K. Bromberg - Driven

“He’s suspended?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“No, he’s not.” I can hear the irritation in his voice at having me question him. “If you’d let me finish Ms. Thomas—”

“He’s not suspended, but you want me to come get him while the other boys get to stay in class?” My rising frustration is more than evident in my voice. “Surely you can understand why I’m upset at what seems to be favoritism here.”

He stays quiet on the phone for a moment as I gather up my things as best as possible with one hand so that I can go pick him up. “Ms. Thomas, your accusation is unfounded and serves no purpose here. Now I would appreciate if you could come collect Aiden so that we can let the two parties simmer down. This in no way indicates that Aiden is at fault in this matter.” When he senses that I am about to jump in during his pregnant pause, he continues. “In addition, Aiden has blood on his clothing and seeing as it’s against school policy for him to walk around with it there, I think it’s in the school’s best interest to send him home for the afternoon.”

I sigh loudly, biting my tongue from telling this less-than-stellar principal just exactly what I think of him. “I’ll be right there.”

***

Aiden has been silent all the way home from school. My shift at The House doesn’t start for another three hours, but I think that Aiden and I need to have a little alone time to talk about what happened. I haven’t pushed him to tell me what took place, but I need to know. Is he being bullied? Is he starting fights looking for attention that he’s not getting? Is he releasing frustration due to memories from his past? I need him to tell me so that I can figure out how to help.

Before we walk into the house, I motion for him to sit down on the front porch step next to me. He rolls his eyes but he obeys reluctantly. He stares at me as I take in the swollen lip with dried blood at the corner, the dark red mark on his right cheek and the beginnings of bruising on the left eye. His cheeks flush deeply under my scrutiny.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, buddy, but you have to tell me what happened.” I reach out and grab his hand while he lowers his head and watches an ant crawl slowly on the step beneath us. We sit in silence, and I allow it for a bit but then finally squeeze his hand, letting him know he needs to talk.

“They were just being jerks,” he grumbles.

“Who started it, Aiden?” When he doesn’t respond, I prompt again. “Aiden? Who threw the first punch?”

“I did.” His voice is so soft, so sad with shame that it breaks my heart. I see a fat tear silently slide down his swollen cheek, and I know that something is off.

“Talk to me, Aiden. Who was it and what did they do to make you want to hit them?”

He reaches up to dash away the fallen tear with the back of his hand and as only an eleven-year-old boy can, leaves a smear of dirt in its path. “They called me a liar,” he mumbles, his bottom lip quivering. “Ashton Smitty and Grant Montgomery.”

Little punks! The know-it-all, privileged, popular kids from his grade whose parents who never seem to be around. I wrap my arm around his shoulder and pull him to my side, kissing the top of his head. “What did they say you were lying about?”

I feel his body stiffen and my head is thinking numerous things as I wait for his response. When it finally comes, his voice is barely audible. “They told me I lied about going to the track on Sunday. That I didn’t really meet Colton or know him …”

My heart squeezes at his words. He was so excited to go to school and tell all his friends about his experience. So excited to be cool for once and have something that the other kids didn’t. And his enthusiasm turned into a fight. In my head I can see how it went; they pushed and pushed Aiden until he lashed back. I sigh loudly, squeezing him again. I want to tell him that the little punks deserved it and that he did the right thing, but that’s obviously not the most responsible way to react. “Oh, Aiden … I’m sorry, buddy. Sorry they didn’t believe you. Sorry they pushed you … but Aiden, fighting somebody with your fists is not the way to solve it. It only ends up making things worse.”

He reluctantly nods his head. “I know, but—”

“Aiden,” I scold sternly, “there are no buts here … you can’t use your fists to fix problems.”

“I know, but I tried to tell Ms. McAdams when they started pushing and shoving and she wouldn’t listen to me.”

I can see another tear threaten to fall from his thick lashes. “Well then, I’m going to make an appointment to speak with her and Baldwin about this.” His head whips up and his eyes are wide open in fear. “I’m not going to make it worse, Aiden. I’m just going to ask them to keep their eyes open a little more. To make sure that they do not allow the circumstances to arise for this to happen again. I’ll make sure that the other kids don’t know, Aiden, but I need to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

He nods his head, a noncommittal grunt. “Am I in trouble?” He looks up at me from beneath lashes spiked wet from tears with trepidation in eyes.

I wrap both my arms around him and squeeze his little body that’s known so much hurt and abandonment in its short time. I hold him to me, trying to reassure him and let him know that it’s okay. That getting in trouble doesn’t mean a severe beating and food withheld for days, as he’s known in the past. “Yeah, bud, you are … but I think that icky feeling you have might just be the worst of it.” I feel his shoulders sag in relief as a plan forms in my head.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away from me for long.” Colton’s resonate voice fills the other end of the telephone line, arrogance redefined. His sexy voice alone makes my pulse race, but I have to put how I feel aside as I put my plan to help restore Aiden’s self-confidence and self-image at school into motion.

“I’m not calling for me, Ace.” I keep my voice all business for I know that he can distract me so easily, and I want him to know I’m serious.

“Ooooh, I love it when you’re all business and straight to the point. It’s such a turn on, Ryles.”

“Whatever!” I say but I can’t help the slow smile that creeps over my face.

“No, seriously, what’s up, sweetheart?”

Why do I love when he calls me that? Why does it make me feel like I’m special to him?

“It’s Aiden,” I tell him filling in the details as he listens attentively despite the various voices I hear in the background. “Is it possible that I can get some kind of signed picture of you or something he can bring to school tomorrow to prove that he’s met you and actually was there on Sunday?”

Colton laughs loudly, and I’m confused at his reaction. “That’s only going to get his teeth knocked in, Rylee. That’s something only a geek would do … those brats would eat him alive.”

“Oh … um … I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t,” Colton chuckles, slightly offending me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“And please don’t go have a conference with the teacher or principal,” he groans. “Inevitably someone will see you and then it will only make things harder for Aiden.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Oh yes, you were,” he kids me, and I’m shocked he has me pegged so well. “I just know you were one of those preppy kids who had their homework done before it was due, helped the teacher in class, and was part of the ‘in’ crowd. No offense, Rylee, but you have no idea what it is to be a misfit kid on the verge of puberty who gets the crap beat out of him just because .”

I’m flustered that he has such a good read on me, but more than that, his words about understanding the misfit crowd give me more insight to him as a child. To his state of mind. When I don’t respond to him, he laughs again at me. “You were like that, weren’t you?”