“Mr. O’Kieffe.” The middle-aged officer nodded, then folded his arms over his vest. “You were caught on camera stealing from Callaghan’s Toy Shoppe yesterday.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Mistaken identity,” I said, quoting from that program, CSI. My ma loved it.
“Several people identified you.”
Damn small town. Everyone knew everyone, and well, I didn’t exactly keep my head down. In the current situation, I determined it was best to remain silent—seeing as how anything I said may be given in evidence and all that.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Mr. Peterson demanded, his face turning beet red.
“No,” I mumbled. I didn’t regret stealing that Barbie, but I did wish I’d at least thought about the cameras in the shop. I figured that part was best left unsaid.
Mr. Peterson looked at me the way most adults did—with regret. “This is extremely disappointing behavior.” He shook his head. “Given your record, I see no option but to expel you.”
Expel me? For stealing a Barbie on a Saturday? But that would mean I’d have to find a different school, away from Connor and Poppy. I clenched my fist at my sides, fighting the tightness in my chest.
“Please,” my ma begged. “I know Brandon can be difficult, but he’s a good boy. Really. How is expelling him from school going to help anything?”
“Mrs. O’Kieffe,” the policeman interrupted. “Your son could be given a criminal caution for this.”
I looked at my ma, hoping she could get me out of this.
“He’s just a child.”
Coombes inhaled a deep breath and looked down his nose at me. “Which is why the shop owner has decided to be lenient. And why this has been brought to the school’s attention.”
The headteacher pushed to his feet and shook the policeman’s hand, thanking him for bringing the matter to his attention.
After the officer left, Mr. Peterson resumed his place behind his desk, folding his hands in front of him.
“I’ll suspend you for one week. This is your last chance, Brandon O’Kieffe.” His gaze swung to my ma. “I suggest you discipline your son.”
Ma gave Mr. Peterson a curt nod, her lips set in a firm line so straight it could’ve been used as a ruler. There wasn’t a word said between us as I was practically dragged to her rusted Nissan with the bumper duct-taped on. The driver’s door slammed so hard my ears rung, and I thought yelling would be better. She gripped the steering wheel and dropped her head forward with closed eyes.
“Dammit, Brandon. How could you be so stupid?” Her voice trembled.
I hated disappointing her more than anything. Ma was the most important person in the world to me. The only one who thought I was good, and I’d let her down. “I…”
“I know I can’t afford to buy you toys.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I didn’t care that I could never have the new lightsaber or a video game, but it didn’t seem fair since Dad could afford to go to the pub every day. As I grew, I came to realize he was selfish. But at that moment, all I could think of was how I couldn’t bear to see Ma cry, thinking I stole toys for myself.
“It was for Poppy,” I blurted. “I broke her Barbie, and I wanted to get her a new one.” I knotted my fingers in my lap, staring down at them.
Her palm brushed over my cheek, soft and warm. “Oh, Brandon.” Her tone was as gentle as her touch. “You’re a good boy at heart.”
“Are you disappointed?” I asked, my voice cracking with the words.
“No.”
I looked up from my wringing hands, and a fleeting smile pulled at her lips.
“Brandon.” She paused, and a deep wrinkle formed on her forehead before she clasped my hand. “Poppy Turner. She’s a sweet girl, but do you want to go to prison for her?”
The realization washed over me. Cold and heavy. “No. But she’s my friend, and I broke her doll and made her sad.”
Ma let out a long breath, then stroked her fingers over my cheek. “Now. She’s your friend now because you’re children.” She tilted her head, and a sad smile touched her lips. “But one day, she’ll grow up. Girls like Poppy Turner don’t socialize with people like us, sweetheart. Trust me, she isn’t worth the suffering. Do you understand?” Her hand left my cheek, and she cranked the engine.
Her words confused me. Poppy was my friend, but I nodded anyway to make my ma happy.
“Good. Now, try to behave yourself. For me. That snobby headteacher thinks I’m raising you in a barn.”
No, just a caravan, I thought, but I didn’t say it. The truth was, I think my ma knew she could never rein me in, but she always stood by me. No matter how much trouble I got into, she defended me. Now I look back, I think she probably felt guilty because my childhood was so messed up, and she compensated as best she could.
“I love you, Ma.”
She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Her strong perfume got right into the back of my throat, and when she pulled away, I knew there would be a pink lipstick mark on my skin.
“I love you, too, Brandon. More than the whole wide world.” The engine grated when she shifted the gear into drive. “Now, come on. You and I have a whole week together without your Da.” She flashed a rare, mischievous smile.
When we got home, Dad was sprawled on the sofa, half-drunk with a bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand.
“Wheruva you been?” He struggled to lift his head, and his eyes crossed when he tried to focus on Ma.
Her nervous gaze darted to me, and she placed a hand on my back. “Go to your room, Brandon. Lock the door.”
I hurried to my room and closed the flimsy door, sliding the bolt into place just as the shouting started. I knew the drill well by this point. The deep timbre of my father’s voice traveled through the caravan.
“No, Des,” Ma pleaded.
“That little shit got caught stealing?”
The thud of footsteps approaching made me shrink back against the wall. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard, I could hardly breathe. I hugged my arms around me to stop myself from shaking. The bang of his fist over my door made me jump out of my skin.
“Bringing trouble to our fecking door!”
“Leave him alone!”
Then came the distinctive, all-too-familiar crack of flesh meeting flesh, followed by the thud of Ma hitting the floor. I put my hands over my ears and fought tears. Most times, my dad hit her because he was drunk and in a bad mood, but this was different. I had done this. For the first time, it was my fault my ma had been beaten.
That broke something in me.
It took a sliver from the ball of fear that sat in my gut, and it replaced it with cold, festering anger that, in truth, stayed with me from that moment on.
5
Poppy
March 2000
Kids darted between the monkey bars and slides, squealing with delighted laughter. I scooped up a handful of sand, then let it sift through my fingers. Connor nudged me, nodding at Brandon.
His tongue darted between his lips while his eyes focused on the magnifying glass in his hand. A pleased grin shaped his face when a little swirl of smoke rose from the wooden border to the sandbox.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Burning ants.”
Frowning, I grabbed a pebble and tossed it. It landed a few feet to his side. "That's mean.”
"Is not. They bite."
With a shake of my head, I sidled over beside Connor, using my finger to draw a kitten and a rainbow beside his stick-figure army men. I had just finished sketching a crown on the kitten’s head when a shadow fell over the sandbox.
"Go away, Davie," Brandon said, still focused on the ant squirming underneath the heat of his magnifying glass.
Davie kicked at the dirt, sending a cloud of dust and tiny pebbles toward Brandon. "What are you two twats doing with a girl? Girls are gross.” His dark eyes narrowed on me. “Especially her. My ma says
I can't play with her because she's a measch.” Davie laughed. He was a good foot taller than anyone else in our grade, and even though he got sent to the principal’s office more than Brandon, I still glared at him.
Connor hurled his drawing stick at Davie but missed. "Leave her alone!" The twig snapped in two when it smacked the trunk of a nearby tree.
"Or what?” Davie leaned over and jabbed a finger into Connor’s chest. “You'll throw a candy bar at me?" He sidestepped Connor, grabbed my hair, and yanked back my head.
I snatched my ponytail away, sucking in breath after breath to keep from crying.
"All right! That’s it." Brandon chucked the magnifying glass to the ground and shoved to his feet with his fists balled. Within a millisecond, he’d cocked his arm back and thrown a punch.
Davie grabbed his face on a groan, and I watched as a trail of blood trickled through his fingers and down his forearm.
"Don't mess with her.” Brandon lunged toward him, another fist ready and raised, and Davie scampered off boohooing.
Connor paced the sandbox, shaking his head and mumbling about Brandon getting into trouble, while I stared at Brandon’s busted knuckles. My stomach kinked and knotted in a way that didn’t make me want to throw up—in a warm way I’d never felt before. I fought the smile that tugged at my lips because, as much as I liked what Brandon had done, a part of me knew I shouldn’t.
"Brandon O'Kieffe!" Mrs. Brown’s voice echoed over the playground, and all the children fell silent. Even the creak of the swing set slowed to an abrupt halt. Mrs. Brown stood across the yard, her arm wrapped around a sniffling Davie’s shoulder. Her face turned an unbelievable shade of red. “Get over here.” She pointed at Brandon. “This instant!”
Brandon’s triumphant grin crumpled to a frown. He shoved both hands into his pockets and headed toward the teacher.
"He's gonna get in trouble," I whispered, guilt settling in my chest.
Connor half-way shrugged. "It’s Brandon. He’s always in trouble."
That afternoon, the school decided that Brandon was, in fact, too much trouble, because Mr. Peterson had him expelled. I went straight to my room after school, grabbing the Barbie Brandon had given me and holding her in my lap while guilt settled over me, heavy and hard. Deep down, I knew it was my fault Brandon had been kicked out of school. No, I hadn’t made him punch Davie Logan, just like I hadn’t forced him to hide toads and lizards in Neive Kirkpatrick’s desk. But I was the reason he had done those things, because Davie had hurt me, and Neive had made fun of me. And one thing Brandon didn’t tolerate was anyone making Connor or me feel bad.
I worried, not that I wouldn’t ever see Brandon again, but that I wouldn’t see him enough. I wanted Brandon with Connor and me always, and when he wasn’t close by, it felt like something important was missing.
Those two boys had somehow made that chunk of my heart that felt so empty when my mother had died, seem a little bit smaller, a tad bit fuller. It wasn’t fair that Brandon had been expelled and Davie seemed like the helpless victim. And that evening, over supper, my daddy agreed it wasn’t fair at all, and he promised he’d have a talk with Mr. Peterson.
The next afternoon, Daddy called up the stairs that my friends were waiting outside. I shoved my feet into my shoes, expecting only Connor since Brandon was grounded. However, I was pleasantly surprised to find Brandon on my doorstep, hair scruffy, and his T-shirt crumpled like it had been plucked from his bedroom floor. His chin was tucked to his chest while he scuffed his beat-up sneakers back and forth.
“Come on.” Connor disappeared through the gate.
When I started down the steps, Brandon grabbed my arm, then quickly snatched it back.
“Hey, uh— Thanks,” he mumbled, finally making eye contact with me.
“For?”
“I know you got your dad to tell on Davie. Thanks.”
My cheeks heated. Brandon bolted down the steps and grabbed his rusted bike from where it had been dumped on the pavement. Connor had already lifted the kickstand to his bright green bike and sat waiting on us. I’d gotten a flat tire earlier in the week, and Daddy had worked overtime, which meant he hadn’t fixed it yet.
Sighing, I said, “I can’t ride. My tire’s still flat.”
“It’s fine. I’ll give you a backy.” Brandon patted his ripped seat.
I eyed the mangled wires that once served as brakes. Brandon’s Mom always gave him grief for wearing holes in the toes of his sneakers, but that was the only way he had to slow down. He patted the seat again, and I took a step back with a slight shake of my head.
“You don’t have brakes, Brandon.”
“I’ll go slow.” Slow wasn’t in that boy’s vocabulary.
Connor slid off the seat and straddled the bar. “I’ll take you, Poppy.”
My gaze strayed between him and Brandon, then I shrugged before climbing onto the seat and wrapping my arms around Connor’s plump middle. He started pedaling, and we inched along the sidewalk. Of course, Brandon took off as fast as he could. He zoomed around the corner before we were even halfway down the street. We circled in front of Mrs. O’Murray’s house, and the bike’s wheel struck a root protruding from the pavement. The front tire wobbled, and Connor lost his balance, sending both of us toppling to the ground. Connor landed with an oomph, and my knee cracked against the jagged piece of concrete jutted up by the root. Pain shot through my leg, and I hissed in a breath.
“I’m sorry, Poppy.” He groaned and pushed to his hands and knees, starting toward me in a crawl. “Are you—”
“Shit, Con!” Brandon shouted. His rusted bike clattered to the pavement, and his shoes scuffed the sidewalk when he skidded to a stop, then crouched beside me with narrowed eyes. “You okay?”
A steady stream of blood trickled down my leg, and my knee throbbed with pain. I’d seen Brandon take falls like this and never cry, and I didn’t want him to think I was some wussy girl. “I’m fine,” I managed through gritted teeth.
Connor’s gaze dropped to my knee. His eyes went wide, and he scrambled to his feet. “I think she needs stitches.” He was already halfway to Mrs. O’Murray’s gate. “I’ll get help.”
Brandon snatched a twig from the sidewalk and chucked it at Connor’s back, missing, most likely on purpose. “Shut up, Con. She’s fine.” He brushed the dirt from my skinned flesh. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Ow!” Flinching, I yanked my leg away with a scowl. “Don’t touch it.”
“I’m getting Mrs. O’Murray.” The hinges to the gate creaked when Connor opened it.
I didn’t want Mrs. O’Murray coming out and making a fuss. Plus, the longer I stayed there, the closer I came to giving in to the sob lodged and waiting in the back of my throat.
“I’m fine, Connor.” I forced a smile. “I’m just gonna go home and get a bandage.” But when I stood and placed my full weight on my leg, my knee buckled.
Brandon steadied me. With a shake of his head, he turned around, placed his hands on his knees, and squatted. “Come on. I’ll carry you.”
I didn’t hesitate one second. I hopped onto Brandon’s back and wrapped my arms around his sweaty neck. Pain lanced through my leg when I bent my knee, but I ignored it.
“Hold on.” He hooked his arms underneath my legs, then stood, and started down the sidewalk.
Connor jogged up beside us, eyebrows drawn together and a soft frown on his lips. “Don’t drop her.”
Brandon sighed. “I’m not gonna. God, Con.” Halfway down the street, Brandon chuckled. “You’re just like a little possum clinging to me.”
“I don’t want to be a possum. Those things are ugly."
"Ah, nah. They're well cute… Just like you.”
My cheeks warmed, and I clung to him a little tighter, the scent of soap and boy swirling around me. Brandon O’Kieffe had just called me cute.
My weight shifted when he nudged Connor, laughing. “Doesn’t she look like one, holding onto me for dear life? Huh, Con?”
> But Connor didn’t say a word.
6
Brandon
March 2000
I swung my legs back and forth as rain droplets fell on me from the canopy of leaves above our heads. We were only about five feet off the ground, but Connor’s legs were wrapped around the branch so tightly, and he clung to the trunk of the tree like he was terrified he was going to slip on the wet bark and fall. If anything, the branch was more likely to snap from his fat arse.
“You aren’t going to fall, Con.”
“I shouldn’t have come up here,” he mumbled.
“Even Poppy would get up here. And she’s a girl.”
His spine stiffened, and he slowly released his death hold on the tree trunk. “Yeah, if you carried her.”
“Why would I carry Poppy up a tree?”
“Why would you carry her on your back the other day?” He snatched a leaf from a limb and shredded it. Tiny, green crumbs drifted to the ground before he grabbed another leaf and tore it to bits.
I studied him, sensing something was wrong. “She hurt her knee,” I said, slowly. “If it didn’t get you out of breath, you would carry her.” I laughed, but Connor stared at the ground, frowning.
The wind rustled through the trees, and after moments of silence, Connor finally huffed. “You like her.”
“You wanted me to like her! You told me to be nice to her.” I shrugged. “Now I am.”
“Well. You’re too nice to her.” He crossed his arms over his chest and sank against the trunk. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
Guilt tightened my chest. He thought I wasn’t his best friend? “Con, I am. We’ll always be best friends.” He was more like a brother to me than a friend. We were bonded in ways that most people could never understand.
“Promise?”
I spat on my palm and held it out. “Promise.”
The Beginning and End of Everything Page 3
