How to be a Good Kid

By Katie Coleman

 

Remember it is not your fault if, for the fourth time this week, your mother oversleeps, and leaves you to make your way to High School on an empty stomach. Arriving late is not your fault, but what happens afterwards is. Do not crash through the classroom door, while the other kids are sitting at tables poring over dictionaries, writing letters to Ernest Shackleton. Having missed the start of the lesson, you won’t know who Shackleton is or what his ship The Endurance represents. You won’t know about the struggle and determination the team possessed. Don’t try to make up for it by giving your teacher a high-five or a hug. Wait in the reading corner without rattling or fiddling or making weird noises.

And when the other kids load History.com on their devices, don’t drag your gaming laptop from your backpack and show your classmates how your keyboard performs a laser show. Don’t attach an external keyboard that goes click-click-clickety-click and makes the other students lean over. On no account should you connect to wifi with last night’s Mortal Kombat fully loaded, and play the soundtrack, even if one boy cheers and the others provide you with the attention you crave. Clutch and curl your hands while you attempt to fight the thickness in your throat.

If a kid passes your table and under his breath says ‘What a dick,’ and breathes fumes on your as if from an exhaust pipe, don't turn the table over, and yell ‘What’d you say?’ grabbing him by the sweater, scrunching it in your fists and tearing into him until you notice his acne pustules erupting. Do not dump him and run like a driver without a license after an accident, your bag bumping against your back when the teacher shouts your name.

Do not sprint along the hall, even if the route’s clear, even if running helps you feel in control. Do not hotfoot it past the Science block and shimmy up the pole connected to the covered walkway, then perch on the roof inhaling the mulchy scent of dirt and wet leaves decomposing in the gutter. Try scratching the clots of mud embedded in the tread of your trainers with a twig or fingernail.

Don’t shrug when the counsellor asks you to come down safely and walk with her to her room, which she calls The Haven. Don’t roll back in your chair when she says it's up to you whether or not you choose to talk about your loss. Don’t block the memories of your father, before the accident. Consider telling her about Saturday morning football training sessions, picture him standing on the sidelines with a flask, cheering you on. Don’t panic if you hear his voice telling you to get up, and not worry. Swallow hard when the counsellor says she sees the ticking timebomb you’re carrying inside. Let your eyes water and when she says you’re a good kid, believe her.

 

Note: This is a reprint and the story first appeared at Bright Flash Literary Review.

 

Katie Coleman is a British writer living in Thailand. Her work has appeared in Roi Faineant Press, Ghost Parachute, The Sunlight Press, SoFloPoJo, Bending Genres, Briefly Zine, The Odd Magazine, Ilanot Review and more. She has received nominations for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes.