Page 8 of The Beginning and End of Everything
"Hey, Mr. Turner.” I swallowed nervously. “Can Poppy come out to play?"
His gaze drifted to the box I had clutched in my hand, and a smile curled his lips. "Sure."
I hid the unwrapped present behind my back when he turned to call for Poppy.
Her pigtails bounced behind her when she skipped to the door. She grinned at her dad, and I wished she would grin at me like that. He ruffled her head when she stepped onto the porch.
I swung the box back and forth behind my back. "I got you something," I said, then shoved the package into her arms, hoping I would get one of those smiles.
She ran a finger over the white print, and when she looked up, she gave me a smile—one that was better than the one she’d given her Dad—then she hugged me. “Thank you.”
My knees locked, and my arms went stiff at my sides while I fought the urge to shove her off.
"Maybe you aren't a meanybutt." She giggled, clutching the present to her chest. "Where's Connor?"
All of the warm, tingling feelings inside me turned to smoke. Then I did push her away. "I didn't get him a Big Mac, so he went home for tea."
“Daddy's making spaghetti with the sauce out of the can. You want to stay for dinner?"
I really liked spaghetti from the can, so I nodded. When Poppy turned to grab the door, one of the ribbons in her hair fell out, and I picked it up, tucking it into the same pocket as the dandelion for safekeeping. Nobody had ever given me anything before, apart from my ma when she knitted me a Christmas jumper every year. But it was different, and I valued that yellow weed as though it were worth more than gold. I don’t know why I took her ribbon, but maybe I just wanted something else from her. Something that wouldn’t shrivel up and die.
* * *
The next day at school,Poppy smiled at me before she smiled at Connor, and pride filled my chest that I’d made her happy. It carried me through the morning until the door to the hallway opened.
Halfway through the school day, the headteacher, Mr. Peterson, interrupted class. He apologized to Miss Brown before his beady eyes locked on me through thick, bottle-top glasses. “Brandon O’Kieffe, come with me, please.”
I groaned under my breath before reluctantly following him into the hall.
Being in the headteacher’s office was nothing new to me—it was just that I couldn’t figure out what I’d done this time. I hadn’t been sent to the corner once that day, but despite how hard I thought, I didn’t come up with anything even by the time we entered Peterson’s office.
The sunshine-yellow walls and the tiled ceiling were almost as familiar to me as my own cupboard bedroom in the caravan. I wasn’t surprised to see my mum sitting in the chair on the other side of his desk when he led me through the doorway, the policeman, though—well, that was a shock. So much of one, I nearly shat my pants when I saw his fluorescent jacket and flat cap.
“Sit, Brandon.” Peterson nodded toward the empty chair beside my ma, who wouldn’t even look at me as I took a seat—that’s when I knew it was bad. “This is PC Coombes.”
“Mr. O’Kieffe.” The middle-aged officer nodded, then folded his arms over his vest. “You were caught on camera stealing from Callaghan’s Toy Shoppe yesterday.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Mistaken identity,” I said, quoting from that program, CSI. My ma loved it.
“Several people identified you.”
Damn small town. Everyone knew everyone, and well, I didn’t exactly keep my head down. In the current situation, I determined it was best to remain silent—seeing as how anything I said may be given in evidence and all that.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Mr. Peterson demanded, his face turning beet red.
“No,” I mumbled. I didn’t regret stealing that Barbie, but I did wish I’d at least thought about the cameras in the shop. I figured that part was best left unsaid.
Mr. Peterson looked at me the way most adults did—with regret. “This is extremely disappointing behavior.” He shook his head. “Given your record, I see no option but to expel you.”
Expel me? For stealing a Barbie on aSaturday? But that would mean I’d have to find a different school, away from Connor and Poppy. I clenched my fist at my sides, fighting the tightness in my chest.
“Please,” my ma begged. “I know Brandon can be difficult, but he’s a good boy. Really. How is expelling him from school going to help anything?”
“Mrs. O’Kieffe,” the policeman interrupted. “Your son could be given a criminal caution for this.”
I looked at my ma, hoping she could get me out of this.
“He’s just a child.”
