Chapter 9 #3
The contemptuous expression falls off the kid’s face in a heartbeat, and he slowly turns to face his father.
Looking down at him, his old man’s voice turns stern. “I asked you a question, son. You’re bringin’ home failin’ grades, but you’ve apparently got all the damn time in the world to pick on a quiet kid.”
Braden slowly shakes his head, stammering, “I… I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out.”
His dad bends down slightly, and his voice softens. “Bullyin’ other kids don’t make you tough or important, son. If you need other kids to feel small so you can feel okay, that’s a you problem.”
“Bullyin’ ain’t nice,” I speak up, putting my hands on Noah’s shoulders. “Luckily, it ain’t a label you gotta wear for life. The minute you stop bullyin’, the label goes away.”
“Yes, sir,” Braden mumbles.
His old man pushes his hat back a little and comes to his feet. “Do you need to fix this, or do I?”
Braden takes a deep breath, and then he mumbles, “I’m sorry about what I said. The patch is really kind of cool.”
“Okay,” Noah says. “You want to throw with us? Maybe you can earn your own patch.”
Braden and his old man are startled, but not me. I always knew Noah had character.
Braden takes a step closer. “You want to be friends?”
Noah shrugs. “You’ve got to be friendly to be friends. You know?”
Braden is nodding before Noah gets the words all the way out.
Before he can answer, I remind them both, “Braden and his dad are more than welcome to throw with us, but his dad has to give permission for Braden to handle the throwing knives.” Jerking my chin towards his old man, I add, “The blades are dulled, but the points are still sharp. Your call.”
He rubs his jaw with one hand, thinking it over. But I can already tell from his expression that he’s gonna say yes.
Braden takes another step closer, clearly interested. “I ain’t never thrown knives. Is it like throwing darts?”
“Yeah,” Noah answers. “Kinda like throwing darts, but there are a lot more safety rules.”
Braden spins around. “Can we, Dad? I promise to be nice and follow the safety stuff.”
A smile ghosts across his father’s face. “Yeah, just remember the part about bein’ nice and followin’ the safety rules.”
Braden races to the table to stand beside Noah.
His father comes over too, and we exchange introductions.
His name is Dale. We watch the two boys for a bit as Noah enthusiastically tells Braden all about how to stand and how he’s gonna miss a lot at first, but if he keeps practicing, he’ll start getting better.
After a brief pause, Dale asks in a low tone, “Any idea how long the bullyin’ has been goin’ on?”
“I think a few months.”
“I should have been payin’ better attention. His mom has been real sick. I know that ain’t no excuse, though.”
“I imagine that workin’, takin’ care of a sick wife, and trying to keep up with a nine-year-old ain’t at all easy.”
“I know my boy’s been angry a lot. I never would have imagined what I saw out of him today.”
After a while, Dale calls for his son. “Braden, let’s go. There is still a lot here we ain’t seen.”
Braden reluctantly puts down the knife he was getting ready to throw, thanks Noah, and shuffles over to where we’re standing. Dale nods to me and then Noah. “I appreciate what you both did here today. You set us back on the right course.”
We pack up the knives and wander around to see the rest of the events, eat street food off paper plates while sitting in the grass, and when we’re standing beside my bike puttin’ on our helmets, I put my hand on Noah’s shoulder and give it a little squeeze.
“You handled that situation with Braden real maturely. I’m proud of you.”
He looks up at me, his expression questioning. “Because I taught him how to throw knives?”
“No. Don’t get me wrong, you throw good steel. But what I’m talkin’ about is standing up for yourself without flyin’ off the handle and then lettin’ shit go instead of holding a grudge. That takes real maturity.”
He finally says, “Thank you.”
The ride home is quiet, with only the roar of the engine providing background noise. It’s a pretty sunny day, and we’ve had a fantastic time.
Linsey’s sitting on the porch swing, looking pretty as can be.
Noah jumps off the bike and is telling her about our day before I can get halfway up the sidewalk.
I can tell she’s struggling to keep up with it all because Noah is a fast talker.
He tells her about throwing the knives, how he’s technically working on his level two knife thrower patch now, the stuck throws, and the street food.
Only a couple of sentences cover the Braden situation.
In Noah’s world, knife throwing and street food seem to outrank everything else.
Linsey looks over his head at me. I hold her gaze, realizing all over again how pretty those brown eyes are.
She mouths the words ‘thank you’, and I leave feeling a warmth growing in my chest to match the heat I’ve had for Linsey for a while now.
Whatever this is we’re building feels an awful lot like a family.
And I don’t want to let this little piece of happiness go.