by Simon French
Bon tossed and turned. His sheets rustled; his feet stretched and kicked so that the trundle bed creaked and moved.
“The rain on the roof,” he said at last. “It sounds like voices.”
“What?” I grumbled.
“Voices,” Bon repeated. “Men’s voices, like there’s a bunch of them talking. Listen.”
It was a trick, that soft noise of water falling onto tin. And the darkness was a trick as well, the way it made the shape and feel of things change. So although I wanted to pretend to be scornful of anything that Bon said, I listened carefully. I wanted to be able to tell him, Nonsense, because what he was hearing was really the sound of the television in the living room, or maybe some of the neighbors out on their back porch having a conversation. It was neither. There was the sound of voices in the raindrops hitting the roof. I remembered thinking of it like that long ago, when I was younger. But I wouldn’t tell that to Bon.
“I can’t hear anything but rain,” I said. “You’re being weird.”
In the darkness came a sigh. “There is, you know. You just have to listen.”
“Shut up. Go to sleep.”
But he didn’t, and so neither did I. He rustled and moved, he rolled over onto his stomach, then onto his back. Whenever I thought I felt my mind and body slowing and my eyes closing, I could hear that Bon was still awake. Beyond my room, Mom and Dad switched off the television and the lights, ran a tap and brushed teeth, and murmured their voices along the hallway and behind the closed door of their bedroom. Everything in the house became still. Except for Bon.
Finally, I became too fed up. I desperately wanted to sleep, so, picking up my pillow and blanket, I left Bon to his tossing and turning.
“Where are you going?” I heard him ask behind me, but I ignored him and walked in bare feet to the living room, hoping he wouldn’t follow and that my parents wouldn’t hear me and make a fuss. I sank into the sofa cushions, pulled the blanket over my head, and fell asleep very quickly.
I woke again to the same stillness and darkness. I spent a while thinking and hoping that Bon would finally be asleep, before padding back to my room and finding the outline of my bed.
I was wrong. As I settled down under my own blankets again, I could see him. He was kneeling up on the trundle bed now, perfectly still and quiet. From the moonlight that shone through the window, I could see his hair a little frizzed and messed up. He was gazing out the window, and from behind, it was hard to know exactly what he was looking at: Our backyard? The neighbors’ houses? The town? The moonlight showing through the last of the rain clouds? I wondered for a moment if he was even fully awake.
“Go to sleep,” I grumbled, but it was as though Bon didn’t hear.
In the morning, he was awake before me, sitting on his bed and still looking outside. I couldn’t tell if he’d slept at all.
Usually, I slept soundly.
“Thunderstorms, explosions, rock concerts,” Dad had told Ant and Split Pin one afternoon down at the Guys’ Room, “Kieran could sleep right through it all without batting an eyelid.”
But I wasn’t sleeping like that whenever Bon came to stay. Having him share my room changed everything.
After lights-out, he would fidget and be restless; he seemed to stay awake a long time. I began to sense that he was not only awake, but out of bed during the night — and not just for a walk down the hallway for a pee, either. Once I woke to see Mom guiding Bon back into my bedroom. He shuffled like a sleepwalker, and Mom sat down on the mattress beside him for a while, stroking his forehead and resting a hand on his shoulder as he lay back under the blankets.
Another time, I woke to see his shadowed shape standing at the window, and I was sure that he was wearing sneakers and outdoor clothes. When I heard his fingers picking at the window latch, I woke enough to whisper, “What are you doing?”
He jumped and I heard his breath catch.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Go back to bed. And don’t touch any of my things, either.”
I had surprised Bon enough to make him not say a word in reply. In the moments that followed, I heard him get quickly back into his bed, with more rustling and fussing than usual.
“Stop making so much noise,” I hissed again, sure that he was wriggling out of shoes and clothing under the covers. Where had he been about to go? “I’m telling Mom on you,” I added. “I’m sick of you and your noise.”
“It’s not fair,” I told her the next day. “He keeps me awake.”
Mom was busy with Gina and Bon, attending to braids and ponytails. Our three lunch boxes were lined up on the kitchen island, ready for school.
“I don’t keep you awake,” said Bon in a flat voice. He avoided looking at me.
“You do. He does, Mom.” I wondered whether to mention being certain that Bon had not only been awake this time, but dressed in more than pajamas.
“Are you still having trouble sleeping?” Mom asked Bon.
“He’s never still,” I continued. “I can hear him. It’s like he does it on purpose.”
Mom glared at me. I glared at Bon, and this time he looked at me, guilty and uncomfortable.
“I don’t,” he protested again. “Usually, I don’t go to bed so early,” he added, and then corrected himself. “I used to not go to bed so early.”
“How late was your bedtime?” Mom asked.
“Midnight. And sometimes I stayed up nearly all night if there was good stuff on television.”
“Sure,” I said, disbelieving.
“It’s true,” he answered, and I could hear that he wasn’t boasting. I knew it probably was a truth that belonged to whatever life Bon had led before he’d come to live at Nan’s house and started the regular sleepovers with us.
All the things I’d heard about my aunt and Bon were beginning to piece themselves together into a jigsaw puzzle, and now there were more pieces that fit — the faded clothing Bon had first arrived in; Kelsie Graney giving him free café breakfasts; a camper at the trailer park to call home, and then a room at the Imperial Hotel.
“Sometimes,” Bon added, “my mom wouldn’t sleep. I had to stay awake to make sure that she was OK.”
There was another puzzle piece: the sight of my aunt’s hand clenching Bon’s face tightly as he looked away, pretending that nothing was wrong. I flinched as though the pain had found my own face. In that moment, I felt a cloud of anger drift away, and knew something I wasn’t ready to admit out loud.
I felt sorry for my cousin.
The skirt was Mason’s idea, but as soon as I laughed, it felt as though it had almost become my idea as well. I felt guilty and reluctant, but for Mason, the tripping, hair pulling, and name-calling was getting boring. And one day at the lost and found near the school office, when Mason retrieved the jacket he’d left on the playground the previous day, he found one of the girls’ sports skirts as well. It had AMBER HODGES printed clearly on the inside name tag, but Mason wasn’t about to let Amber know right away that he had it.
“Wait till he’s over near the bathroom,” Mason said to us during the first half of lunch. We had our sandwiches and drinks balanced in our laps, and Mason had the sports skirt neatly folded and hidden. “He’ll have to go sooner or later. Then surround him and kind of walk him inside so that the teacher on playground duty doesn’t notice.”
Lucas interrupted. “It’s Miss Perez today. She’s always got tons of little kids following her around. She won’t notice right away.”
“If a couple of us grab him,” Mason continued, “and hold him still where the sinks are, we can get the skirt on him. Then walk him back out to the playground — and run. Leave him where everyone can see. It’ll be hilarious.”
“Have you got your phone in your bag?” Brendan Ashcroft asked. “You could take photos as well.”
I listened, feeling more and more uneasy.
“What if he tells on us?” Ethan Coulter said.
“He won’t tell; he never does. He’s a weakling.
”
“What if he kicks and shouts and stuff, when you’re trying to get the skirt on him?”
“So it’ll take three of you to hold him and keep him quiet. Put your hand over his mouth,” said Mason.
“He might bite.”
“He won’t. Probably wet his pants, like a baby. Someone needs to guard the doorway, keep little kids out and be a lookout in case the teacher gets close.” Mason turned to me. “How come you’re not saying anything? You have to be part of it, Kieran. You can be on lookout duty.”
“We shouldn’t do it,” I said. “We’ll get caught. Tons of kids will see what’s happening and tell the teachers.”
“Are you protecting him because he’s your cousin?” Mason sneered.
“You’re going to get caught,” I repeated. “It’s not worth it.”
“You’re being gutless,” Lucas said. “Your cousin’s a freak, and you don’t want to be part of a prank.”
“Taking photos with your phone is a really bad idea,” I added, a little desperately. Now, as I pictured the whole thing in my head — almost imagining myself as Bon being treated in this way — a thread of determination crept into my voice. “A whole bunch of kids against one isn’t fair. Don’t do it.”
“You thought it was a funny idea five minutes ago,” Brendan said. “Now you’re trying to wriggle out of it.”
“You’re lookout,” Mason reminded me.
Unhappily, I looked around the group. Mason, Lucas, and Brendan were exchanging knowing smiles. Ethan and Liam didn’t seem quite as sure, but I sensed they’d simply follow whatever the other three said and did.
“I don’t want to be lookout. I don’t think you should do any of this,” I said, but no one seemed to be listening.
The bell for recess rang, and kids everywhere stood up, took lunch trash to the bins, and ran off to play. Other boys had overheard by now, and they followed Mason and Lucas across the playground.
“Don’t try to get out of it,” Mason warned me. “You’ve told us before how you don’t like him. Here’s a chance to let him know how no one here likes him.”
“This isn’t fair,” I said, my voice raised. “Eight kids against just one.”
Mason paused and looked me up and down. His face read coward. He turned and walked away with the others. I could see Bon walking toward the basketball hoops with Julia and the girls. They passed quite close to where I was still standing, and I tried to catch Bon’s eye, shaking my head slightly and mouthing a warning. But he wasn’t paying attention. Mason, Lucas, and the other boys took up a position near — but not too close to — the bathroom, and they put on a show of small talk, all the while glancing over to where Bon and the girls were playing, as well as keeping an eye on the playground-duty teacher. Uncomfortably, I stood at the edge of my group, not really taking any notice of the silly stuff being said.
“Don’t forget, you’re lookout,” Mason said once more, and I tried to ignore that, too, hoping that Miss Perez would happen to walk over and make us all go away somewhere else. But it was no use. Time dragged on until finally I knew that lunchtime play was going to end soon. And just as I was afraid he would, Bon had left the girls and was walking toward us. Stay away. Wait till the bell rings. But he walked on, closer and closer, until he came to where the group stood. It all happened quickly, and just as Mason and Lucas had planned it. Bon was grabbed by the arms and led into where the sinks were.
I was not going to be the lookout.
Too late, I turned and ran, hoping to reach the spot on the playground where Miss Perez and her usual group of little followers were. But Julia and her friends were closer.
“It’s Bon,” I said to her, pointing behind me. “Mason, Lucas, the other boys —” I couldn’t get an explanation out quickly enough.
Julia knew immediately that something bad was happening. Without saying a word, she sprinted across the playground at the very moment that Bon was pushed out.
The boys had put Amber Hodges’s sports skirt over the top of the track pants that Bon had worn to school, and now he was frantically picking at the zipper to get rid of it. Someone had pulled his hair undone so that it spilled over his shoulders in a tangle. He kicked the skirt off and stared at the ground. I found it hard to look at him.
“Leave him alone!” Julia shouted, pushing through the group of kids that had gathered around to join in the shouting and cheering. “You boys are being really mean!”
Mason put on a silly voice. “Ooh, sorry, Mommy.”
“You’re a freak,” Brendan told Bon as kids kept laughing and pointing.
“Yeah,” Mason repeated, “a freak. Go and find some other freaks to be your friend. Like Julia the freak.” He looked at me. “Or Kieran the coward.”
Bon stared wordlessly at everybody, the sports skirt crumpled at his feet.
“You’re the cowards,” Julia said, and something in her voice made the shouting and noise fade.
“Loser,” Ethan said, filling the sudden quiet.
The word hung heavily in the air between us for a moment, before Mason said, “C’mon, everyone. Let’s go join the normal kids.”
At that moment came Miss Perez’s loud, sharp voice. “All of you boys stay right where you are. All of you!”
We were all sent to sit against the library wall at the edge of the playground, and at lining-up time, Miss Perez stood at the front of all the kids in their class groups and said, in the unfriendliest voice I’d ever heard her use, “Both fifth-grade classes are to remain seated and wait behind. Mrs. Gallagher is coming out to speak with you.”
“Oh, great,” I heard Brendan say as the other classes turned to stare at us. They were standing up and beginning to follow their teachers away toward the classrooms. “Busted, big-time.”
“Thanks a lot, boys,” said Lucy McDonald, and a chorus of girls joined in, annoyed that everyone seemed to be in trouble. Our teachers glared at us and told us to keep the noise down, but the angry comments and whispers continued.
I had sat myself away from Mason and Lucas, so that Bon and Julia were sitting in front of me, uncomfortably close. Bon sat perfectly still, his head lowered and his hand moving slightly as he scratched a small stick into a gap in the playground concrete. Julia sat facing me.
“Did you say anything to those boys to make them stop?” she asked, her voice both soft and fierce.
“I tried to,” I whispered back. “I really tried. But they wouldn’t listen.”
“You have to do more than try,” she replied quietly. “You have show them you’re on Bon’s side. What if I’m not always here? Who’s going to stand up for him then?”
If I’m not always here? I looked at her closely. “What do you mean?” I asked, but Julia did not reply. “I knew it wasn’t fair,” I mumbled, looking down, wondering if Bon was overhearing any of this. He was still scratching the ground with his stick.
“Sure,” Julia said, “but next time you have to do more. And it has to be for always.” She paused. “Kieran? Promise.”
I sensed that this was my last chance to let her know that I was someone to trust and like. I nodded, a mixture of yes and promise. Anything I might have said out loud was interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. Gallagher.
Our principal was furious. “I will not have this sort of bullying in our school,” she thundered. “It’s a disgraceful way to treat a fellow pupil.” The beads on her bracelet rattled as she moved a hand in time to each word.
Everyone was very still and silent. We were the oldest pupils in the school, Mrs. Gallagher told us. We had a responsibility to set a good example to the younger children. It was expected of us, she said, that we respect every member of the school and one another’s differences and individuality. The playground, Mrs. Gallagher reminded us, was a place where everyone had a right to feel safe and happy. And then came the part I expected. “Those boys responsible for today’s incident on the playground are now going to take responsibility for their actions. Stand up if you were involved
.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Kids exchanged glances, and the girls turned and frowned at the boys, mostly at Mason and Lucas. Mrs. Gallagher glared at everybody in our two classes and waited.
Slowly, I stood up. A puzzled look seemed to cross Mrs. Gallagher’s face for a moment, but she quickly resumed her cranky glare. After what felt like a long wait, Mason, Lucas, Brendan, Ethan, and Liam stood up, followed by a few other boys who’d joined in.
Somehow, Mrs. Gallagher seemed to know that there was no one else. She stepped close to where Bon and Julia sat. “Bon,” she said quietly. “Would you like to come over and talk to me about what happened?”
Bon, still looking down, shook his head.
“When you feel ready, I’d really like to hear your point of view. And it would be good for these boys to hear from you, as well,” said Mrs. Gallagher.
I looked at Bon, and then at Julia. I saw that she was smiling, and that Bon had dropped the stick. His arms were folded close to his chest.
It was a long afternoon. Because I had been first to stand up, and probably because I was related to Bon, Mrs. Gallagher spoke to me in her office first.
“How do you feel about what happened to your cousin, Kieran?” she asked.
“Not very good,” I admitted.
“Was there anything you could have done to keep it from happening?”
“Probably.” I sighed. “I should have told a teacher right away what the boys were planning.”
“Yes,” she agreed firmly. “And does Bon deserve an apology, do you think?”
I nodded.
“I’d like you to write that down,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “Think about how all of this has happened, and write that down as well. And about how to make sure that it doesn’t happen again. OK?”
Mason, Lucas, and the other kids were all lined up in the hallway as I left the principal’s office. I avoided looking at them as I walked to the empty office next door. There were a couple of pens and a notepad, which I stared at for quite some time, unable to think of what to write. From next door, I heard the sounds of Mrs. Gallagher’s voice, mumbles from Mason, Lucas, and some of the other boys. I heard them being told to go back to class and write out what had happened as well. Then I could hear Mrs. Gallagher phoning parents. “Mrs. Cutler,” I heard her begin. She made other phone calls as well, and I figured she would call my house, that I was facing trouble when I arrived home from school. Afterward, there was a stretch of silence beyond the room where I sat, except for the nearby hum and click of the office photocopier.
