New Kid
Chapter Two
“Where the fuck have you been?”
Brian’s father was sitting on the couch, the local news ignored on the TV.
Head down, not wanting an argument, the boy mumbled “I tried out for the Soccer team after school. It took a couple of hours.”
Not listening, Jack drained the last of what was left in the
“I made the Varsity.” He looked almost hopefully at his father, knowing he wasn’t listening and didn’t care. “I was the only freshman who did.”
No reaction.
Brian climbed up to his room. It didn’t matter. It was fine. He pulled off his shirt; it was sweaty and smelled after the day and pulled on last year’s gym shorts.
He pulled out the Math book. He liked math, the order and the surety of the formulas and the numbers. Two plus two always equaled four. He liked that. It served as a sort of counterpoint to a lot of other things for him.
He thumbed through the Trig book, it looked like it would be interesting and didn’t look too hard. It would be fine; he shouldn’t have any trouble with it.
The thing with being in all AP classes was that the teachers seemed to think that just because you were smart you didn’t mind doing the dumbass assignments they gave you.
Yeah, right.
It was the same shit. ‘Do problems three through seventeen.’ SSDD, that’s all it was and with the advanced class they started right in. None of that taking a few days to learn the lay of the land stuff the regular classes had. Nope.
It would be fine. It didn’t matter.
He knocked off the math homework in about twenty minutes and reached
for his History book, AP World History 1. The Greeks again, the Romans, the
He started to wonder if they would be having dinner tonight. It was almost
Getting up, he made his way down to the dark kitchen—OK, no home cooked meal tonight, obviously—and looked around to see what he could scrounge up. He was heating a can of tomato soup when he saw his father in the doorway.
“Sonnyboy, you said you made some team?” He was at the belligerent stage of his drunk and Brian was the only one around to catch the brunt this time. Shit. “Why the fuck don’t you get a job after school and start paying for some of the Goddamned food you eat around here. Fucking money doesn’t grow on trees.”
There was no point in answering. He kept his face down. Like an animal, he knew better than to make eye contact.
“I asked you a question, you little shit.”
“…I made the Varsity Soccer team.” He kept his eyes on the saucepan in front of him. “Dad? I was the only freshman who did.”
The simple comment was what sent Jack over the edge this time. “Arrogant little son of a bitch.” Without warning he smacked Brian across the cheek, hard, causing the boy’s hand to jerk and hit the handle of the pan, flipping the hot liquid over onto his bare chest and legs.
“Christ. Clean up this mess.” Jack turned and stalked out of the room.
Stunned, Brian just stood there for a minute.
Then the pain started, screaming from his legs and his stomach and his arm where it had splashed when his hand had jerked. He needed help, badly and soon.
In the back of his mind he thought that he was lucky the soup hadn’t boiled, that his father hadn’t walked in two minutes later.
His mother was passed out, Jack would be in a couple of minutes and Claire probably wasn’t home.
Jesus it hurt.
He couldn’t call the police, not yet. They’d only lived here a couple pf weeks; they couldn’t start down that road already. They didn’t know any neighbors to ask. He couldn’t just knock on doors.
That kid at school—Michael.
God, it hurt.
His mother might help. It wasn’t that far, he could get there on foot.
Barefoot, he walked the three blocks to the Novatny’s front door. The lights were on inside. He knocked.
An older man, blondish and handsome, answered. “Yes?”
“Is Mrs. Novatny here?” He hoped he had the right house. He thought it was, but he wasn’t sure at this point.
“Sis? Quick.”
“What is it?” She came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Jesus. Vic, help me.” The man picked Brian up in his arms, carrying him to the worn couch, gently putting him down. Michael’s mother returned from the kitchen with ice and towels to wrap it in.
Brian winced when the cold touched him, the rough feel of the cheap terry hurting, but the cool helping slightly where he felt like he was burning up. He knew that he was out of it and he sort of came to—embarrassed that he was asking for help from strangers. In the background he was vaguely aware that the boy he’d met that day—Michael?—was asking what was going on.
The woman lay him down on the sofa, making it easier for the ice to stay in place helping the pain and minimizing the blistering that was already starting to form down the tanned skin. “Brian, sweetie, can you tell me what happened? Vic, get some aspirin.”
He was starting to shake, whether from shock or from the ice, he didn’t know. “I was making soup. I knocked the pan off the stove.”
“He needs a doctor, Deb.”
“I know. Bring the car around, it’ll be faster than an ambulance.”
“No. I’ll be alright.”
“Brian, honey, you’re burned, we have to get you help.”
The local ER’s all knew him, knew his family’s record. There was no way he could go to one. The cops would be called and then he’d be in really deep shit at home.
“No, it’s OK. It hardly hurts at all now. Really.”
Mrs. Novatny and the man he took to be her brother exchanged a look. They weren’t buying it. The man—Vic?—asked, “Where are your parents, son?”
“Not home. That’s why I came here. We just moved in around here and we don’t know anyone yet, then I remembered you and I thought that—you know.”
The kid thought fast. Either he was smart or he’d a lot of practice lying. Or both. There were some scars on the boy, and not the usual scraped knees and elbows you’d expect. He looked like he had some scars from lash marks on his back and at least one of his ribs was at a slightly odd angle from where it should be.
The kid’s demeanor was wrong, too. He was too ready with an explanation, too practiced in his excuses why his parents couldn’t be called. Sure, maybe he wasn’t supposed to be using the stove or something like that, but he seemed pretty self reliant, pretty confident, he would be fine doing something as simple as heating up an easy dinner.
Shit.
This was a no brainer. Poor Michael, all he’d wanted was a friend. Poor Deb—they always seemed to attract the strays. This one was going to be a problem if he stayed around. Abused kids weren’t easy to deal with.
Well, this explained why he has seemed reserved and distant this afternoon. Now the question was what to do about it.
“Why don’t you stay here for a while? Vic? Maybe you could get him a cup of tea or something.”
She turned her attention to Brian, starting to hurt a little less. The ice seemed to be helping. He’d have some good blisters and they’d hurt, but with any luck, he’d be alright on his own. She’d keep an eye on him tonight and make sure that he stayed quiet and got some rest. If there was a problem she’d take him to the hospital, no matter what he said.
“Brian, honey, I think it would be easier of you stayed here tonight, alright? That way you won’t have to be moving around too much.” The look on his face was a frightening mixture of hope and fear. What the fuck had happened to the kid to make him look like that?
He was thinking, weighing his options, such as they were. Jack and Joanie were passed out by now and Claire didn’t give a crap.
“Thank you. I’m sorry that I’m being such a problem. I just didn’t know where else I could go since we’re new.” His eyes were getting heavy, partly through exhaustion, probably and partly through the shock and pain of what he’d just been through.
He was drifting off.
Deb saw that his eye would be black by morning, his cheek was swollen.
Poor kid.
Michael had been hanging back, frightened. She gestured him into the kitchen. “What do you know about this boy, Michael?” Her voice was low so Brian might be able to sleep.
He shrugged. “Not much. I just met him today. We had lunch together and he stood up for me when some of the jerks told him he shouldn’t hang around with me. He’s really smart and he’s a good soccer player. That’s about it.” He looked at his uncle, just joined them. “He told me he’s gay.”
“Nothing about his family?”
“Not really, no.” Michael had his whipped puppy look on. “I like him, Mom. I think we’d be good friends. We can help him, right?”
“We’ll try, honey. You go do your homework, take a shower, OK? Your Uncle Vic and I have to talk.” He nodded, going upstairs, but stopping in the living room first to make sure Brian was sleeping alright. Deb saw the look on his face when he checked on the other boy.
They had trouble whether they wanted it or not.
“You know he’s an abused kid, Sis. Are you going to call the police?”
“He seems afraid of that. Maybe he’s been threatened if someone finds out.”
“…Probably. You could call the school. They have guidance counselors who are trained to deal with this sort of thing.”
She gave him a look. “They’re fucking idiots. They won’t do shit.”
He agreed. He knew that. “So what are you going to do? Adopt him?”
She sighed, shrugged, “Michael likes him and he seemed to like Michael this afternoon.”
“You mean ‘they like each other’ or ‘they LIKE each other’?”
“I dunno, it’s too soon to tell, but Michael needs a friend and he seems to have picked this one.”
“Christ—they just always find you.”
She smiled at him. “Yeah, I have a feeling this one will turn out OK.”
“This one is a beauty, anyway.” He shook his head at her.
“I’ll be back later, I’m meeting Lou at
“Be careful.” He kissed her cheek as he left.
On the couch Brian heard what they had said about him. He did like Mikey, not to fuck or anything, but he liked him as a friend. He liked his mother, too and the man—his uncle seemed like a decent sort. Of course, when the found out that what they suspected was just the tip of the fucking iceberg they’d drop him like a damn hot potato, but it might be OK here for a while.
They seemed like nice people. He really didn’t want to hurt them and pulling them into the Kinney Krap, as he had nicknamed it, would be wrong.
He liked that they had called him a beauty.
He’d just spend the night here, get a good sleep and leave in time to pick up his books and shit for school in the morning. The burns were sore, but he’d had worse and he knew that these would heal. He’d take it easy in school and usually the first day of practice was light, so he’d be able to handle it.
He’d just take this one step at a time.
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