summary: in which connor skips school

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School started late in August. And to Connor's disappointment and horror, the printer incident was still not forgotten. Even though the jokes and taunts were often reused by the students, it didn't make them any less stinging. It took all his willpower not to punch someone in the face, but he knew it wouldn't help him at all, especially when he was the smallest in the class.

However, while school felt like an exhausting marathon he had to run every morning, there was a small reprieve—Mrs. G didn't teach any class higher than the 2ndgrade, which meant the Connor never needed to see her again. At least, he hoped so.

Additionally, he liked his new English teacher. Miss Benson was tall and had short brown hair in a pixie cut (he didn't know what a pixie cut was, but that was what Cynthia had called it when he described it, so he supposed it was the opposite of hippie hair, which was long), and she always came to class with a smile. Her lessons were never boring, and Connor thought that the best thing about her was that she didn't look at him like he was a concern or a threat, or as if he may throw another printer in class.

During roll call on the first day back, all the other teachers had given him a pointed look when they called his name, a few of the meaner classmates laughed, and he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear forever; instead, he meekly answered "here". But Miss Benson didn't do that, she wasn't like the other teachers. She smiled at every student as she read their name off the list, and her expression didn't change when she got to Connor.

When he had to read aloud in class—which terrified him because everyone was staring at him and probably waiting for him to mess up so they could tease him—she always encouraged him by saying, "Connor, you have a really nice voice, and your reading is very fluent, just remember to be a little louder next time so everyone can appreciate it better, alright?" And when he read a little louder, she would beam proudly and give him a thumbs-up, and it made him feel as happy as he felt when he finally got a difficult step right in dance class.

Of course, it was just Connor's luck that less than three weeks later, Miss Benson was sick from the flu, and there was a substitute teacher he had never seen before. But while he had never seen her before, she must have been told about him, because at the start of class she said, "I trust that I won't have to deal with any trouble from you today." He'd wanted to vehemently protest, and say that the printer was a one-off incident, and just because he made a mistake it didn't mean that he was going to repeat it. But he knew that if he spoke up, she would just scold him for causing trouble, so he settled for scowling at her instead. For a moment, she looked as if she was about to scowl back, but instead she continued reading off the other student's name.

When it was his turn to read, she impatiently snapped at him after he'd read the first sentence. "Connor, if you don't speak up, nobody's going to be able to hear you and you're just wasting our time." He'd tried his best to read a little louder afterwards, but tears that threatened to spring up made it difficult to do so, and the words seemed to catch in his throat.

He spent the rest of the lesson thinking about how much he hated the stupid school, and all the stupid teachers, and all of his stupid classmates.

The following morning, he woke up with a determination not to go to school. He lay in bed until Cynthia came into his room and informed him that he was going to be late.

Good.

He wanted to be late. Maybe if he was late enough his parents would say "nevermind" and let him stay at home, at least for today.

He dawdled while brushing his teeth and washing his face, before making sure he was extra slow walking down the stairs and into the dining room.

Cynthia shot him a concerned look. "Connor, you better hurry, we need to leave in ten minutes."

Good.

He was going to be late.

Zoe had already cleared her plate while Connor was still picking at his buttered toast.

"Connor," Cynthia warned. "We're leaving in two minutes, either hurry up and finish your food, or clear your plate now."

Connor put his bread down. "I don't want to go to school," he announced.

She frowned. "What do you mean by you're not going to school?"

"I'm not going."

"There's nothing wrong with you today, you have to go."

"No." Connor coolly replied, slowly taking another bite of toast.

When he looked up again, Cynthia had her arms folded, and was looking down at him sternly. "I'm not saying it again, Connor."

"No."

She sighed in exasperation and turned to Larry, who was engrossed in the morning papers. "Can you please deal with him. I need to get Zoe to school before she is late, too."

For a split second, Connor was about to celebrate his victory when Larry folded up the newspaper and grunted. "I'll drop him off on the way to work."

Crap.

No.

This wasn't how it should work. This wasn't the plan.

"But I don't want to go to school!" he protested loudly as Cynthia gave Larry a peck on the lips and hustled Zoe out of the door.

"You have to go to school, Connor."

"No!"

"Connor."

"You can't make me," Connor declared, folding his arms and trying to look as obstinate as possible.

Larry looked him up and down. "I'll give you a choice: get dressed and get your bag now, or I'll put you in the car and drop you off still in your pajamas."

Connor stood, rooted to the spot for a while and weighing his options before letting out a growl of frustration and stomping upstairs. He changed and picked up his bag, dragging it behind him by the straps and letting it thump down the stairs.

Larry was holding his briefcase in one hand and his car keys in the other. "Come on," he said a little impatiently. "I'm going to be late."

By the time they had pulled out of the driveway, Connor had made up his mind that he was going to skip school; he was not going to set foot in that building today.

In his rush to get to work on time, Larry had dropped him off at the school gates and drove off almost immediately.

Even better.

School had already started and there wasn't anybody near the entrance. There was no way Connor was going to walk into class late, and so, he glanced around to double-check there was no one who might notice him, and started down the path that lead back towards his house.

The school was about a fifteen-minute drive from his house, but he knew it was still within walking distance, because Cynthia had said the path was a shortcut, and the road to school took a slight detour. It was easy-peasy.

There was a playground halfway along the path, and Connor couldn't wait to have the whole place to himself while everyone was still stuck in the classroom.

It took him nearly thirty minutes to reach the playground, and he sat on the swing for a few moments to catch his breath. For the next hour and a half, Connor relished every second of being the only child at the playground—it wasn't filled with children screaming loudly, he could swing for as long as he liked, and he didn't need to wait his turn for the slide.

He only wished that Zoe was with him, like the time both of them skipped Sunday School and played on the church playground. Everything was more fun with Zoe, she always had fun ideas for the two of them to play together. When she wasn't around, he felt a little lonelier, because he had no one to talk to or share jokes with.

After he was spent from climbing the jungle gym, he sat down on a bench to eat the sandwich and fruits Cynthia had packed for lunch. She had been packing a lot of fruits for their school lunches lately, after several other moms had mentioned they were doing that. Connor didn't mind though, he liked fruits and they were better than vegetables. Especially oranges, they were his favorites.

A few bold pigeons approached him, and he sprinkled a few bread crumbs at his feet for them to nibble on. He pulled a book out from his bag to read as he ate, vaguely wondering what his classmates were doing now. Glancing at his watch, he noted it would be lunchtime at school too, and returned to his book.

He as engrossed in the story when a familiar bark jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Skywalker?"

A blur of black fur, and the next thing he knew, Skywalker was licking his face and wagging her tail.

"Skywalker! What are you doing—"

He froze.

When he looked up, his mother was standing in front of him, her expression unreadable.

"Connor Lawrence Murphy, why aren't you in school?"

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uh oh!

anyway,
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