“You’re not even going to punish me?” “What would be the point, Con?” his father said, shaking his head.
“What could possibly be the point?”
Conor hadn’t heard a word of his lessons in school,
but the teachers hadn’t told him off for his inattentiveness, skipping over him when they asked questions to the class.
Mrs Marl didn’t even make him hand in his Life Writing homework, even though it was due that day.
Conor hadn’t written a single sentence. Not that it seemed to matter.
His classmates kept their distance from him, too, like he was giving off a bad smell.
He tried to remember if he’d talked to any of them since he’d arrived this morning. He didn’t think he had.
Which meant he hadn’t actually spoken to anyone since his father that morning.
How could something like that happen? But, finally, here was Harry. And that, at least, felt normal.
“Conor O’Malley,” Harry said, stopping a pace away from him. Sully and Anton hung back, sniggering.
Conor stood up from the wall, dropping his hands to his sides, preparing himself for wherever the punch might fall.
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