“But I want the boys to like me,” you moaned extravagantly. You rolled onto your back and arranged Spooky so that she was stretched lengthwise on your stomach and chest. Her yellow eyes studied you as her whiskers twitched. The animal was so docile in your arms, as if the two of you communicated in your own language.
“I want Carter to like me. He’s the meanest of them all.”
“Is he mean to you?” I asked, careful to keep my displeasure out of my voice.
“Oh, yes,” you said with a trill of excitement. “He pushes me and calls me names and one time, he sat on top of me until I could barely breathe.” Your hands clasped around your throat in mock strangulation.
“Did he really?” My temper flared as blood rushed to my fingertips and thundered in my ears.
“I scratched him.” You made your hand into a claw and pretended to swipe me. “We had to go to the peace chairs for a loooong time.”
I studied your face, but it was difficult to read your emotions with the sunglasses obscuring your eyes.
“Does Papa know about Carter?” Xavier had said nothing of it to me.
“Yeah, he knows,” you said nonchalantly while scratching Spooky behind her ears. “I wanted to bite him so bad.” You bared your teeth again, and the cat mimicked your expression, revealing its pointy little fangs.
“You will not bite him, Vincent.” I was tempted to whisper a seduction to bind it.
“I know that,” you said petulantly and glared at me.
“Have you tried telling Carter how his behavior makes you feel?”
“What?” you asked, scowling. “Boys don’t talk about feelings. We fight.” You balled your little fists. The cat atop your stomach only rolled a little to make room for your reach.
“I’m a boy, and I talk about my feelings.”
“You’re not a boy. You’re a grown-up. Doesn’t count.”
I wasn’t going to win this argument; eight-year-old logic was infallible.
“Does this mean you’re a boy again?” I asked, attempting another line of reasoning.
Your arms collapsed around Spooky, stroking her. She arched her back and stretched her claws but didn’t attach them to your person. “Daddy told me I can’t come back inside until I stop playing cat.”
“Daddy doesn’t speak cat.”
“S’not hard.” You lifted your sunglasses to squint at me. “You understand it, don’t you?”
I didn’t speak cat, but I could read your mood as if it were my own. I assumed that was what you meant. “I understand a little. How about you play boy for Daddy and Papa? But when you’re with me, you can play cat?”
“Ohhh-kaaay, fine,” you said dramatically.
We sat there a while longer. Your cats stood guard—or rather laid guard—and I contemplated this situation with Carter. Before departing that day, I convinced Xavier to let me transport you to and from school that week. I could delay my next job for a few days.
During my surveillance of your interactions with Carter, I witnessed several disagreeable behaviors that verified your assessment of the boy’s character. Whenever you attempted to join their pack on the playground, he insisted you leave, using his size to intimidate you and at one point, shoving you away so hard that you fell backwards onto the concrete. It wasn’t the playful wrestling of boys in competition but a savage dismissal. The sag of your shoulders hurt my heart and stirred my lust for vengeance.
Then one morning when you were by yourself on the swings, but before his friends had arrived, Carter came over and sought your company. The two of you carried on a civil conversation, and the boy even chuckled in response to something you said. It was bewildering.
Later that afternoon when I picked you up from school, your lower lip was fat because he’d struck you.
I asked you to wait for me in the car.
“Are you going to talk to him?” you asked with a look of trepidation.
I nodded, forcing myself to remain calm.
“You shouldn’t, Henri. I put him in a bad mood.”
“It’s okay, Vincent. This will only take a minute, and then we’ll go get some ice cream.”
I found the young brute on the basketball court, surrounded by his peers. I came from behind and snatched the ball out of his hands as he was lifting it to shoot. He spun around, sweating from exertion, his face flush so that his freckles stood out amongst the thrush of color. I didn’t feed on children, but that didn’t mean their scent wasn’t just as alluring. I could only imagine how he tempted you, like a cooked ham. The knuckles on one of his hands were bandaged, likely the ones that had struck you. His school uniform appeared a size too small, as though he’d recently had a growth spurt, and from what I’d observed, he seemed quite comfortable using his size to intimidate others.
“Hello, Carter, I’d like to introduce myself.” I held out my hand. “My name is Henri. I’m a friend of Vincent’s. Do you know him?”
The boy nodded, moon-eyed. His friends all stepped backward, abandoning their leader. Carter’s heart rate spiked, and his sweating intensified, now flavored with fear.
“He’s… he’s in my class, but I don’t really know him.”
“Vincent is very special to me, as I’d imagine Rocky is special to you.” The boy’s eyes flared at my knowledge of his beloved pet. It hadn’t been difficult to obtain the information—you’d offered that and several other tidbits quite readily. “How would you feel if someone were to harm Rocky?”
“I… I wouldn’t like it.”
It seemed I wouldn’t need to go into any more detail than that. The boy was practically vibrating in terror.
“I wouldn’t like it either. And when I see you treat my friend Vincent poorly, it makes me so…” I paused, allowing the suspense to build. “Deeply upset.”
“I didn’t mean to hit him.” The boy swallowed. The vein in his neck throbbed with a strong, vibrant pulse. “I won’t do it again.”
I looked him over grimly, letting him think I might be debating whether or not I might exact retribution.
“I want you to do even better, Carter. I want you to invite Vincent to sit with you and your friends at lunch.”
The boy nodded eagerly. “Tomorrow. Or, Monday. Every day next week if he wants.”
“And I want you to apologize.”
Carter’s response was enthusiastic. “I will. I promise.”
I handed him back his ball and glowered at the other boys on the court. I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest moment, terrorizing school children, but it was in everyone’s best interest for Carter to treat you with respect.
When I rejoined you at the car, you only glanced at me sideways with a surreptitious look. “Was he mean to you?”
I shook my head. “I think he’s going to be a lot nicer to you from now on.”
During our car ride home, you wouldn’t stop fidgeting. I asked if you needed to use the restroom, and in an outpouring of emotion, you confessed to me that you’d teased Carter until he’d hit you.
I pulled over and laid a comforting hand on your shoulder because you were trembling. “Why would you do that, Vincent?”