Page 10 of The Beginning and End of Everything
“Bringing trouble to our fecking door!”
“Leave him alone!”
Then came the distinctive, all-too-familiar crack of flesh meeting flesh, followed by the thud of Ma hitting the floor. I put my hands over my ears and fought tears. Most times, my dad hit her because he was drunk and in a bad mood, but this was different. I had done this. For the first time, it was my fault my ma had been beaten.
That broke something in me.
It took a sliver from the ball of fear that sat in my gut, and it replaced it with cold, festering anger that, in truth, stayed with me from that moment on.
5
Poppy
March 2000
Kids darted between the monkey bars and slides, squealing with delighted laughter. I scooped up a handful of sand, then let it sift through my fingers. Connor nudged me, nodding at Brandon.
His tongue darted between his lips while his eyes focused on the magnifying glass in his hand. A pleased grin shaped his face when a little swirl of smoke rose from the wooden border to the sandbox.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Burning ants.”
Frowning, I grabbed a pebble and tossed it. It landed a few feet to his side. "That's mean.”
"Is not. They bite."
With a shake of my head, I sidled over beside Connor, using my finger to draw a kitten and a rainbow beside his stick-figure army men. I had just finished sketching a crown on the kitten’s head when a shadow fell over the sandbox.
"Go away, Davie," Brandon said, still focused on the ant squirming underneath the heat of his magnifying glass.
Davie kicked at the dirt, sending a cloud of dust and tiny pebbles toward Brandon. "What are you two twats doing with a girl? Girls are gross.” His dark eyes narrowed on me. “Especially her. My ma says I can't play with her because she's a measch.” Davie laughed. He was a good foot taller than anyone else in our grade, and even though he got sent to the principal’s office more than Brandon, I still glared at him.
Connor hurled his drawing stick at Davie but missed. "Leave her alone!" The twig snapped in two when it smacked the trunk of a nearby tree.
"Or what?” Davie leaned over and jabbed a finger into Connor’s chest. “You'll throw a candy bar at me?" He sidestepped Connor, grabbed my hair, and yanked back my head.
I snatched my ponytail away, sucking in breath after breath to keep from crying.
"All right! That’s it." Brandon chucked the magnifying glass to the ground and shoved to his feet with his fists balled. Within a millisecond, he’d cocked his arm back and thrown a punch.
Davie grabbed his face on a groan, and I watched as a trail of blood trickled through his fingers and down his forearm.
"Don't mess with her.” Brandon lunged toward him, another fist ready and raised, and Davie scampered off boohooing.
Connor paced the sandbox, shaking his head and mumbling about Brandon getting into trouble, while I stared at Brandon’s busted knuckles. My stomach kinked and knotted in a way thatdidn’tmake me want to throw up—in a warm way I’d never felt before. I fought the smile that tugged at my lips because, as much as I liked what Brandon had done, a part of me knew I shouldn’t.
"Brandon O'Kieffe!" Mrs. Brown’s voice echoed over the playground, and all the children fell silent. Even the creak of the swing set slowed to an abrupt halt. Mrs. Brown stood across the yard, her arm wrapped around a sniffling Davie’s shoulder. Her face turned an unbelievable shade of red. “Get over here.” She pointed at Brandon. “This instant!”
Brandon’s triumphant grin crumpled to a frown. He shoved both hands into his pockets and headed toward the teacher.
"He's gonna get in trouble," I whispered, guilt settling in my chest.
Connor half-way shrugged. "It’s Brandon. He’s always in trouble."
That afternoon,the school decided that Brandon was, in fact,too muchtrouble, because Mr. Peterson had him expelled. I went straight to my room after school, grabbing the Barbie Brandon had given me and holding her in my lap while guilt settled over me, heavy and hard. Deep down, I knew it was my fault Brandon had been kicked out of school. No, I hadn’t made him punch Davie Logan, just like I hadn’t forced him to hide toads and lizards in Neive Kirkpatrick’s desk. But I was the reason he had done those things, because Davie had hurt me, and Neive had made fun of me. And one thing Brandon didn’t tolerate was anyone making Connor or me feel bad.
I worried, not that I wouldn’t ever see Brandon again, but that I wouldn’t see him enough. I wanted Brandon with Connor and me always, and when he wasn’t close by, it felt like something important was missing.
