Creeps by Darren Hynes Page A

broom and gone outside herself, she said, if not for being seventy-odd.”
    â€¦ and no old ladies staring out of windows and soggy turkey sandwiches and cancer-causing Crunchits and small bladders and snotty noses and tears and places to always have to fit into—
    â€œWayne?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhy were you throwing your pants in the hamper?”
    Silence.
    A hand gripping his ankle and squeezing and his father saying, “Who were they?”
    â€œThat lady’s blind.”
    â€œTurn around, Wayne.”
    â€œLet me sleep.”
    â€œI said turn around — Ouch!” His dad covers his cheek. “Don’t make me yell.”
    Wayne turns, finds a place beyond his father’s shoulder to set his eyes.
    His father rests his elbows on his knees. Interlaces his fingers. When he speaks again his voice is calmer.“A scuffle every now and then is to be expected. But what happened to you is something else.”
    A long silence.
    â€œThey hurt you?” his dad says.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSpeak up.”
    â€œNo, I said.”
    Wayne looks away from the wall and down at his father’s hands and notices blood pooling at their fingertips. His father says, “How long’s it been going on?”
    Wayne shrugs.
    â€œGive me names.”
    Wayne won’t.
    â€œYou’re not a tattle and that’s good, but sometimes it isn’t, so tell me who they are or would you rather I went to the school myself?”
    â€œNo, don’t!”
    â€œThen tell me.”
    Wayne goes to speak, but doesn’t, so his father gets up and goes to the door and grips the knob and says over his shoulder, “Drive on over now, perhaps—”
    â€œPete The Meat.”
    His dad turns around. “What?”
    â€œPete The Meat.”
    â€œWhat kinda name is that?”
    â€œIt’s because he’s got veins in his biceps and canmake his chest muscles move without touching them.”
    His father pauses. “He have a last name?”
    â€œMoved here three years ago and he had a tough start and has a second father and he struck a teacher once.”
    â€œWayne.”
    â€œAvery. His last name’s Avery.”
    â€œOkay. Who else?”
    â€œNo one.”
    â€œ Who? I said.”
    â€œHarvey and Bobby and Kenny, but they only do it ’cause Pete makes them.”
    His father goes quiet for a moment, then says, “Where’s he live, this Pete The Meat?”
    â€œWhy do you want to know?”
    â€œJust answer me.”
    â€œI don’t know and I wish now I never told you anything.”
    â€œGet up.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re no sicker than I am and I think we’ll pay Pete’s parents a visit.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œOr we’ll go see the principal. Your choice.”
    â€œYou’ll make it worse.”
    â€œLet’s go.”
    â€œHis parents are working.”
    â€œI’ll take my chances.”
    â€œI don’t know where he lives, I already told you.”
    â€œI think you do, Wayne. Now get your jacket.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWayne!”
    â€œI’m weak like a girl already!”
    â€œWhat—”
    â€œAnd I eat yellow snow and if you go to Pete’s I’ll be the one who needs his dad to fight his battles too, and I’ve always come second to you before so why can’t we just keep it that way!”
    His dad opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out and he tries to leave but can’t seem to get the door open, so he faces Wayne instead and for the longest time doesn’t speak, but then finally he says, “No point crying.”
    Wayne wipes his eyes. “I’m not.” For a moment he thinks his father might come over and sit on the bed again, but his dad steps back instead, letting the door take his weight, and puts his hands in his pockets and stares down at his wool socks. After a while he goes,