“So, ye hit him.”
“Yeah? Tell me I was wrong.”
“Ye were wrong, Keon.”
“How was I wrong though?”
The two were in Mr. Kersey’s office at McClinton Secondary School & Sixth Form College; debating across a round table in the centre of the room. Mr. Kersey preferred having a table to a desk, you see. He believed kids would rather have a seat at the table than be dictated to from a desk. At this moment in time though, Keon was standing like the prosecution and Mr. Kersey was sat like the defendant.
To facilitate the lack of a desk, and because the school budget wouldn’t allow for him to have filing cabinets, Mr. Kersey opted for two shelves on either side of the room full of those fruit and veg boxes you got from the market. Inside were reams and reams of files. The windowsill at the back was lined with synthetic plants because Mr. Kersey was the man you sent your plants to if you wanted them to die.
He sat, elbows on the table, his hands clasped together like a Venus fly trap. The collar of his white shirt peeked out over the navy-blue cardigan that couldn’t quite hide his athletic physique. He was young at thirty-two (though he may as well have been fifty-two to Keon) and had quickly gained a reputation for his natural way with the students. Some attributed this to his youthful, good looks. He attributed it to good ol’ fashioned Scottish ‘charrrm’.
“Ah mean, it kindae soonds like he deserved it…”
“Ah ha!”
“…but that dinnae mek it right.”
“I’m failing to see how…”
“Am not saying it’s wrong t’stand up for someone…”
“Kinda sounds like you are…”
“…but there’s a way t’go aboot things…”
“Maybe your way takes too long?”
“An’ maybe ye care more aboot doing whit y’want, rather than doing whit’s right. Ye dinnae right wrongs by starting fires, Keon.”
“I can try…”
“An’ ye’ll end up back ‘ere again, instead of out there doing something useful wi’ yer life.”
“What, helping people isn’t useful?”
Mr. Kersey buried his head in his palms, dragging them down his face in irritation. They’d been going at it like this for the last half hour. Not that Keon Wesley wasn’t worth it. It was precisely because he’d been such a model student that Mr. Kersey had made it his personal mission to ensure his recent problems didn’t hinder his progress. Before this, they hadn’t had much interaction. Mr. Kersey usually dealt with the ‘problem kids.’ Until recently, Keon hadn’t been one of them. Despite the little time they’d spent together, their shared wit and sharp minds had caused them to form a close, natural bond.
“Keon—lemme go home…”
“Naaaah mate!”
“A’ve already called yer mam. She’ll be ‘ere any minute.”
Keon’s playful mood evaporated.
“Why’d you go and do that for? You know she’s got enough on her plate!”
“Which’s precisely why ah’ve had t’call her,” he paused, glancing around to check if anyone was listening, which didn’t make sense since it was a private office, “Listen, mah title might be ‘Student Mentor’ bit ye have t’realise—the school wi’rather ah find a way t’get rid o’ ye than rehabilitate ye. Now, ah knows things havnae bin th’same without yer dad about; but actions have consequences. If ye care about yer mam, give her less things t’worry about. Dinnae put that on her plate.”
“You did that, not me! She won’t worry about what she doesn’t know!” he said, scrambling to gather up his things.
“Ah have t’file an incident report Keon, y’know that. If it wasn’t me, it would have bin someone else.”
“Well, maybe if you all did your job properly, I wouldn’t have to!” Slinging his bag across his back, he stormed out the room, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
“So, you hit him?”
“Seriously Mum. Leave it…”
“It’s not that simple Keon.”
“It would be if everyone stopped complicating it.”
“So uncomplicate it. Help me understand, ‘cause we didn’t teach you to solve problems with your fists.”
“You didn’t. YouTube did,” he muttered under his breath.
“They’re saying you might’ve broken his nose, Keon.”
Keon sunk lower into the passenger seat of his mum’s Citroen C4. He’d felt the gravity of her disappointment when the car rolled up outside the school gates. Procedure meant Mr. Kersey had to wait with him until she arrived, which dampened the dramatic effect of him storming out the office in the first place. He felt like Simba about to get the ‘murder stare’ from Mufasa for messing with the hyenas. Mum’s long, plaited locks coupled with her stank eye helped sell the look.
She and Mr. Kersey had exchanged pleasantries. He’d apologised. She’d apologised. Keon had stood there awkwardly waiting for them to stop talking about him like he wasn’t there. He was pretty sure they’d dragged it out just to torture him that little bit longer, glancing back in his direction every now and then, speaking in hushed tones. Finally, Mr. Kersey left, and Mum reluctantly opened the passenger door to let him in.
His eight-year-old sister, Bella, sat eyes twinkling in the backseat; itching to hear him try and wriggle his way out of this one. He could feel her annoying smile burning into the back of his head. He wanted to turn around and slap her in her pigtails but that wouldn’t exactly help his case. He decided he’d do it later when there were no witnesses.
“Nah, forget it. It’s long,” he said, shifting in his seat.
“Alright. Well, you know I’m gonna have to tell your dad.”
“What for?!”
“That’s—kind of what parents do.”
“Yeah, but is this really the time?…”
“We’re still your parents, Keon. We’re still a team.”
“Really? For how long?…”
Bella’s smile dropped. Mum went quiet. She bit her quivering lip in a vain attempt to stop the emotions leaking out through the corner of her eye. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, vision fixed on the road ahead.
“Mum…”
“No. I think you’ve said enough.”
He let his head flop back onto the seat, turning his body towards the window. The rest of the journey would transpire in silence.
* * *
Keon sat in one of the waiting areas inside the Oncology Ward. They’d dropped Bella off at her gymnastics class. She’d go home with Olivia’s family while Mum finished her shift. He had the privilege of waiting on the ward. She wouldn’t have let him go home by himself anyway. Not after today. He wasn’t exactly proving himself a responsible fourteen-year-old.
The hospital had been really understanding about their situation. They’d even offered her paid leave, but she preferred working on the ward. Somehow, it helped her cope with everything. Keon didn’t get how. All he wanted to do was stick his earphones in and drown out the beeps and groans echoing through the corridors, but he didn’t want to appear insensitive either.
He wasn’t sure what sucked the life out of people more, the atmosphere of this place or the illnesses wracking their bodies. It felt like the sadness and despair were tangible and infectious. He couldn’t wait to go home.
Mum tiptoed down the hall towards her son, hands clasped on her hips; the sleeves of her scrubs rolled up to the elbows. He was slouching again, despite her telling him how bad it was for his posture. It made his growing legs seem even lankier as they stuck out from the chair like wild roots. Goodness, when had he gotten so big? Not that he was tall. He was a bit shorter than his classmates but compared to her he was getting lanky. As she drew near, she noticed he was fiddling with his phone.
“How did it go?”
He shrugged, “He had a lot to say, init.”
His eyes were red, honey-brown cheeks damp. And he still pouted when he was angry.
When he saw that she was staring, he wiped his face with the back of his forearm and sniffed as she lowered herself into the seat next to him.
“You know it’s ‘cause he loves you, yeah? You have so much potential Keon. He doesn’t wanna see you waste it.”
Keon scoffed, “How’s he gonna see me waste it if he ain’t here?”
“Don’t do that.”
“It’s true though, isn’t it?”
“You know what I mean.”
He rolled his eyes, “I was helping someone. You guys taught me to help people.”
“Yeah, but not like this. This isn’t you…”
“Well, whose fault is that? ‘Cause I didn’t choose this!”
“What, and you think we did?”
He stood up, voice cracking as the tears started to well up again, “Can I go home now please? Like—I just wanna go home. I don’t wanna be here anymore. I wanna go home. Let me go home!”
“Keon, keep your voice down!” she looked around as heads started to turn and poke out from behind the reception desk.
“Let—me—go—home! I want to go home!”
“Keon!”
She tried to take his arm, but he shrugged her off, grabbed his bag and bolted towards the exit. She couldn’t go after him; she was still on shift. He stomped through the doors. Came back. Squeezed way too much sanitiser onto his hands and stomped back out again.
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