Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
kane
Ghost – Justin Bieber
My morning is full of back-to-back students, some with much to discuss and others I spent the whole meeting trying to pry any sort of information from.
After dealing with everything— from students missing chunks of school and the resulting overload of missing assignments, to others wanting to work through the anxieties of the looming future—I’m thankful for a breather.
Looking at the last dregs of my second cup of coffee reminds me that I have yet to eat anything today. My lunch break is now, but I always block it off in case Trevor stops by. I’ve made it clear that my door is always open for him.
Staring at the unread group chat messages from Marcus and Grayson, I decide to reply after I’ve eaten something. But just as I stand up, a tuft of brown curls appears in my doorway.
I release a breath, some of the tension easing when I see Trevor.
He looks tired, the ever-present dark under-eyes under this fifteen-year-old’s eyes punching me right in the gut, like always.
He should be playing a sport or getting in trouble with his friends, not working himself to exhaustion doing extra shifts at a mechanic shop in a not-so-great area of Cherry Hill—one of the few facts I’ve got out of him over the past two months.
I make a mental note to talk to Marcus about giving him a job at his father’s shop.
Maybe a more stable and healthier environment would help this kid out a bit more, though it’s on the other side of town which could be hard if he lacks the means to get there.
My heart clenches remembering how down he looked telling me, as if I would judge him for needing a job.
Unfortunately, my last name is widely known in this town.
From my father’s never-ending real estate ventures to the construction company he owns, it’s hard to go a few blocks without seeing “D’Antonio” plastered on something.
It has made some kids wary of talking to me, knowing I may never understand their circumstances.
But I have done my best to show them that despite what I came from, I am here for them, and no matter what, they matter to me.
I motion for Trevor to take a seat and close the door behind him. I opt not to say anything, letting Trevor start the conversation as I sit back down in my chair and straighten some papers, keeping my hands busy.
“Busy day, huh?” Trevor’s small voice asks as he looks at the mountain of paperwork I’m behind on.
“Always busier than I want them to be, that’s for sure,” I reply, leaning back in my chair. I keep my eyes on him to let him know I am listening and engaged in this conversation.
He finally lifts his head up, and that’s when I see it—a small bruise darkening his cheek. The deep purple can’t be mistaken for anything else. My heart cracks open as I stare at it.
It’s not the first time he’s shown up here with a small mark or unexplained cut.
He always claims he tripped or got it at work, but after the fifth or sixth time, I couldn’t deny that something worse could be happening to this kid.
We’re made aware of the signs early on, we go through rigorous training to spot when abuse could occur.
“Do you want to tell me?” I implore, leaving my tone with little room for argument.
“Fight at work, nothing to tell,” he answers, his head down and fingers twisted in each other on his lap. I blow out a breath and let my heart rate settle before continuing.
“How are your classes? Is Algebra still giving you trouble?” I ask, changing the subject, hoping to get him to soften a bit today. Any information is good—it can tell me where his head is at.
Trevor shifts in his seat, holding eye contact with me finally, which I take as a sign that he isn’t ready to bolt yet.
I’ve gotten very good at reading body language from being here for the past eight months, knowing when to push some of these kids and when they just need me to listen.
Sometimes, they just need somewhere to go and hide out without fear of being judged or ridiculed, hence my open-door policy.
I want them to know they can come at any time for anything, even if it’s just to sit.
I try to avoid letting them ditch classes to do so, but many do, and I would rather them come here than go somewhere off campus and get into who knows what.
“Fine, it’s easier now. Thank you for helping me find Katie,” he says.
Katie is an assistant for Algebra II and has taken on some students to tutor.
She gets paid by the district to do so, and offers her time after hours.
When I found out Trevor was struggling, I knew Katie was the best person to pair him with.
She’s easily the best tutor we have, willing to work harder to teach students like Trevor, who doesn’t see much reason for even staying in school to learn things like algebra when he could be working instead.
I’m grateful he’s taking this opportunity to give it a try, and I’m relieved that he’s feeling more comfortable in a class he was ready to fail out of.
“Of course. I’m proud of you for showing up.
I know it’s been a hard year, but going and trying is the best thing you can do and look at you.
You’re doing it,” I acknowledge with a smile on my face.
He ducks his head as the red in his cheeks deepens, the only recognition he heard me, which is all I want.
To make sure he hears and knows that someone is proud of him.
“Yeah, I just wanted to come by and say thanks, I guess. I got a seventy-five on my last test. I know I can still do better, but hey, it’s better than the twenty-nine on the last one,” he jokes with a self-deprecating laugh.
His boyish smile is long gone, and I watch him fiddle with his fingers in his lap, clearly uncomfortable talking about himself for too long.
Most of our sessions are short. A few sentences from him here and there, but it’s a lot more than I used to get when we first started.
Sometimes he would just sit in the room and not talk at all, scoffing anytime I tried to get him to open up.
He used to hide behind “rich-boy” remarks he’d throw at me whenever the conversation got too close to anything real.
We finally broke that exterior when he realized I wasn’t giving up on him. All I had to do was show Trevor that I’m not going anywhere—that I care, even if all I get from him is anger.
“Wow, a seventy-five. Trevor, that’s great.
Should I put down future goals to be a mathematician?
Maybe we can look at colleges that have good math programs?
” I ask with a laugh, getting a small chuckle out of him.
His features have softened a bit, sitting a little bit more relaxed in the chair across from me.
“Yeah, I don’t know, Mr. D. Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” he says with a laugh. “I just want to pass Algebra II so I can finally move on next year, finally.”
Seeing him finally putting in the work and applying himself, I know he can do it. Even if he must add on an extra class to make it work, I’ll be here to help him.
“You can do it. You will do it, Trevor. Just keep showing up. If you need a little extra help, you can come to me and we’ll work it out, even if it means I have to figure out fractions again,” I tease, hoping the familiar back and forth will help him to open up further.
“How is work?” I ask, changing the subject again to keep him talking.
I know I could be pushing my luck, but his tired eyes and the bruise haven’t quite faded from my mind.
“Good. Sara was sick last week so I had to take a few days off, but she’s feeling better now and back to school. Katie got my school work for me and even stopped by the garage to give it to me.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
Sara is one of his two younger sisters. He hasn’t explicitly told me their ages, just that they’re in elementary school.
It seems like the majority of their parenting falls on his shoulders, making sure they get to and from school.
I noticed his absences last week, and I’m happy he’s the one who brought it up.
Anytime he’s not in class, I have Dawn alert me so I can make note of it and watch for when he shows up next for a check in.
A lot of kids here skip or have more absences than the state allows, but I try to push as many as I can through on to the next year as long as they put in at least some effort.
Some do have to repeat the year, and there’s a long list of students with whom we’ve had to get child protective services (CPS) involved, but keeping Trevor off it has been a priority.
“That’s good, Trev. Do you have any work you can catch up on now? I was going to go grab my lunch, but you can sit here and work before the bell rings,” I suggest. He nods and turns to his backpack, taking out a few folders.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me I need to eat if I’m going to get through the rest of the day.
Exhaustion is already creeping in as I think of everything that’s left to do.
Then again, without much to go home to, the dread I usually feel about having to work late isn’t as strong.
The walls at home feel darker and colder these past few weeks, every trace of Avery untouched since the breakup.
Photos are still everywhere, following me around like ghosts from a past I can’t let go of.
Romance books still line my shelves, piles of them sitting on my bedroom floor.
I still flip through them from time to time, just to remind myself of the times when Avery would sit with me on the bed doing the same.
I was usually on my laptop working, with her little gasps when she hit an especially good part or the sound of a marker going across the page as she would underline something as my background noise.
Sometimes I would stop what I was doing to have her read to me the section that gave her that reaction.
Sweet parts would bring a smile to her face as she read to me, while the spicy scenes would have her looking at me over the top of the book.
We’d get lost in each other, work forgotten as I explored her body, memorizing every curve.
When I close my eyes, I still see her there, trapping me in the memories while the world outside moves on without me.
When I get back to my desk, Trevor sits in the same spot reading from a textbook. I smile to myself at this small victory that he’s here and working, then retake my seat and eat in silence.
The photos on my desk look back at me. One of Avery and me at graduation, caps on our heads and giant smiles on both our faces, the future seeming so bright and unexplored.
The next one is all of us at The Grunge after one of my shifts, with those ridiculous pink, sparkly party hats Avery picked out since it was Morgan’s birthday.
There’s a knowing gleam in her eye as she puts one on my head, knowing I would do anything she wanted me to, even wear a ridiculous hat around the bar.
My arms are wrapped around the back of her—she fit so perfectly against my chest—with Morgan next to us smiling as Marcus made bunny ears behind her head and Grayson grinning broadly from the other side.
Both photos were gifted to me by Avery on my first day of work. I also added some posters on the wall to help make the place feel more vibrant. Green pillows and throw blankets sit on the couch against the back wall, all of which were also purchased by Avery.
She leaves her touch wherever she goes, and I have been unable to move a single thing since.
When the bell rings, Trevor packs his stuff up and turns to look at me. “Thanks, Mr. D,” he says, shyness taking over his features.
“Anytime, Trevor. My door’s always open, you know that,” I return with a smile and wave as I throw my trash in the bin. He gives a half-hearted wave before he heads out, sauntering down the hallway toward the courtyard—and hopefully, his next class.
I let out a breath and get myself ready for my last appointments of the day.