whiskey cult

Outside, there was a group of kids laughing. I was on the way to the front doors to wait for my mom to pick me up, and decided I’d check it out. Who knew, maybe somebody was telling jokes outside or something. Pulling my backpack over my shoulders, I followed the noise.

There was a boy outside, maybe a couple years younger than me, sat on a bench. It didn’t take me long to figure out what the laughter was. A group of older kids, maybe eighth years, were standing near the bench, as the boy was blarting and calling out, ‘Come on! Give me back my glasses!’

One of the older kids, standing near the front of the crowd, sneered. ‘Come and get them.’ She was holding them out, as her mates chuckled as the poor boy’s tearstained face.

This whole thing was making me angry. But I was nine, and I couldn’t exactly stand up to a group of much older kids on my own. So I did the only logical thing I could think of: ran for a teacher. There was one near the doors, whose name I called out, and he turned and asked what was wrong. I simply pointed towards the crowd and he was on the way over.

‘Excuse me,’ he said loudly as we approached. The little boy on the bench and all the older kids looked over. I wondered what was going to happen now. ‘What is going on over here?’

The kids were looking at me, and so was the boy. I didn’t mind, though. Even at nine years old, attention didn’t bother me. One of the kids began to mumble something, and I piped up. ‘They stole his glasses!’

The little boy had stopped blarting now, and just looked at me silently. The teacher was talking to the elder kids, who began to grumble; after the girl handed back the glasses, she was given detention, and told to scurry off. I was watching as the teacher sat at the bench, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He got up after a moment and walked away, and I approached the bench. ‘Is it alright if I sit with you?’

The boy nodded, looking down at his glasses. ‘They broke them.’

He looked sad, and I’ve never been particularly good at cheering people up. ‘Oh no. Can you mend them?’ I noticed the arm was bent, and watched as he fiddled with it.

‘I don’t know. I have to ask my dad. Thanks for making the kids go away.’

We were pretty much just staring at each other. ‘It’s alright. My name’s Adam.’

He looked up as a car parked by the island in front of the school. As a man got out, he turned back to me. ‘I’m Finn. That’s my dad.’

The man approached and smiled at us both. ‘Hey, time to go, bubba,’ he said to the kid, who stood and began to follow. As they headed towards the car, he turned back and waved at me, and then disappeared round the corner.