc that weighed close to thirty pounds. Besides protecting them from enemy blows, a Hoplite shield was also used as a weapon in its own right and to carry the dead off the field. Instead I'm thinking about what Dad did. Or at least what I think he did. Him and Jack, together. I still can't get those words out of my head. Spiderman. Batman.

Middlebury. Or the way Jack's face looked when he saw the Batman mask on the floor of his room. The way he grabbed my wrist and yelled at me to write down what I knew in my little pink book and then told me that everything was going to be okay. Why does everyone say that everything is always going to be okay? What if it isn't? What if it never is again?.