"I don't want to go to regular school," Baylee snapped, scowling across the truck cab at his father. Brian sighed, exasperated as Baylee continued, "I want to go back to Georgia."
"There's nothing left in Georgia anymore," Brian replied.
"I had friends," Baylee yelled, "Here I'm gonna be the weird new kid."
"You aren't weird," Brian said, turning the truck off. He peered out the passanger door over Baylee's shoulders at the squat white school building.
"It's ugly," Baylee said, "Why can't Sue just keep teaching me?" he demanded, referring to the tutor that he'd had since he'd first started schooling. Leighanne had spend months researching tutors in the area before she'd found Sue.
"Because she lives in Georgia," Brian answered, "And we live in Kentucky."
"No, we don't," Baylee said, folding his arms across his chest. "This school is stupid," he added, staring at it. "The people who go here are probably stupid, too."
Brian raised an eyebrow, "I went here."
Baylee glanced at Brian, and, with an ominous silence, turned back to staring at the building.
Brian narrowed his eyes. "You're going, now go."
"No, I'm not," Baylee replied. "We're going back to Georgia."
"We're not going back to Georgia," Brian answered, "And you are going to school."
"No."
"Baylee."
"I said NO."
"Fine." Brian threw off his seatbelt, opened his side of the truck door and got out, slamming the door shut again. Baylee watched him walk around the truck's nose and whipped open the passanger side door.
"What're you doing?" Baylee squealed as he leaped across the seat, and Brian caught him 'round the waist, pulling him out of the truck. Baylee shrieked, his voice coming out in a high pitched noise akin to that which a dolphin makes. "What're you doing? Are you mental?" he demanded.
Brian whipped Baylee's backpack onto his elbow as he hoisted his kid out of the truck. Baylee's back crushed against Brian's chest and he kicked his feet ferociously, his voice squeaking out as Baylee struggled against Brian's grip.
It was a spectacle to be sure. Brian, dragging his nine year-old across the school parking lot towards the school building, kicking and screaming all the way, his limbs flailing about every which way. People started awkwardly, the parents feeling embarassed for Brian, the kids raising their eyebrows and whispering, pointing at Baylee and laughing quietly at the outburst.
"Baylee Thomas Wylee Littrell!" Brian shouted, "STOP IT. You are being RIDICULOUS!"
"I -- AM -- NOT -- GOING -- TO -- THIS -- STUPID -- SCHOOL!" Baylee shouted loudly.
Brian kicked the front door of the school opened and struggled with Baylee through the vestibule, past a bulletin board with events and such, through the blast of air conditioning. Baylee's shrieks echoed off the tiny room's walls, and Brian shoved through the second door into the foyer fo the school. Baylee kicked Brian's knees and Brian stumbled forward a bit and dropped Baylee to the tile. Baylee scrambled to run back out the door, but Brian caught him by the arm and pulled him back.
"LET -- ME -- GO!" Baylee screamed.
"Dude, get a load of that kid's hair," came a voice from across the room.
Baylee stopped struggling and froze. He yanked his arm away from Brian, snatched his backpack from his arm, and glowered up at him. "I HATE you," he snarled, and, pulling his bag onto his backpack, he stormed away.
Brian sighed, watching him walk away. "Have.. have a good day.." he called weakly, his heart heavy after the colossal scene that had just taken place. He walked back across the parking lot, walk-of-shame style as people continued to glance his direction. Some of them now recognized him and started whispering. He reached the truck and quickly pulled himself inside, and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel in exasperation.
Brian walked into the Starbucks on Main Street fifteen minutes later, still heavy from the experience with Baylee, and stood in front of the cashier waiting to place an order. Suddenly he heard a voice hiss behind him, "Go talk to him."
Brian turned slowly, casually, and pretended to be looking at a poster on the wall. Two women were sitting at a table behind him, bent low over their drinks. One, the one who had spoken, had short, spikey blonde hair, and the other was wearing a fishing hat. Brian turned back to the counter before it became obvious he'd heard them, and pulled out his wallet, placing his order and paying.
He lingered by the cart as he put in his sugar and cream slowly, giving the girl a chance to come over to him if she wanted to, but when she hadn't, he stuck a straw into his iced coffee and slipped out the door.
"You let him get away," Molly accused.
Emma clutched the edges of the hat, her lips pursed around the straw to her frappechino. "It wasn't the right time," she muttered into the drink. Her fingers curled around the hat.
Molly sighed, "He was right there, too."
"I know," Emma shook her head, "I know, but it wasn't right. When I see him again, I want it to be -- natural."
Molly stared out the window as Brian climbed into his truck and backed out of the space in front of the coffee shop. "That's exactly what that would've been, though, Em," she argued, "You didn't come here expecting to see him, he just showed up. It was natural."
Emma sighed, "It just wasn't right."
Baylee climbed into the truck at 3:00 that afternoon after school and threw his backpack onto the floor. He pulled a sheaf of papers out of his bag and shoved them at Brian's hands angrily before pulling on his seatbelt. "What's this?" Brian asked, turning the papers ove in his hands to inspect it.
"I told you these people are stupid," Baylee said hotly. Brian's eyes scanned the papers - they were pages of math homework, with all the answer blanks already filled in with Baylee's messy scrawl. "I learned that crap two years ago," Baylee snapped.
Brian frowned, "We don't say crap, Baylee."
Baylee glared at his father. "That's not the point. I want to go home."
"We'll go in and talk to the principal first, then we'll go home..." Brian reached for the door handle.
Baylee scowled, "No, I mean home to Georgia." Baylee shook his head, "You're stupid too."
Brian pushed his door open. "C'mon, let's go talk to the principal."
"I want my Mother."
"Trust me, so don't I."
"They made fun of my hair," Baylee was whispering into the phone, so Nick had to strain his ears to hear what he was saying. He ran his hand along the back of his neck and leaned against the kitchen counter in his house. Lauren was standing beside him, stirring something on the stove.
"Your hair?" Nick asked. He tried not to laugh. He bit his fist. He'd been saying for years that kids were going to make fun of Baylee for the mop on his head if the Littrells didn't cut it off. He sighed.
"They said it looked like I stuck my hand in a light socket," Baylee complained, "That's how stupid they are. If I stuck my hand in a light socket all those volts of electricity would've surged through my body, interrupted my nervous system, and shut down my brain. Possibly stopped my heart, too. Either way, I'd be dead." Nick could literally hear him roll his eyes at the end of this rant.
"Did you tell your dad?" Nick asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.
"He doesn't give a crap," Baylee answered.
Nick sighed, "He gives a crap Baylee, of course he gives a crap."
Baylee felt a little better because Nick wasn't correcting the curse. Something was freeing about this liberty to speak what he wanted to say. "He doesn't act it."
"That's because he's going through a lot of shit right now, Baylee," Nick said slowly. Lauren lifted a spoonful of the sauce she'd been stirring to Nick's mouth and he lowered the phone receiver from his mouth to take the food into his mouth. He gave her a thumbs up.
"I know he is, but what am I going through?" Baylee demanded, "Nothing?"
"Of course not, your dad's just reacting differently," Nick replied. Lauren turned back to the stove and turned it off. He turned and pulled the spaghetti plates out of the cupboard. "It's hard, what your dad's doing, as a grown-up, you know?"
"It's hard as a kid," Baylee whined.
"I know."
Baylee was quiet a second, then he said, "My mom never would've made me go to private school," he complained.
"Dude, your mom spoiled the crap out of you," Nick laughed, "Your right, she wouldn't have made you go to a public school." He paused, "She wouldn't have let you go to public school is more like it."
"Let me?"
"Public school can be cool, I'm tellin' ya," Nick said, "Give it a chance, you'll see. And as for your hair... I'll talk to your dad. Okay? We'll see what we can do."
"Thanks, Uncle Nick."
"No prob, Bay," Nick replied, "Now go tell your dad you don't hate him, okay, 'cos I know your dad and I'm tellin' you... that prolly hurt his feelings a whole lot."
Baylee sighed, "Okay."
