Noah: Sounds like a story I want to hear. Friday night at the farm?
Me: Can't. Another time?
Noah: You bet. But soon.
I had to Google pizza delivery, but five minutes later, a mixture of a dozen plain and pepperoni pizzas was ordered as well as sodas. Everyone seemed to have something to do but me. Grace was still busy with whatever project she was helping some kids with, Shane had disappeared into some back rooms. I stood there with my hands in my pockets, feeling like an awkward teen myself.
Somewhere, a throat cleared. Glancing around, I saw a boy sitting with his arms crossed at a table by himself, smirking at me. When I caught his eye, his mouth turned into a scowl, and he rolled his eyes at me. A part of me wanted to smack the impudence right out of him. The other part of me resonated with his isolation.
Crossing the room, I pulled up a chair at his table and straddled it backward. "Hey. I'm Jax."
Dark eyes slid sideways at me, but his only other response was a shrug. Ha! How well I knew this language.
"You don't look like you want to be here."
Another shrug.
"Would it surprise you to know I didn't want to be here today, either?"
He snorted. "Yeah, right." He glanced at me, then at Grace. "You're here 'cause you like her."
The kid was perc
eptive. "I hardly know her. She kind of tricked me into being here." Close enough to the truth.
"But you're an adult." Wide eyes turned fully on me. "No one can make you do somethin' you don't want. I still hafta do whatever someone tells me to do," he added sullenly.
I flinched, even though he couldn't possibly know how his words struck a nerve with me.
I leaned forward on my elbows. "So, someone made you come here?"
"My mom made me come because she has an appointment at the hospital." He rolled his eyes. "Like I'm not old enough to stay home by myself," he grumbled.
I nodded. "I see. How old are you, anyway?"
"Thirteen." He sat back and crossed his arms but didn't look me in the eye. I leaned forward with my eyebrows raised. "Okay, eleven," he muttered. "But I'll be twelve in a month." Defensiveness seeped from his pouty lips.
I thought through what I should say, knowing to defend his mother outright would be to lose him. "You might be right. But, there's old enough because of how many birthdays you've had, then there's old enough because you act like it."
"What d'ya mean?"
"Well, like showing your mom you're responsible. Doing chores or homework without being reminded, being respectful when she asks you to do something you don't want to. You know, something other than behaving like a three-year-old who didn't get his way." He frowned as I stared at him with raised eyebrows. "Maybe she just cares enough to make sure you're safe."
He slouched in his chair, narrowing his eyes and squaring his chin. "I'm safe enough, now that she kicked my stepfather out of the house," he mumbled.
My body jerked at his statement, and my blood pumped through my veins a little harder than usual.
He rolled his eyes. "Look, my stepfather was an asshole. My mom's in some class to help her get over him or something. She dumped me here saying these kids would be a 'good influence on me.'" He screwed up his face as he mimicked what I guess was supposed to be his mom's voice. "I don't got nothin' in common with these goody-two-shoes.” He glared at our surroundings. “Or adults like you who think that stupid stuff like this makes everything all right for kids."
I ignored his tone. "What's so stupid about it?"
He waved his hand at me. "Like dumb games and stuff. It still costs money if you want to go."
Aha. I started to understand the problem.
He turned toward the table where Grace was and scowled. "And her, she's always smiling and making jokes like this is the greatest thing in the world. People like you and her ain't gotta clue what the real world's like."
I might have agreed with him about Grace. Her optimistic outlook could only come from someone who'd never struggled; real struggles like how to survive, not like which pair of shoes to put on in the morning. But while I couldn't speak for her, I could for myself.