Page 73 of Run Away Home: Tempered

“Peter?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“I’m not a good friend, and I’m sorry.”

“Friend?”

“Yeah. I’m not a good friend.”

“We aren’t ‘friends,’ Danny.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have said what I said.” He sighs and kicks his left foot into the carpet multiple times.

“What’s going on?”

He still hasn’t looked up. “Nothing. I’m going to do the laundry when I get home.”

“I’ll be at work.”

“I know.”

“Danny, you don’t know how to do the laundry.”

“I’ll vacuum then.” He continues to kick his foot into the floor.

“Stop that. Take a deep breath.”

“I’m trying.”

“I want you to try to think of where this is all coming from, all the anger.”

He’s quiet. He rubs his lips together and makes a face. He’s thinking.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Put your backpack down.”

“I’m going to miss the bus then!” He signals to the door.

“I’ll drive you to school. You can be a little late.”

“Really? I can?” He perks up. I knew that would make him happy.

“Yes. Put your backpack down.”

He drops his backpack on the floor. “Can I miss all of first period? I hate that class.”

“What time does first period end?”

“Eight thirty-five.”

“We’ll get you to school by nine o’clock.”

“Okay.” He sits next to me on the couch. We stare at the wall in front of us, since there’s no TV.

“It’s okay to feel angry. I feel angry, and sad, and scared quite often.”

“When?”

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