Kirby's Secret - Part 1
by Carrie Harris

It had been a terrible morning. Fourteen-year-old Kirby had woken late, and in the process had upset his mother. Upsetting Sarah was a bad idea, especially in the morning.

He reflected on the morning's events as he walked to school. Maybe he could have done things differently. Maybe if he hadn't said what he did, she wouldn't have hit him.
"I just need to learn to keep my mouth shut," he told himself angrily, his head hanging low as he scuffed his shoes along the footpath. "Mum's always right, so I should just obey her."

He kicked at a stone that lay in his path, and looked at his watch.
"Oh no," he groaned. It was eight twenty-five. He had five minutes to walk seven blocks, or he would get a late slip.

Kirby flipped his bag over his other shoulder, and started to run. The last thing he needed today would be a late slip. He would be kept after school, and Sarah would be even angrier than she was this morning.

Principal Donovan was waiting at the school gate when Kirby arrived, and he didn't look happy.

"Kirby Dane, do you realise that the bell rang ten minutes ago?" he asked firmly, and Kirby stared at the ground, saying nothing.

Principal Donovan took a step closer, and looked under the brim of Kirby's cap. His eyes softened when he saw the bruise forming around Kirby's left eye.

"Who hit you?" he asked softly, and Kirby looked away, still saying nothing. He was ashamed to admit that he was such a terrible son that his mother had to hit him.

The principal waited for a reply. When none came, he shook his head and held out his hand to give Kirby a late pass.

"Kirby, try to be on time tomorrow, please," he said softly, and walked away. Kirby stared at the piece of paper in his hand, and a tear of anger formed in his eye. He scrunched it into a ball, and walked slowly toward his class.

Miss Sweetly frowned at Kirby as he came in. She had just begun the maths lesson, and didn't like to be interrupted.

Kirby gave her the late slip, then went to his seat at the back of the room. His best friend, Sebastian, gave him an encouraging smile, then returned to his maths work.

Kirby pulled out his books and pencils, and looked up at the board. At least one thing was going right. The board was covered in multiplication problems, which Kirby found easy. He picked up his favourite pencil and began to write.

"So what'd she do to you today?" Sebastian asked quietly as they sat eating their lunch. He had a strange mix of bread, jam and cheese that turned Kirby's stomach.

"What makes you think it was her?" Kirby asked absently, biting into his vegemite sandwich.

Sebastian laughed.
"It's always her. You're too nice to get a black eye from a fight. Come on, what was it for this time?"

Kirby looked up sadly at his friend's tanned face.
"I made the bed. I didn't know she was going to wash today, or I wouldn't have. I got up late, so I thought I'd make up for it."

"Your Mum's crazy," Sebastian mumbled, his mouth full. "She hits you for nothing. Why do you put up with it?"

Kirby laughed sadly.
"Yeah? What can I do? She's my Mum, and my Dad couldn't care less if I was dead." He no longer felt like eating, so he put his sandwich back in his bag for later.

"Isn't there someone you can tell?" Sebastian asked, then yelped as a basket ball hit him hard on the shin. He picked it up and threw it back to the group playing on the asphalt, then turned to talk to Kirby again.

Kirby wasn't there. He had picked up his bag and walked to the library. His refuge was in books, where he could visit strange new places and never have to think about his life.

Miss Sweetly was in the library when Kirby came in. She looked carefully at him, and noticed the bruise for the first time. She had been watching him carefully for a while, because he always had more bruises than most boys his age.

She twisted a piece of her short blonde hair as she watched. She hoped that he would come near her so she could talk to him, but instead he went to the far end of the library.

That afternoon at 3 o'clock, Kirby sat in silence as his classmates noisily gathered their things together and hurried out of the building. Kirby wished that he could go with them; he knew what awaited him.

When the other students were gone, Miss Sweetly walked over to Kirby's desk.
"Why were you late this morning?" she asked, as she scribbled a signature on the late slip to verify he had stayed.

Kirby looked at his hands, unable to face the teacher.
"I guess I just messed around too much," he mumbled, and fought back the tears that threatened to fall.

Miss Sweetly couldn't see his eyes watering, because he had his face turned down. She could, however, see the slump in his shoulders. She had also noticed the defeated look he had worn since the start of the school year three weeks ago.

"Kirby, is everything okay at home?" she asked gently, and Kirby quickly wiped at the tear that had finally started to fall.

"Yeah. Everything's fine. Can I go?" he asked defiantly, but inside he was shaking. It was getting harder to hide the truth from the world.

Miss Sweetly sighed, and told him he could go. Kirby grabbed his bag and ran out of the building as fast as he could.

Susan Sweetly knocked on Principal Donovan's office door, even though it was open.

"Are you busy, Tom?" she asked, and he gestured for her to enter. She walked in and sat down.

"It's about Kirby Dane. I'm worried about him. He's always coming to school covered in bruises, which he tries to hide. He's becoming very withdrawn, and he often seems afraid."

Tom looked up from his paperwork and gave Sarah his full attention.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, his eyes full of concern. The children of the school believed him to be a monster, but the truth was he cared deeply about every child in his charge.

Miss Sweetly looked at him helplessly.
"I'm not sure. I never paid much attention until he came into my class, but he has shown signs of gradual withdrawal ever since the start of term."

The principal thought hard for a minute. Finally he looked at the young teacher.
"Leave it with me," he said softly, and Miss Sweetly stood up.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" she asked. The principal shook his head, so she headed quietly back to her classroom.

Kirby was shaking as he opened the front door of his house. As he had expected, Sarah was standing in the hallway waiting.

"Why are you late?" she demanded, and held up her hand. "No, don't tell me. You've been in trouble at school again. I can see it on your face!"

Before Kirby knew what was happening, Sarah lunged forward and grabbed him by the arm, twisting it violently. He heard a snapping noise coming from his wrist, and yelled in pain.

Sarah stopped and glared at him.
"Quit crying, or I'll give you something to cry about!" she shouted, and dragged him by the arm to his room.

"You stay in there and think about what you've done," she ordered, and slammed the door shut.

Kirby sat on his bed and held his wrist. Already it had started to swell, and it hurt to move it at all. Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"I can't do this any more," he sobbed, and made a crude bandage out of an old shirt. When he had wrapped his wrist the best he could, he curled up on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

A few hours later Kirby was woken by a knock at the door. It was his Dad, demanding that he get down to dinner or else.

Kirby put his left hand on the bed to prop himself up, and cried out in pain. Suddenly he remembered what had happened this afternoon, so he turned on the light and undid his shirt.

His wrist was badly swollen, and his hand was laying at a strange angle. Kirby groaned, and wrapped it back up again.

Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table by herself when Kirby came downstairs. She looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, honey. I don't mean to do those things to you. I'm just trying to teach you to be a better person," she said, and Kirby sat in his chair.

He put his hand on the table, and Sarah scowled at him.

"What is THAT?" she demanded. "Are you trying to make me feel guilty? I told you I was sorry!" she cried, and pulled the makeshift bandage off Kirby's wrist. Kirby screamed in pain.

When Sarah saw his swollen and disjointed wrist, the guilty look came over her face once more.
"Oh, honey. Did I do that? Quick, I'm going to get you to the hospital. If they ask, you fell down the stairs, okay?"

Kirby nodded. He was used to the routine.

A few hours later Kirby and Sarah arrived home. Kirby's arm was in plaster halfway to his elbow, and his arm was in a sling.

Kirby had noticed the suspicion in the doctor's eyes as he performed the examination, and had hoped against hope that he would challenge Sarah directly.

Unfortunately, when Sarah told her story of Kirby falling down the stairs, he had seemed to believe her. We don't even have stairs, Kirby thought miserably.

What neither saw was the report the doctor wrote, stating that Kirby's injuries were inconsistent with the story, and were more likely to be a result of parental abuse.

That night, when Sarah was asleep, Kirby got up to get a glass of water.

As he walked down the stairs, he noticed how quiet the house was. So quiet, in fact, that all he could hear was Sarah's snoring.

All of a sudden it occurred to him that he could sneak out of the house, and she wouldn't hear. He knew his Dad wouldn't be home for hours. Kirby's Dad always stayed out all night.

Without a thought as to how he would look after himself, Kirby climbed back up the stairs. He quickly changed into jeans and a shirt, put on his shoes, and went downstairs again.

Stopping only to make sure Sarah was still asleep, Kirby opened the front door and walked outside, closing the door quietly behind him.

He ran softly to the end of his street, and turned left. Without knowing exactly where he was heading, Kirby took a deep breath, and just walked …