I stand there meekly looking at the shop manager. My mother at my side explaining I’m so sorry for attempting to shoplift. The attendant that caught me yesterday smirking from behind the counter on which the items are displayed.

Items HE destroyed, and for which I’m now berated.

I clench my fists whilst staring daggers at the guy. I wish I could punch that shit-eating grin from his ugly fucking face. What a bastard. Corrupt cop in the making.

“Ravi, tell her.” My mom prompts me sternly.

“I’m sorry I tried to steal from you.” I say, trying my best repenting look.

“And damaging the items?”

“I didn’t damage the items, HE did!” I spit, pointing at the offender.

“RAVI!” My mother rages. “I’m so sorry for my son’s behaviour… I really don’t know what’s gotten into him.” She meekly adds to the manager.

“Nothing’s gotten into me. Miss, I’m really sorry for stealing. I mean it. It was wrong of me, and I won’t ever try it again. But I did not damage the items. And I can’t sincerely apologise for something I didn’t do.” I say, trying my best not to let any anger seep into my words again.

“Doesn’t matter to me.” She says curtly. “You won’t be trying anything like that here anyway. You’re banned from this shop for the upcoming three years. Your picture will be distributed to security, and if you set foot in this store within the three-year timeframe, you will be immediately arrested. Also, you or your mother will now pay for the destroyed items, and the 181 euro shoplifting fine.”

She begins to type in the register, which ends up showing a total of 270 euro’s and 90 cents.

I glance at my mother, who almost explodes from the suggestion alone. “Pay the woman.” She spits.

I take out my card and try, knowing full well I have less than 250 on there. The terminal agrees: insufficient balance. I look at my mother again, but she doesn’t budge. She’s eying my wallet sternly.

Fuck, of course she knows I’m paid in cash at the restaurant.

I open my wallet and fish out four twenties. It’s all there is, not counting the miscellaneous coins. I gave the rest of my salary to Joshua on Friday.

The manager takes the money, looks at me over her pointy nose and types into the register again. A new notice pops up that says 190,90. I hold my card against the terminal, type in my PIN, and wait.

Transaction approved.

She hands me the receipt.

“Smile!” I hear the asshole call. I look up and, indeed he’s snapping a picture. I glare at him and turn back to the woman.

“Well, get out then. See you never.” She points at the door briskly. My mother takes me forcefully by the arm and escorts me out.

“I’m so ashamed of you.” Is the first thing my mother says when we exit the store.

I know she is, and why, but it stings anyway.

“I really didn’t destroy those items, mom. Why would I? They wouldn’t have been of any use to me ripped like that, right?” I plead.

“Well, I have no idea anymore if you would or would not do something! You never tell me anything. And now I find out this?! I didn’t raise you to be a foul-mouthed thief, now did I?”

“Apparently you did.” I spit and walk away.

She grabs my arm again. “Don’t you DARE walk away from me, son!”

“Or what? Will you take my birthday gifts back and ground me for a month? Will you stop me from seeing by best friend for months? Oh, wait… you already did all that!” I yell.

“That’s it, Ravi. I’ve had it with your nonsense! You’re coming home with me right now, or don’t bother coming home at all!” She decrees furiously.

“What? So you’re going to keep me from stealing, by putting me out on the streets without any money. Brilliant plan mom.” I tell her, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

She hits me.

It’s the first time she’s ever done that, and the surprise hurts more than the slap itself. It shocks me back to a reality in which I’ve gone so much too far, I might have even deserved that.

My mother is shaking in anger, tears running down her cheeks. This is all wrong.

I quickly get my bike, and ride home beside my mother. Neither of us says anything during the ride, or when we get home. I immediately go to my room and do homework to distract myself.

It doesn’t work.

I pull out my old phone and stare at the messenger app. No news from Abby.

I open our chat and re-read the messages I sent her since yesterday. They have been read, but none of them got a reply. Maybe her parents took her phone. That seems like something Jolanda would do.

I call, but no one picks up. I hang up and sigh, staring at her painting on my wall.

Fuck, Abster… Why does it have to be like this?

I try to focus on my homework again, but I keep seeing that shocked look on her face. Those harsh words she probably didn’t mean… It’s my fault. I should have told her.

I turn to math, because math is just applying rules. I’m already done with my math homework, but I can work ahead a few sums to fill my head with anything other than everything that’s happened and how I am supposed to face people now.

I’m lost in my studies, working chapters ahead in math, physics and chemistry. I can’t seem to do anything else. The second I lose focus, I feel like crying. So instead of breaking down, I submerge myself in numbers to block it all out.

My alarm sounds, it’s 5PM. I need to go to work.

I close my books and head downstairs, slipping past the kitchen towards the garage. My father stops me.

“Where do you think you’re going? I thought I made it very clear that you’re grounded.”

“Well mom made it very clear I’m not getting extra allowance, so I’m off to work, like every Sunday.” I spit back at him.

He seems to realise only now that I actually work on Sundays. I have been for months, but apparently he didn’t care enough to notice all that time.

“Fine. But when you come back, we’re having a conversation about your attitude, mister.”

I roll my eyes and head out.

“That includes that eye-roll, Ravi. Don’t think I didn’t see that!” He yells after me.

When I get to my workplace, I give a short wave to Anwar, the bartender and head to the back. I put a clean apron on, that won’t stay clean for long and survey the mess that had accumulated on top of the containers.

I notice Hans smoked salmon again. It’s the worst to clean. I pick the pan he used for the charcoal first, and give it a ride through the machine. Only then do I announce my presence. Hans indicates the food will be served shortly, so I start gathering the filthy pots and pans.

After a bit, Hans calls out to me that the food’s upstairs, so I leave my apron and join my colleagues for dinner. It’s the daily catch again. Either pangasius or tilapia, but I don’t really care for the difference. Boring white fish on a boring white plate with boring sides.

I’m not really working at a star-worthy restaurant, but I guess this place is as good as any to be a dishwasher in. My server colleagues are all college students with part-time jobs. On Sundays there’s Michelle and Meike. They're friends who can’t stop yapping about Famke Louise, even during dinner.

They’re friendly when we’re not working. At least, they acknowledge my presence, say hi and stuff, even ask how I’m doing. But if I gave any other answer than ‘fine’, I don’t think they’d like it. It’s better than the alternative. Sometimes, when it’s really busy, they start yelling at me for no reason. It’s probably because Hans yells at them for no reason, and they need someone to relay his anger onto.

Hans hardly ever yells at me. It’s because I prioritise the kitchen, so he always has every clean thing he might want to use. And I tend to clean the kitchen after him. Might as well. The dishwasher’s shack is not a great place to sit around waiting, so I tend to make myself useful.

Lidewij joins us ten minutes later. She’s red-faced and out of breath, and looks like she had one hell of a night yesterday. She launches into a rant about traffic, but we all know she probably overslept.

She ditches her coat on a table and starts eating as if her life depends on it. Maybe it does.

Halfway through, she pauses and looks at me. “You turned 16 yesterday, right? Did you have a good party?”

I’m amazed she remembered, I wasn’t expecting that. “Yeah, it was nice.” I say, because what else am I going to tell her? That I got arrested for shoplifting and may have lost my best friend? No thank you.

“Oh, we didn’t know, congratulations!” Michelle and Meike join in, both getting up from their seats to kiss my cheeks. “Did you get nice gifts?” Meike purrs, when she sits back down.

Yeah but they were instantly taken away.

I can’t say that, so I nod. “A phone, earbuds and a hoodie.”

“What kind of phone? Show us!” the girls shout out in enthusiasm. They’re the types of girls that will squeal seeing the newest model, which I obviously don’t have.

“Don’t have it here, I’m afraid I’ll accidentally get water on it.” I lie.

“Ah right. That’s probably for the best, because tonight is going to be busy. And Iris left early yesterday, so there’s still a lot of dishes in the back. It would be great if you could do those first. Otherwise I don’t think we’ll have enough cutlery.”

Fuck. This happens a lot on Sundays. Aster is the dishwasher on Saturdays and sometimes she just well… Doesn’t do her job. Which means that now I start with a backlog. I sigh to voice my annoyance, but it's nothing the girls can help, so I walk to the back to dispose of my plate and check how bad thing really are.

Horrible, that’s what.

The girls have only clean cutlery for three or four tables, so that needs to go first. But with the amount of plates I see, I can’t imagine there are a lot left in the kitchen. And I still need to do all the pots and pans…

I prioritise my workload and start working. I can’t waste any time sitting around chatting, because that’ll only backfire.

I’m broken when I’m finally done with work. Everyone else is already sitting at the bar, drinking and chatting. I bum a cigarette from Hans and smoke it by the dumpsters. I check my phone.

Three missed calls from mom.

I wonder why for a second, then I spot the time. It’s a quarter past midnight. Fuck they’re gonna be so pissed.

I put out my cigarette, give a short wave to my colleagues, and bolt.

The second I get home, all hell breaks loose. My mother is crying for some unknown reason, as my father marches up and roughly drags me into the living room by my arm.

“Where have you been!?” He demands.

It sends my blood boiling. He knows I was at work, it’s not like I’ve spend the past seven hours lounging somewhere. I’ve worked my ass off the entire evening and I’m shit tired. And now I get this?

“At work.” I spit. “Same as every Sunday, as I told you when I left. Do you have Alzheimers already?”   

He pushes me roughly against the wall. “What?! How dare you speak to your father like that! We know you went somewhere else after work. You’re never home this late. We don’t allow you to be home this late. Did you think ýou didn’t pull enough crap this weekend to last you a lifetime? You better show some humility and tell us where the hell you’ve been!”

“At work.” I repeat. “It was busy.”

“Do you think for ONE second we believe that?!”

“Fine, don’t believe me. Call Hans.” I hand my father the phone. He takes it, and calls.

He walks into the hallway as he does so. I look at my mother, who’s still sitting teary-eyed on the couch. She has stopped crying. But she doesn’t say anything.

My father comes back into the room soon enough. He tosses me my phone and nods. “I told the man your curfew is eleven, and that he should respect that. You’re only sixteen and tomorrow is a school day.” He tells me sternly.

I think he lost the right to be stern after just scolding me for something that wasn’t even true. That’s the third time today I get scolded for something that isn’t true. Everyone has collectively lost my respect.

But instead of following my impulse to point this out, which will drive the man nuts, I opt for evasion. “True. I should go to bed.” I say, and turn to make my way upstairs.

“We’re not done here, Ravi!” My father bellows after me.

I sigh. “Dad, I’m tired. I’ve worked my ass off. And, as you said, I have school tomorrow. Can the unfounded accusations and mistrust wait until another time?”

I don’t wait for him to strike. I don’t know if he would, since my father is not a man prone violence, but he sure looks ready to kill me right now. I run upstairs as fast as I can and try not to slam the door to my bedroom too hard.

I turn off the light at the door, toss my clothing while stumbling though the dark room towards my bed, and hide under the covers.

No one is following me, but I can hear my parents arguing downstairs. Not enough to know what exactly they’re saying, but it’s a safe bet they’re fighting over whether or not to get rid of me.

It's okay. I know they never wanted me anyway.