15 February 2013 / 17:48
‘Noah?’
Noah looks at his watch. He doesn’t have much time to spare, but then she says his name again. He turns in the doorway. His mother is at the window, her back to him.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Looking at his watch is a reflex action and Noah can’t help doing it now, glad she can’t see him. He doesn’t want to be rude, doesn’t want his mom to think he can’t make time for her.
You can’t. You’ve got plenty to get through before supper.
‘It’s my fault.’
‘No, Mom, really.’
‘It is. If only I’d listened to Maddie when she told me they were bullying you. Those boys. Kyle Blake.’
‘No, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Seriously.’
‘But, Noah, if I’d listened, we could have gone to Mr Reynolds, told him about Kyle. At least then we’d be on record.’
‘Mom …’ Noah pauses. He’s going to have to use words now, so many of them, but his mother still hasn’t turned around. ‘Mom. Don’t. Please. I didn’t want you to. I should have stood up to him earlier.’
Stood up to him? How, exactly, when you can hardly make it through your bedroom door on a bad day?
And at the same time she’s saying, ‘Oh, Noah. I’d never expect you to do that.’
Great. Even Noah’s mother doesn’t think he has what it takes.