Conner’s interest prompts me to search my memories for anything that might have piqued his curiosity.
This isn’t good. I need to shut this down!
“Conner, you will be gravely disappointed with the results,” I declare. “There’s no mystery or some deep, dark secret I’m hiding.”
He cocks his head to the side and raises his brow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Scoffing at his words, I unzip my pencil case and grab the HB pencil, only for the sharp pain to return when I raise my arm. I jolt, and a hiss escapes through clenched teeth.
“Is there something wrong with your arm?” Conner asks.
“Uh…yeah…” I blush when I say, “I walked into the display cabinet at the service station last night.Remember?”
I pray it’s a good enough lie. It’s valid, and Conner noticed my blunder before he grabbed the packet of chips.
“Yeah, I remember.” His brow knits together. “Did the pain come suddenly this morning?”
“Sorry?”
“You were fine holding the plastic bag with a six-pack of beer last night.”
I open my mouth to talk, but it’s as if we are playing a game of chess.
We sit across from each other, my pawns all defeated. Conner vanquished my knight. Conner left the Queen bleeding and bruised. She falters, weakened and unable to push forward.
And behind her, I cower. Conner stands before the Queen, his sword sharp and his armour glistening, pristine.
He raises his arms, ready to slay my protector and open the wounds I’ve held from the world.
“What are you doing in my seat?” Andy demands.
I flinch at the sudden break in my daydream. Andy stands over us, leering eyes narrowing when his gaze meets Conner’s.
“I’m merely having a conversation with Noya. Is that a problem?” Conner rises, standing a few inches taller than Andy.He smiles, and I know that smile well, for most of the girls in my ear swoon over it.
Andy doesn’t reply.
Conner breathes a laugh, looks to me, and says, “I’ll talk to you later, Noya.”
As he leaves, Andy sits in the seat beside mine. While he watches Conner, he asks, “What was that all about?”
“He saw me at the service station last night,” I say with a shake of my head. “It was nothing.”
Andy grunts, making it apparent that I am a terrible liar. However, I’m grateful when he doesn’t persist. Going into the“He saved my arse when the cops showed up and then took me home”won’t make this situation any better.
But I’m not sure why I want to hide that from Andy. He knows why I was at the service station last night. Even though he hasn’t outright told me, he is smart enough to put two and two together.
“So, will you tell me what happened with your arm?”
I draw in my art book after reading what Mr Rogers has written on the blackboard. We need to find something in the room and draw it.
My focus lands on Mr Rogers’ desk. It’s always messy and unkempt, with an A4 book, pencils, and paintbrushes scattered across his paint-stained and chipped desk.
While I sketch and outline the legs and base of the table, I think about what to say to Andy. “Dad came home drunk again,” I answer, shrugging. “That’s it.”
I want to keep this conversation light. Sometimes, telling Andy about what happened inside my home feels like a burden. No one should know what happens inside my home. It’s something I need to deal with, and I don’t want to drag him into a situation I dream of leaving someday.
“What happened to your arm, then?” Andy persists.