Oliver didn't know what was wrong with him. He only knew that he was different, and that his "difference" made his father furious. Oli strained to block out the noise of his parents fighting as he looked himself over in the mirror, hoping to discern the qualities that caused his father's disdain. His cheeks were a bit too round, a bit too pink, but that was normal in a boy of 9. He expected they'd hallow out a bit by 13. He sucked them in for effect. He did look rather dashing like that... maybe his dads would like it better if he kept his cheeks tucked in. Or maybe it was his clothes? "HE'S YOUR BLOODY SON, YOU CALL MS. KITSINGER." The sound of his fathers screams made Oliver's ears ring and he clamped his hands over them. Ms. Kitsinger? What was she to do with this? Oli frowned as he slowly removed his hands from his ears. The kitchen was silent now, the sounds of arguing gone. Did that mean his dad was as well? Oliver crossed to his door and inched it open. He couldn't see anyone, but he heard something now. A soft, sad noise. Between a crying child and a cooing dove. For some reason, that noise scared Oliver. "Mum?" He whispered.
The noise stopped. "Yes Oli?" His mothers voice sounded hoarse and watery. Oliver ran into the kitchen and climbed up on his mum's lap. "Mum, I'm scared." Oliver whispered into her chest. "Dad's never done that before. What made him so mad?" His mother scoffed softly and tightened her protective hold on him. "He's got no business being angry, pet. We just... we received a phone call from your teacher today. She said you'd done somethings sort of..." her voice went funny, "... odd." Oliver pouted. What had he done that was any different from other days? He ran through his actions in his head. He'd played with Julie all morning, setting up a salon for her Barbies. That was fair. Yesterday they had played with his Avengers Action Figures. Then he had gone to classes, where he thought he acted a model student. There was the small incident in lunch, and then another in recess, but those were minor things, nothing to be concerned about, no matter the fuss they made at school. He turned his large brown eyes up to his mother, and he silently asked for an explanation.
His mother sighed in response. "Well Oli, Ms. Kitsinger said that you've been having some... trouble... with the No Touching Rule. Regarding a student named... Jeremy." Her voice was funny again.
Oli frowned for the umpteenth time that day. His face was starting to hurt. "But I only kissed him mum. He kissed me back you know. I've seen you and dad do it." His mother smiled at him, but her expression was off. It was sweet, yes. Loving, of course. But it was also sad. Pitying. Like she, in her infinite wisdom, knew exactly what her son would face, but she couldn't even begin to sympathize with it.
The next day Oli's parents fought again, and then again the next day, and every day for a week after. One day Oliver's dad left and didn't return. His mum cried for a few weeks, but mostly when Oliver was at school or asleep. Jeremy moved schools, and the ordeal wasn't talked about any longer. But no one forgot. A few years later on the 1st of September, Oliver and his mum left the house and drove into London. Inside King's Cross Station they said goodbye, and Oliver boarded a scarlet steam engine, with his mother watching on the platform with a mixture of pride, jealousy, and wariness. "Stay out of trouble." She had whispered as she gave him a last hug. "Come on, mum. You know me." He replied with a devilish grin. He had been joking then. As he boarded the train now, a first year with no where to sit, and as the compartment door next to him slid open to reveal another first year, his whole head on fire from his scarlet hair and vicious blush, and as this new first year invited him to sit with him in his carriage, Oliver knew just how hard staying out of trouble would be.