UNDERSTANDING “I forgive you,” Lily said, catching up with him on the walk to school the following day. “For what?” Conor asked, not looking at her. He was still irritated at the monster’s story, from the cheating and twisting way it went, none of which was any help at all. He’d spent half an hour sawing the surprisingly tough sapling out of the floor and had felt as though he’d barely fallen asleep again before it was time to get up, something he’d only found out because his grandma had started yelling at him for being late. She wouldn’t even let him say good-bye to his mum, who she said had had a rough night and needed her rest. Which made him feel guilty because if his mum had had a rough night, then he should have been there to help her, not his grandma who had barely let him brush his teeth before shoving an apple in his hand and pushing him out of the door. “I forgive you for getting me in trouble, stupid,” Lily said, but not too harshly. “You got yourself in trouble,” Conor said. “You’re the one who pushed Sully over.” “I forgive you for lying,” Lily said, her poodly curls shoved painfully back into a band. Conor just kept on walking. “Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry back?” Lily asked. “Nope,” Conor said. “Why not?” “Because I’m not sorry.” “Conor–” “I’m not sorry,” Conor said, stopping, “and I don’t forgive you.” They glared at each other in the cool morning sun, neither wanting to be the first to look away. “My mum said we need to make allowances for you,” Lily finally said. “Because of what you’re going through.” And for a moment, the sun seemed to go behind the clouds. For a moment, all Conor could see was sudden thunderstorms on the way, could feel them ready to explode in the sky and through his body and out of his fists. For a moment, he felt as if he could grab hold of the very air and twist it around Lily and rip her right in two– “Conor?” Lily said, startled. “Your mum doesn’t know anything,” he said. “And neither do you.” He walked away from her, fast, leaving her behind. It was just over a year ago that Lily had told a few of her friends about Conor’s mum, even though he hadn’t said she could. Those friends told a few more, who told a few more, and before the day was half through, it was like a circle had opened around him, a dead area with Conor at the center, surrounded by landmines that everyone was afraid to walk through. All of a sudden, the people he’d thought were his friends would stop talking when he came over, not that there were so very many beyond Lily anyway, but still. He’d catch people whispering as he walked by in the corridor or at lunch. Even teachers would get a different look on their faces when he put up his hand during lessons. So eventually he stopped going over to groups of friends, stopped looking up at the whispers, and even stopped putting up his hand. Not that anyone seemed to notice. It was like he’d suddenly turned invisible. He’d never had a harder year of school or been more relieved for a summer holiday to come around than this last one. His mother was deep into her treatments, which she’d said over and over again were rough but “doing the job,” the long schedule of them nearing its end. The plan was that she’d finish them, a new school year would start, and they’d be able to put all this behind them and start afresh. Except it hadn’t worked out that way. His mum’s treatments had carried on longer than they’d originally thought, first a second round and now a third. The teachers in his new year were even worse because they only knew him in terms of his mum and not who he was before. And the other kids still treated him like he was the one who was ill, especially since Harry and his cronies had singled him out. And now his grandma was hanging around the house and he was dreaming about trees. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream. Which would actually be worse. He walked on angrily to school. He blamed Lily because it was mostly her fault, wasn’t it? He blamed Lily, because who else was there? This time, Harry’s fist was in his stomach. Conor fell to the ground, scraping his knee on the concrete step, tearing a hole in his uniform trousers. The hole was the worst part of it. He was terrible at sewing. “Are you sick or something, O’Malley?” Sully said, laughing behind him somewhere. “It’s like you fall every day.” “You should go to a doctor for that,” he heard Anton say. “Maybe he’s drunk,” Sully said, and there was more laughter, except for a silent spot between them where Conor knew Harry wasn’t laughing. He knew, without looking back, that Harry was just watching him, waiting to see what he would do. As he stood, he saw Lily against the school wall. She was with some other girls, heading back inside at the end of break time. She wasn’t talking to them, just looking at Conor as she walked away. “No help from Super Poodle today,” Sully said, still laughing. “Lucky for you, Sully,” Harry said, speaking for the first time. Conor still hadn’t turned back to face them, but he could tell Harry wasn’t laughing at Sully’s joke. Conor watched Lily until she was gone. “Hey, look at us when we’re talking to you,” Sully said, burning from Harry’s comment no doubt and grabbing Conor’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Don’t touch him,” Harry said, calm and low, but so ominously that Sully immediately stepped back. “O’Malley and I have an understanding,” Harry said. “I’m the only one who touches him. Isn’t that right?” Conor waited for a moment and then slowly nodded. That did seem to be the understanding. Harry, his face still blank, his eyes still locked on Conor’s, stepped up close to him. Conor didn’t flinch, and they stood, eye-to-eye, while Anton and Sully looked at each other a bit nervously. Harry cocked his head slightly, as if a question had occurred to him, one he was trying to puzzle out. Conor still didn’t move. The rest of their class had already gone inside. He could feel the quiet opening up around them, even Anton and Sully falling silent. They would have to go soon. They needed to go now. But nobody moved. Harry raised a fist and pulled it back as if to swing it at Conor’s face. Conor still didn’t flinch. He didn’t even move. He just stared into Harry’s eyes, waiting for the punch to fall. But it didn’t. Harry lowered his fist, dropping it slowly down by his side, still staring at Conor. “Yes,” he finally said, quietly, as if he’d worked something out. “That’s what I thought.” And then, once more, came the voice of doom. “You boys!” Miss Kwan called, coming across the yard toward them like terror on two legs. “Break was over three minutes ago! What do you think you’re still doing out here?” “Sorry, Miss,” Harry said, his voice suddenly light. “We were discussing Mrs. Marl’s Life Writing homework with Conor and lost track of time.” He slapped a hand on Conor’s shoulder as if they were lifelong friends. “No one knows about stories like Conor here.” He nodded seriously at Miss Kwan. “And talking about it helps get him out of himself.” “Yes,” Miss Kwan frowned, “that sounds entirely likely. Everyone here is on first warning. One more problem today, and that’s detention for all of you.” “Yes, Miss,” Harry said brightly, with Anton and Sully mumbling the same. They trudged off back to lessons, Conor following in step just behind. “A moment please, Conor,” Miss Kwan said. He stopped and turned to her but didn’t look up at her face. “Are you sure everything’s all right between you and those boys?” Miss Kwan said, putting her voice into its “kindly” mode, which was only slightly less scary than full-on shouting. “Yes, Miss,” Conor said, still not looking at her. “Because I’m not blind to how Harry works, you know,” she said. “A bully with charisma and top marks is still a bully.” She sighed, annoyed. “He’ll probably end up Prime Minister one day. God help us all.” Conor said nothing, and the silence took on a particular quality, one he was familiar with, caused by how Miss Kwan’s body shifted forward, her shoulders dropping, her head leaning down toward Conor’s. He knew what was coming. He knew and hated it. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, Conor,” Miss Kwan said, so quiet it was almost a whisper, “but if you ever want to talk, my door is always open.” He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see the care there, couldn’t bear to hear it in her voice. (Because he didn’t deserve it.) (The nightmare flashed in him, the screaming and the terror, and what happened at the end–) “I’m fine, Miss,” he mumbled, looking at his shoes. “I’m not going through anything.” After a second, he heard Miss Kwan sigh again. “All right then,” she said. “Forget about the first warning and come back inside.” She patted him once on the shoulder and recrossed the yard to the doors. And for a moment, Conor was entirely alone. He knew right then he could probably stay out there all day and no one would punish him for it. Which somehow made him feel even worse.