Page 23 of Bullied By The Bad Boy

“Sure,” I murmur, already driving out of the school gate. “I’m on my way.”

After a torrent of gratitude, the call ends. Minutes later, I’m at Sharon’s school. I ring Maria to ask for her sister’s location, and a groan slips out when she doesn’t answer her phone. The locked doors have my hands digging into my hair in frustration. I circle the tall building, twisting knobs and knocking on iron doors. Her school looks nothing like ours except for a path that cuts into the field. I follow the trail, a big, proud smile brightening my face when I spot the lone figure sitting on the bleachers. It must be Sharon. The poor thing looks so alone and out of place.

I jog to catch up with her, only to be disappointed when I reach the bleachers. The blanket draped around the big, black bag seems to mock me. “Fuck you too,” I tell it. Fuck whoever thought it was okay to do that to a bag. I make my way down the stairs while redialing Maria. “Pick up.”

A short text pops up from Maria. An apology. Her mom managed to get someone to pick Sharon up. Great. I don’t bother with a reply. I drive out of the parking lot and slow down at the sight of the figure hunched on the curb by the second gate. This time, I am reluctant to leave the comfort of my car.

What if my eyes are deceiving me again, and it is another bag shaped like a human?

The uncertainty fades when the figure raises its head. I am met with blue eyes, the color of the sky. He flashes me a grin that reveals perfect dentition, swatting his bangs that continuously fall into his eyes.

“Hey,” I hear myself saying. He laughs. The time on the dashboard shows ten minutes past six. Elementary school closes earlier. The kid should be lounging at home. “When did you get here?”

“I was here when you drove in,” he replies.

Oh. That means he has been here for hours. Does he know Sharon? Are they friends? We stare at each other while I contemplate my next decision. I get out of the car. A smile curves my lips when he balls his tiny hands into fists. He shifts to the end of the curb to create a gap between us as I lower myself on the concrete surface. Little man is a fighter. Good thing I am on his side.

“Do you mind the company?” I ask. His eyes fleet to my car, a fancy black Honda CR-V that can fit a small family. He hides his fists between his legs. “I can leave if you don’t want me here.”

As someone who loves solitude, I understand if he wants to be left alone, but I don’t feel good about leaving a kid all by himself. I look at the fast-turning gray skies. I can’t leave him here.

“What say you, Mister…”

“Asher. My name is Asher.” His hands curl around the straps of the backpack hanging from his shoulders. I almost ask him to drop it on the curb to ease the weight on him, but I don’t. “It’s cool. You can stay.”

We fall into a comfortable silence. I leave Asher to bring a pack of homemade cookies from my bag in the car. The only problem is, I’m not sure how to offer it to him without coming off as a creepy stranger. His eyes linger on the chocolate cookies, but he dodges my gaze each time I look in his direction. Covering the little distance between us, I stretch the cookies to him.

“Want some?” I ask.

His eyes linger on the cookies, but he shakes his head. “Benny says not to collect stuff from strangers.”

Fair enough. I put the cookies out of sight, and more seconds of silence roll by. Asher yawns and stretches his arms. I don’t know if he’s hungry or tired or maybe both. I’m also tired. Familiar white patches peek out of his sleeves, and I swallow the urge to comment on them. My feet vibrate with impatience. We have been here at least five minutes, and no one has shown up to claim him.

“Who’s Benny?” I ask to break the silence. “I think you should drop your bag on the floor.”

Asher lowers the backpack between his legs and then rolls his shoulders. “That feels better. Benny is my big brother. I’m waiting for him.” Anger for the so-called brother grows inside me. Asher can’t be more than ten years old and is still in school. My gaze strays to his wrists. “It’s my superpower.”

Excited to show off this superpower, he rolls up his sleeve to reveal more of the white patches. He has vitiligo. If I had his confidence, I wouldn’t be stuck wearing only sweatshirts, T-shirts, and other conservative outfits to protect my stomach from the public. He pulls down his sleeve.

“Cool,” I whisper.

Asher’s stomach growls, and my insecurities take a backseat. I place the cookie in the small space between us and hide a smile when he picks it up.

He takes the first bite and shows off his chocolate-stained teeth. “Don’t tell Benny.”

Making a criss-cross sign on my heart, I say, “I promise.” I jog to my car and return with a bottle of water I pass to him. It’s fifteen minutes to seven, and no sign of this Benny. I send Mom a text to know what we would be having for dinner. It’s the only way to tell if she is at home. Her work schedule is unpredictable, and homemade dinner means she will be home tonight. My phone pings with a reply from her to order takeout. Yay. I’ll be home alone again. “Is Benny always late?”

“Sometimes,” he says with a shrug like he is used to it. A strong urge to beat this irresponsible Benny takes over me. What about his parents? What kind of lousy duo are they? Asher finishes the last batch of his cookies, and I slide the empty wrap into my pocket. He points to his chubby cheeks to ascertain there is no evidence of his snacking. “How’s my face?”

“You’re clean.”

We laugh. “What’s your name? Sorry I didn’t ask earlier.”

“No biggie. My name is Tessa.”

His lips pucker in a cute frown. “Tessa, as in Theresa?” I nod. “Thanks for the cookies, Tessa.”

“You are welcome, Asher.”

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