As I'm walking back home I realize that it got pretty late, must be about midnight. My insides churn just thinking about going back home, but, where else would I go? I have no job, no money, no family. For being a 17 year old I really don't have much. Finally, I get there, I see the big wooden door on it's squeaky hinges. Here goes nothing.
I try to sneak up the rotting stairs, taking off my shoes as I do so to avoid making too much noise. I make my way over to the kitchen, no ones there so I grab a few beers along the way. I'm about to step on the first step when something grabs me by the back of the shirt and pulls me to the ground. "Ungrateful bastard!" the person yells at me. "Trying to steal my beers I see!" he screams again, the scent of his own beer in his breath. I don't say anything. I'm waiting for something to happen, for this to be over. Slowly, I watch the man lift his cane, and then I watch it come back down and connect with my head.
I don't react, I don't say anything or fight back. I know that if I do, Steve will have to pay for it, Steve is my only family, even though we're not related by blood we are still family. He's the only thing I got, and I'm the only thing he's got. I decide right then that I have to help that innocent little boy, I promise him he will live a better life than I did.
Finally I look up this awful man that I'm supposed to live with, I look up at my father. It's a sad sight, mumbling to himself in his own drunken world. After a while, he loses interest (or maybe he forgot, who knows) in me and walks away, occasionally scratching his bald head with an ugly yellow fingernail. I get up slowly and tiptoe up the stairs to my room where I see Steve sitting on my bed, homework spread out in front of him.
"Hey Pete!" Good. He didn't hear anything. I smile back at him and let him get back to his work. As I walk into the bathroom I realize that my old man didn't hit me that hard this time, there was only a tiny puddle of blood on my head, that could easily be hidden. I get to work on fixing my wounds, after 15 years of this you get pretty good at healing yourself.
I pull out my phone and see that Jackson texted me. Derrick was pretty drunk. Where do you think he got that knife? I read the text but don't respond, even though I don't really bother to show up for school that much I need to be there tomorrow. I go to sleep after helping Steve get ready for bed.
~*~*~*~
"Peter. Nice to see you again." my teacher said as I walked into class. Late. Everyone snickers as I take my seat. You see, I'm kind of known for being late. Who else is going to walk Steve to school when he misses the bus?
I look up at the board only to discover I don't know a thing that's up there. Bad news. I try to look at my neighbors work but he covers it with his elbow. Jerk.
~*~*~*~
"Peter." Derrick says as he walks beside me. "How drunk was I?" he asks me, laughter in his voice. I then proceed to tell him every stupid thing he did last night as he laughs occasionally. We walk over to our usual lunch table, everyone waving or saying hi as we pass. Derrick waves to some cheerleaders. Sometimes I wish we weren't thought of as "cool."
Plop. The cafeteria lady smacks down some mashed potatoes, I think. I look behind me and see someone I don't know. A tall, muscular kid with black hair. Some girls smile at him. Great, another group member. He'll probably be joining us after school, maybe Derrick will get drunk again. I sigh as I think about how much of a jerk Mr. Hot Guy probably is.
"Hey! Earth to Peter!" I look up and see Derrick snapping his fingers in my face. "Come say hi to our new friend Matt!" He exclaims as he points to Hot Guy himself. I fist bump him and smile. He grins back. I get lost in my thoughts again and before I know it I'm back in class.
"Uh, Peter. Can I talk to you?" my 6th period teacher calls me over to his desk right after the bell rings. I look over to the last of my classmates trickling out the door. Reluctantly, I walk over to the teacher's desk. "Yes?" I say with a bit of sarcasm. "I see that you've been missing a lot of school, your grades aren't that great either..." he says, concerned. "Oh." I really was dreading this conversation. "Are you having trouble at home?" he asks me suddenly. "I can see you hurt your head" he continues. "There's no trouble...um...I really have to go. Bye." I mutter rapidly. My teacher purses his lips as I sprint out the door.
