Page 24 of Broken

“My teacher’s a bitch.”

I sit up straight. “That’s a sin right there, Carlo. Did you just use profanity under God’s roof?”

Glumly, he mourns, “I just made it worse for myself, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did.”

But I make a mental note to talk to his father on Sunday. Carlo, who’s always a cheerful boy even if he’s due to confess, is having issues with his teacher.

“She was picking on me. Trying to make me look dumb in front of everyone. So I knocked over the glue on her seat, painted it so she wouldn’t notice, and then let her sit on it.”

My brows lift as I try to ascertain what kind of testament that broke which required him being dragged to church on an afternoon, and then it clicks.

“You were suspended?” That’s the only reason I can think he’d be here mid-week.

“Yes. For two days.” He huffs. “But she’s mean, Father.”

“I can imagine, but did you have to be mean to her? Is that what you’ve been taught, Carlo?”

“No, we have to turn the other cheek, don’t we, Father? Even if someone sucks.”

I clear my throat to obfuscate my laugh. “We do. But it isn’t the end of the world, Carlo. Don’t tell your mother or father this, but I was suspended when I was a boy too.”

“You?” He sounds so stunned that, on this occasion, I can’t hide my amusement.

“Si, I wasn’t always a priest.”

“I knew that. But... what did you do?”

“I’d get into fights.”

“Why?”

“Does there have to be a reason?”

He hums under his breath. “I think so. I mean, did you like fighting?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I was very angry, and the only way I could stop feeling like that was if I hit something.” Sometimes I grew tired of being bullied, and had to defend myself…

“Why were you angry?”

“My teachers weren’t very nice to me either.”They never listened.

“Why not?”

“They just weren’t. They thought I was the troublemaker because, in class, I got bored really quickly.”

“I know how that feels,” he commiserates. “I find it hard to concentrate.”

I could only imagine. “Maybe speak with your parents about it.” Surely then they’d realize that was why the doctors gave him medicine in the first place.

“I hate school,” he mutters.

“Only six more years of it,” I reply, trying to cheer him up.

“That’s a long time. I mean, I’m twelve. That means I have to do half my life again of school.” Another huff escapes him. “Life sucks.”

“It cansucksometimes, but I’m sure there’ll be a lot of times you have fun. You have friends there, don’t you?”

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