I suppose I'd been putting off Kevin's schooling, thanks to his disruptive behaviour, but I wanted his silence to end, and I knew the kid was bright. I actually thought everyone would bully Kevin-his emaciated little frame, peaky face, huge glasses magnifying staring eyes, and his tendency to wear black, the same knitwear even in the summer. (Come to think of it, Kevin was desperately private, we were never to see him on the toilet or bathing, but I never discussed 'body issues' with him) but the children actually scattered when Kevin walked into the yard. I suppose a child with woman's length pointed nails WAS intimidating, but Kevin would never, ever let me cut them. He looked at me, wordlessly, not in a 'look mummy, I have no friends, the other children don't like me and this makes me sad' way, but just in his cold, silent way.
Kevin was settled into his duck-patterned classroom, but I was called in the middle of the day.
"Mrs. Miller, I think you should come in. You need to take a look at this."
Kevin's teacher, Miss Blake, had a lot to say. And a lot to show. The first was a pile of drawings, twenty-two to be precise. They were fat crayon swirls from Kevin-black, over and over again, with the odd highlights on some; red, purple, dark brown.
"These drawings are typically the work of troubled children, Mrs. Miller. These devoid, heartless drawings, whilst the other children draw animals and cottages and cartoon characters."
I squirmed thinking of Kevin's favourite 'characters', ninjas and cowboys, pirates and mobsters.
"Kevin is missing nothing. We have a large house in the glades, with lots of toys and a swing and.."
"This can't be judged on material wealth, Mrs. Miller," Miss Blake said pityingly. "This is just a troubled little boy we're dealing with."
I scoffed. "I know Kevin is a handful, but I hardly think he's troubled, I…"
I was cut off as she lifted something from the box behind her. It was a little girl's ponytail.