No. 8 Ask for help #3
On quiet feet, I head over to the small gate leading into the churchyard and push it open.
It creaks slightly but the laughter coming from beyond the trees surrounding the grounds tells me they haven’t heard me.
When I round the corner, I see my nephew, Connor, sat on a bench, his friend Oliver next to him.
They’re both on their phones and with the furious way they’re tapping away, I’m guessing they’re playing some dipshit game.
Neither of them notices me, so I stand and watch them for a moment while they laugh and try to knock each other’s phones from their hands.
Connor spots me first, his head snapping up and his smile dropping immediately.
“Oh shit.”
Oliver jerks his head up to see what’s got his friend stopping their fun. He sheepishly slips his phone into his trouser pocket and clasps his hands between his knees, hiking his shoulders up to his ears and refusing to meet my eye. Connor slumps and rolls his eyes, pissed he’s been busted.
“Why aren’t you in school?” I ask, trying to keep my tone calm.
Connor shrugs with all the disinterest of a sullen teenager. “Free period.”
I make sure my face tells him I know it’s not true before my voice does. “You don’t get free periods until next year. Nice try.”
He rolls his eyes again, making it look like his brown irises disappear beneath the flop of light brown hair covering his brows. “It’s just Chemistry we’re missing,” he argues. “I don’t think anyone expects us to be scientists when we leave school.”
Oliver dips his chin to try and hide his laugh, and I stare at Connor with all the parental disappointment I can muster. “That’s not the point, Con.”
He slumps back on the bench, legs spread wide, and arms folded over his chest as he glares at the ground at my feel. He’s all limbs, tall and skinny after a growth spurt earlier in the year leaving him like Bambi on ice in this new body. “School sucks.”
“Connor,” I snap at him, and he looks up at me, some of his bravado slipping slightly. “You can’t just leave school in the middle of the day. Does your mum even know you’re here? She’s going to be heading out to pick you up soon. Did you think how worried she’ll be when you’re not there?”
To his credit, he does shrink in on himself a little and guilt melts some of the ice he was trying to give me. “I didn’t think about that,” he mumbles.
“No, you didn’t. Didn’t think about much really, did you?” My voice is angry as my temper flares. “What’s this about getting banned from the bus, anyway?”
He shrugs.
“You stuck gum in some poor girl’s hair?”
“Natalie Gross is not ‘some poor girl.’ She’s a fucking bitch and deserved a lot worse than a little bit of gum in her hair.
” Connor’s attitude dials right back up to max as he matches my anger.
Joanie swears more than your average sailor, so she’s never been too strict on Connor’s language, just telling him to watch what he says around certain people.
I am not certain people, but it doesn’t mean I’ll allow him to say that about a girl.
“Hey,” I bark. “Watch your language.”
“Natalie has spent the last two weeks on the bus cyber bullying this year ten girl she says stole her boyfriend,” Connor says coming to a stand in an attempt to bring us eye to eye, but he’s still half a foot shorter than me.
“She’s a bitch because she’s been telling an actual ‘poor girl’ to throw herself off a cliff. ”
I plant my hands on my hips and look off to the side, blowing out a breath and trying to stay strong. This is so Connor. Doing shit things for noble reasons. “So, you spat gum at her?”
“No,” he scoffs. “I took my gum out of my mouth and pushed it into the back of her head with my thumb. I don’t spit, it’s rude.”
Do not let the kid make you laugh, August, it’s bad form. “Oliver, go home,” I say.
The other kid stands, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and blows his own mop of curls off his face. “See you later, Con,” he says, trudging away.
“Later,” Connor mumbles.
When we’re alone, I look at my nephew. I’m still disappointed, but I can’t help the swell of love I have for this boy.
Fifteen years old with way too much attitude and nowhere near enough self-respect, he’s still mine.
Connor doesn’t have a dad, Joanie doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, so I’ve tried to step up as much as I can.
He’s a good kid. Just a bad decision maker.
“If you’re worried about another student’s behaviour, you’ve got to tell your teachers, Con,” I say pleadingly.
He laughs without humour. “Yeah, like they’re interested in anything I have to say.”
“Of course they are, especially if it’s about the wellbeing of another student. Come on, man, you’re better than this. If you keep doing shit like this, you’re going to get suspended or expelled and that’s hard to shake, Connor.”
He shrugs his shoulders again and I know there’s no point in beating him with it, he won’t take it on board.
So, I put my arm around his shoulders and lead him back out onto the road.
“Come on, dipshit, text your mum and tell her I’m picking you up from school.
You can come and help me unblock Mr Coleson’s drain. ”
“Seriously?” Connor whines.
“Yeah, and you don’t want to get your uniform dirty so you can wear the overalls I have in the truck.” I pick up his backpack, adorned with lots of heavy badges, mostly for video games or music albums, and thrust it at him to carry as I still have my toolbox.
“Those things stink!”
“It’s either that or your pants kid.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Love you too, dipshit.”