Page 31 of Second Story

For the first time in forever, that’s what Lenny looks like through that window—a kid, instead of someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s still at the picnic bench, only with friendly giants on his mind—I hope—instead of men with machetes. And if that isn’t an incentive to get my shit together, I don’t know what is.

I face Luke and give him the honesty that drove me all the way here. “Mum has found a project that isn’t too far from here. It’s part of an approved scheme for prison leavers. And if she’s released without charge, like she should be, she still wants to go there because they specialise in a thing called pattern breaking.” I flip that flyer that explains how people don’t have to be dreamers like Mum to get fooled by manipulators. “She’d be so much closer if?—”

Joe finishes for me. “You and Lenny were based here?”

I nod. I also jump out of my skin when Luke Lawson says, “Right. I’ve heard enough.”

Shit.

I’ve said too much.

I have what I think is a silent and secret panic. A pair of feet find mine under the table again, and the last person in the world I would have ever expected to help does just that by grounding me to this moment. I can’t spiral into what-ifs when Joe’s warm gaze holds my complete attention until Luke makes a proposal.

“I suggest we have a trial.”

“A trial?”

Perhaps he sees that word choice isn’t a favourite. He rephrases quickly, his frown lines deepening. “A grace period for you and your brother to catch your breath. And for you to stop running on pure adrenaline before you decide.”

“BeforeIdecide? Decide what?”

All those frown lines smooth out. “On whether you want to stay. Because the school would be on trial, Isaac. Not you. You’ve already proven yourself. Give a chance to someone this resourceful and creative?” He touches the cover of a scrapbook. “To someone as driven? I’d be stupid not to, but I’d also be asking for a lot from you in return. Maybe too much.” He passes some paperwork across the table. “Like studying for your degree while working. That will take time. So will you learning how to adapt to the needs of older students. Our sixth-form is significantly expanding, I know the pastoral workload has already doubled, and those older students don’t need stories. I’m talking about providing support with research. With finding the resources they need for their studies.”

“Yes—”

He mirrors a move Joe made earlier, both hands up. “Don’t decide now. Being a storyteller for the little ones while studying might be more than enough to keep you busy.” He gets up, as do the others around this table. “I don’t want your answer until you’re ready to give it. And whatever you decide, I’m still going to think about how best to help your brother. A period of play could be all he needs. It’s such a cure-all, and I have experts inthat.” He stops at the doorway to thank Joe. “I know you have to get back to the city. Thank you for today and for sparing a little more time for Hugo. We both appreciate it.”

The door closes between me and that conversation, and I turn around at the sound of laughter. Lenny is on the other side of a windowpane, and I wish to fuck Mum could see him. He laughs again at something his tablemate tells him, which masks the sound of the door opening once more. I only know Joe’s behind me when he speaks.

“Told you that you wouldn’t need luck.” Like that kiss under a tree, this is rough yet soft at the same time. “You made your own.” He abruptly steps to the side, putting a bookshelf between him and the window. “Shit.” This worry confirms he’s on the same old caring wavelength I told myself I’d imagined. “You didn’t want Lenny to see me. Did he?”

I check. “No.”

Joe doesn’t try to take another peek at Len. I’m his sole focus, and I’d face all that intentness head-on to kiss him again if he didn’t say, “You’re a fucking hero.” I must look disbelieving, because this is even more insistent. “You are, Isaac, but tell me something, will you?”

I nod.

“The Silver Man in that story was me?”

I nod again.

“You never blamed me for walking away?”

“Not to Len.” The windowpane offers a faint reflection of my headshake. My brother is much more vivid. He concentrates on a drawing of his own, so engrossed that I know he can’t be scared of danger around every corner.

He’s gonna be safe.

That isn’t why my eyes blur.

I made it happen.

I blink fast, then blink again when Joe repeats, “You’re a hero.Hishero.” I don’t get a chance to argue. He shows me what someone on that interview panel has left on the table.

A cape-wearing hero fills a sketchbook page, flying across the same London landmarks from the story I just told, and he isn’t alone. Lenny flies beside him, hand-in-hand with the man who always saves his day for him, and Joe was right.

It’s my face drawn with determination.

My hand Lenny clasps, instead of a scarred one I won’t get to see again now that Joe shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

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