{Pete}

Pete could see his son pacing on the school steps as soon as he turned into the parking lot. Jon came towards the car and swung inside before Pete could get out.

"I signed out sick." Jon said. His face was a thunderhead--Pete registered the smell of cigarettes.

"Are you sick?"

"I had a nosebleed." Jon plucked his shirt. There was blood on the front. "I need to change."

"Okay." Pete pulled away from the curb, anger prickling his skin. It was like this a lot now with Jon: anger and fear and love all mixed up and lodged so deep they hurt. "I got a call from Rob Klassen before I left. He said you and Cary were involved in a fight this morning, and Cary threatened his son with a knife. Is that true?"

"Did he mention the part where Todd gave me a bloody nose and crammed me into a locker?"

Pete's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "No, he didn't." They were at a red light. Pete looked over at his son. Jon had his fists clenched and his arms crossed. His face was turned away but Pete could hear from his breathing that he was crying.

Father have mercy, Pete prayed, taking a breath. I don't know what to do here.

That moment made it possible to speak without anger. "Have you had lunch yet?"

Jon slapped tears out of his eyes. "I couldn't eat."

"Let's get a burger." 

///

Pete ordered for them both. Jon stared up at the Dairy Queen menu boards with his arms tightly crossed, not speaking. Pete eyed the skull on the back of Jon's hooded sweatshirt as they made their way to a table. The Jon he knew was still inside that sweater, right? How was it possible that a few months could have changed his son beyond recognition?

At the table Jon picked at his food, putting his eyes on his fries or the kids coming in the door—anywhere but Pete's face.

"Jon, can you start from the beginning?"

Jon shot him a look. His eyes were red-rimmed and his freckles stood out on his white face.

"What happened today?" Pete asked.

"It was my fault." Jon's fingers tore one of his fries into smaller and smaller pieces. "Cary was fighting Todd because I wouldn't. Because Todd wouldn't leave me alone."

Pete tried to catch his eyes. "Todd has been bullying you?"

Jon nodded. "Him and his friends. Since we moved."

Pete's mouth opened but for a moment no sound came out. "Jon—why didn't you tell us?"

Jon made himself small inside his sweater. "I didn't want to stress you out. I wanted you and Mom to be happy and to think that I was happy."

Pete sat back, angry with himself. He should have known this was more than a rough transition to a new school. He should have seen something was really wrong. As he asked the calm questions he used when he counselled people in his office at the church, anger churned away in his gut. "Was Todd just calling you names, or has he been physically hurting you?"

"Both." Jon didn't look at his dad. The bruise above his eyebrow looked green in the bright restaurant lighting. "He stuck me in a locker today. Hit me a bunch. Called me...a fag." The word pressed to a whisper.

The pieces snapped together for Pete. The sick days. The time Jon came home with a black eye and said it happened in gym class. For a moment Pete's anger flared so white-hot he could have destroyed the who had done this to his son. It took all his strength to wrestle that anger into submission.

"Is that how the fight started?"

"No." Jon sheltered his face with his hands like the light was too bright above their table. "Cary wasn't there. He saw the blood after. I shouldn't have said anything. I don't know why he took it up except that he knew that I wouldn't." A shudder went through Jon's body and he went silent. When his voice finally came out, it was strained.

"We have LA class together—Cary and me, and Todd. That's how I lost my birthday money—Todd stole it after class a couple weeks ago. Today Todd started in like normal and Cary knocked him down. He punched him a couple times and let him go. Just to make a point. But Todd wouldn't give it up. He kept coming. So Cary pulled his knife. He just stood there holding it and Todd ran." There was a long silence. "That's it." Jon finished in a whisper.

Pete closed his eyes. He had prayed every day for good friends for Jon. This was so far from what he had in mind. He spoke without thinking, right out of his anger and fear. "Jon, Cary could be expelled."

"I know."

"The Klassen's could press charges; he could be arrested."

"I know!" Jon snapped, the tendons standing out on his neck. "That's why I'm telling you this—that's not what he should get for what he did. It wasn't his fight, it was my fight."

"It was his knife. Someone could have been really hurt."

Jon covered his face with his hands. Pete took a breath. This wasn't just anyone who had come to him for pastoral counselling; this was his only son. He held onto his awareness of Jesus' presence like a lifeline. "I have a meeting with your principal tomorrow morning."

Jon dropped his hands, clenched into fists. "You can tell her it wasn't Cary's fault."

"Jon, it's about you." Pete met his eyes, afraid he would see Jon lie. "Is there anything she's going to tell me that I haven't heard yet?"

"Like what?" Jon looked guarded.

"Have you been using drugs?"

Jon drew back. "No."

"Have you been around other kids while they were using drugs or dealing drugs?"

Jon frowned at him. "Dad, I haven't. Is Todd saying that about me?"

Pete lifted his hands, exasperated. "Jon, I can smell the cigarettes on you."

Jon fell silent, looking at him.

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

"No. I had one smoke. That's all. If you want to search my backpack, go ahead."

Pete searched his son's closed, angry face. He used to feel sorry for parents of kids like Cary. "I'm not going to search your backpack. I'm just... afraid for you. When we moved you left behind a really positive friend group. Now except for Cary, I don't know who you spend your time with."

Jon crossed his arms, glaring at the soft serve ice cream ad on the wall. "Except for Cary, there's no one I spend time with. Your youth group wouldn't give me the time of day if I was lying by the side of the road." He jabbed a finger at the bruise over his eye. "Okay? Literally. So I'm sorry if you're disappointed that I picked a friend who smokes and who's not a Christian, but there is no one I'd rather have at my back than Cary."

"Did Cary give you that cigarette?" Pete asked.

Jon didn't say anything. His mouth was a flat, miserable line.

Pete touched his thumb to the place on his index finger that had been stained yellow for years. He sighed.

"Jon, I'm not—disappointed that you're friends with someone who's not a Christian. I wasn't a Christian when I was your age." He could see from Jon's face that this had slipped his mind. "If I didn't have friends who were Christians—who were different than I was—I don't know where I'd be. But I hope you remember that you're different than Cary. You have a hope and a reason to live, and that attracts people to you. If you quit looking any different and your friends can't see Jesus through you, what kind of friend are you really to them?"

Pete realized he was preaching and shut up. Jon was jigging his knee up and down, focused deep inside himself. Something was wrong, out of joint and hurting him, and Pete was certain their conversation hadn't touched that part yet. He wished for a way to launch his words over Jon's defences so they could hit him right in the heart. But all he could do was say the thing he most wanted Jon to hear and hope it stuck.

"Jon, I love you. I don't want you to quit telling me things. I would rather know the crappy truth than have you lie to me."

"I told you the truth," Jon said. "Will you talk to my principal?"

Pete hesitated, hearing Rob Klassen screaming in his ear over the phone just half an hour ago.

"Please Dad." Jon's voice broke.

"Yes," Pete said. "I will."

"Thank you." Jon pressed his hand over his eyes before tears could fall. "This has been such a horrible year."

If Pete could have transfused joy and confidence back into Jon with his own blood he would have done it. "I wish things had been different for you."

Jon got up abruptly. "I guess it could be worse." He dumped his meal in the garbage. When he came back his face was closed and shadowed with something like shame. He waited with his arms crossed and his body turned aside. "I can't talk about this anymore. Thanks for lunch."  

*How do you feel about seeing Jon from his dad's point of view here? Usually we don't see inside the parent's perspective, but as a parent I found I couldn't write this story without giving the grown-ups something more than just a stereotypical presence in their kid's lives. Also, when Cary's father Conall is so frightening, Pete needs some serious depth to create a contrast between their characters. So I gave him extra time here for us to hopefully trust him as a good dad. Is it working for you?*

1659 words.