Page 36 of A Dead Man's B-Side
If every word out of my mouth was punished with an expression like that, I needed to find something to occupy Mr Browne.
Shuffling out of my seat and going to stand, I headed for the back of the class, choosing to straighten each desk before placing their respective chairs on top. Wolf, on the other hand, watched for a few moments longer, like a fish out of water, before following along. However, he went for the board.
I wanted to laugh, to alert him of his stupidity, but a glance at Mr Bowne made me think better of it.
I watched Mr Browne as I worked, wondering, as I lifted each chair, how he had changed over the years. In the way he read over his paper and leaned back against his chair, it didn’t seem as though he had. There were still his usual quirks of biting the inside of his cheek when he was concentrating hard on something or scratching the sensitive skin of his wrist because his watch bothered him.
We worked in silence for a few minutes when Wolf began tomutter his regret of the chore choice.
Finally, the question that I had expected for days came. “So, Miroslav…” Appearing to have grown bored of his newspaper and the repetitive articles that recited the same tension between the United States and the Soviet Union that had gone on for decades too long, Mr Browne began to indulge himself. “Where did you say you grew up?”
I continued to work, moving from row to row as I pretended to remain focused on my task. “I never said.”
I could hear the smirk in his voice, even with my back turned to the far wall of carved mahogany. “Mmm… Well, humour me.”
I was a good liar, a great liar in fact, and despite my story already planned and proof-planned days prior, I found it hard to speak.
Opening and closing my mouth like a fish. I could feel even Wolf’s curiosity at my coming answer. “I… grew up in…”
Maybe it was the guilt of having to lie to someone I once respected, but I forced myself to speak anyway. “New York City. With my mom.”
I turned to face him, wanting to watch his expressions as I spoke. Or I wanted him to see me.
I killed that boy, and you will never get to see him again. You deserve it, anyway, abandoning and leaving him right there for the taking.
I knew the risks I’d be showering upon myself had I revealed it all. If a boy on the run was attending one of the most aristocratic schools in the world, it wouldn’t be long before the police would bewaiting at my dorm. That was a possibility I wasn’t willing to chance.
For whoever.
Despite this, I wanted to watch as he tried to place his finger on what it was about me that he couldn’t quite figure out.
I didn’t want him to figure it out, but a cocky part of my mind whispered.
Come on. Don’t you remember the friend he’d made?
I stopped and waited for his next words. “And your mother’s all alone now? Waiting for Christmas to have her boy home?”
I doubt she’d be waiting for anyone from six feet under.
My words came easily; it was faking the emotion behind them I found difficult, “My mother is… My mother passed.”
Wolf stopped clapping at the chalkboard erasers and looked up with wide eyes, as though he’d never heard of such a concept.
A dead mother–an orphan.
“I’m assuming your father’s not in the picture, eh? Little prick ran from your first kick in the womb?”
I chuckled at that. “Yeah. I guess… I guess you could say that.”
Technically, he was not wrong.
He closed his newspaper and placed it on his desk before resting his intertwined hands on his stomach. “I’ve been to New York a couple of times. Which neighbourhood did you grow up in?”
I guess he didn’t buy it. “Fordham… Bronx.”
“Oh… Dangerous neighbourhood, that is.”
I only shrugged, glancing at Wolf, who hadn’t returned to hisjob but instead took to watching me, waiting for my next words.
