Page 32 of Covenant

Father wouldn’t like me spending time with Wyatt. Or that Wyatt lives in a trailer. That he laughs so freely. That he runs through the woods hooting and hollering. A wild thing. A mystery.

He wouldn’t like that I do those things too when I’m with him. When it’s just me and Wy, I’m not Matthias Buckingham. I’m not a representative of the family.

I’m just Matt. Wy’s friend. A kid.

With him, I’m myself.

I won’t let Father find out. He takes everything from us that brings us joy.

I won’t let him take Wy too.

I knew Wyatt was special the day that I met him, just over a year ago. After a particularly nasty fight with Father, I’d run outside, and I just kept running.

I run until my lungs are burning. Until I can’t tell snot from tears. Eventually, when I can’t take another step, I collapse on the ground. The rough bark of a tree cuts through my shirt, but I don’t care.

It’s no more painful than the hit Father just delivered.

“Why are you crying?”

The curious voice has me jumping to my feet, swiping at my face. “I’m not crying.”

There’s a small boy a few feet away. He looks the same age as me. There’s a stain on the front of his t-shirt, and a hole in his sneaker. I can see a dirty sock through it. “Yes, you were.”

“Was not.”

“What’s your name?”

I straighten my spine, the way Father always tells me to when I introduce myself. “Matthias Bartholomew Augustus Buckingham, the Third.”

I wait for him to mock me the way the other boys at school do. Instead, he cocks his head like a sparrow and says, “Can I call you Matt?”

Matt. A nickname Father would never allow. Too common, that’s what he’d say.

But I like it. I like the way it sounds from this boy’s mouth.

I nod, and he grins. My stomach swoops at the sight. Strange.

“I’m Wyatt, but you can call me Wy.” He puts his hands in his pockets. He looks this way and that, almost as if his mind is moving a thousand miles a minute. A moment later, he blurts, “Wanna see who can jump the highest?”

I stare at him. “Why?”

Now he’s the one staring at me, confusion all over his face. “Umm…for fun?”

Fun. We don’t do things like that for fun. We go on yachts. To charity balls. We stand silently at Father’s side as he introduces us to “important people”.

I’m not sure what fun actually is. Maybe jumping could be fun.

“Come on,” Wy says. “I dare you.”

The competitive streak borne of having five brothers immediately rears its head. “Sure.”

That was the start of our friendship. The start of Wyatt teaching me how to have fun.

Some of his ideas, though, I’ve been less keen on.

Such as this one.

“Come on,” Wyatt wheedles. “Climb the tree.”

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