"Violence is never the answer," says Catherine. "You shouldn’t have hit him."

We're sitting in the kitchen, the yellow lamp under the ceiling filling the space with soft cozy light. The tablecloth is familiarly sticky under my elbows, and the sandwich is tasty despite the tomatoes she insists on putting in it even though I hate them. They contain antioxidants, she tells me every time. They're good for you.

Only had she really cared about what's good for me, she wouldn’t have brought Raven into our home. Everything was fine. Now this piece of shit is sitting across from me by the table, looking like some emaciated panda with his ridiculous smokey eyes makeup. Sandra used to make up like this, that is why I know the term, but where she was subtle, Raven seems to slap the whole contents of his makeup kit on his face and then add some more.

"He called me a faggot," he says.

Catherine winces. "Don't swear."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm just repeating what he said."

"I know. He was wrong to say that. I have spoken to his parents, and they also had a chat with the headmaster. Alvin is going to be suspended for a couple of days—but so are you." She shakes her head. "Was it so necessary to hit him? You could have just informed the school personal—or me—about the incident, and it would have been taken care of. They take bullying very seriously."

"So do I."

She sighs. "Could you promise me that if something like that happens again you will talk to me before taking action?"

Raven watches her for a while, but she remains silent, and the only sound in the kitchen is me chewing my sandwich, which suddenly seems very loud.

"Fine," he says at last.

"Very well," she says. "It's a pity you will have to stay at home for two days when you have only started to go to this school. I understand there's a math test next week. Do you need help with that?"

He shrugs. "Perhaps some of my friends would drop by to help."

Her eyebrows go up. "Oh, you've made new friends already?"

"Sure, a few," he says with a half-smile that I don’t like. Come to think of that, whenever he is smiling, I don’t like it. It never looks like he means it.

"Well, if someone from your class could come and help, that would be perfect."

He nods. "I'll tell them. Can I go upstairs and finish my homework now?"

"Sure," she says. "Just one more question."

He raises one eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Your Birthday is in two weeks. What kind of present would you like?"

"Oh?" He blinks. "Uhm…I don’t know. A "Fake Drug" T-shirt would be nice."

Catherine smiles. "That ear-splitting rock band that you keep listening to?"

He shrugs. "Yep, that one. Thank you."

She nods, and then watches him as he picks his dirty plate and carries it to the sink. "Raven --"

"I'll wash them," he says, and then adds, glancing at me, "later." He doesn't dare to smile in my face but there're sparkles in his eyes.

"Sure," Catherine says again, and he leaves the kitchen. We listen to his steps up the stairs, and then I put the remainders of my sandwich on my plate.

"He won't do any chores," I say.

"Probably not today," she says, "but eventually, he will. Give him time."

"Mom, it's like you see him through some pink glasses. He's a scum."

"Don't." She looks at me seriously. "A child can't be a scum. He could be misled and confused, but with patience and good treatment, he will find his way. Seriously," she adds as I roll my eyes. "You know I don’t like to discuss such things with you, but I think you should know some of it." She lowers her voice. "He's been mistreated, sexually abused in his own family. Later, he had little luck with the foster families, too. In the last one, it has turned out that his foster father has been molesting him for months. The man is awaiting his trial now, but the damage is done, and it's accumulative in his case. Patience and kindness are the only things that could undo years of abuse and mistreatment." She reaches out and covers my hand on the table with hers. "Please, be nice with him."

I just stare at her, processing the new information. To be nice? I remember slapping him in the park. Despite what she just told me, it still feels like he deserved that. Whatever he has gone through in the past, the bottom line is that right now he's a jerk. How could I possibly be nice to someone like that? Catherine may possess unlimited resources of patience, but I can’t say the same about myself.

"James?" she says, and I realize she is waiting for an answer.

"I will try," I say, and that is the most I can offer.