Page 63 of The F*ck-It List

I wait as he stares back at me kind of blankly between fleeting emotions, his throat works on a swallow, and he looks down to the table with a frown. “Everyone knows I did it,” he says quietly.

“I don’t,” I tell him.

He puts his book on the table and fiddles with the already frayed corners. “It’s what everyone believes so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“It matters to me, Connor,” I say sincerely.

He huffs out a long sigh and brings his eyes back up to meet mine with resignation. “I didn’t do it.”

I nod because I’d already decided that was true before he admitted as much. “Why didn’t you tell August when he marched you in here?”

He shrugs. “He’d made up his mind; I wouldn’t have changed it.”

I want to hug this boy but I'm not sure he wants that right no, so I plant my hands palm to palm between my knees to stop from reaching out. “Your uncle loves you a lot, you know?” I say. “As soon as you left that day, he told me you were a good kid, he was singing your praises despite what he thought you’d done. If you just toldhim—”

“It wouldn’t make any difference,” he says a little more firmly. “I fuck up all the time, it’s exactly the kind of shit I’d do, so he wouldn’t believe me if I said it wasn’t me.”

“Is it?” I ask with a frown. “Do you do that all the time? Criminal damage? Trespassing?”

He shrugs again, not committing to a response. “Don’t tell him.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they’ll all think I’m just trying to weasel out of helping you or something, and they won’t believe you. They’ll say I’m just trying it on because you don’t know me that well.” His face is trying so hard to seem not bothered, but I see the hurt rising with each of his words, like he truly believes his family think so little of him. But I don’t think they do. I know August adores him; he talks about him a lot. I know Joanie loves him from the way she beams every times she’s come into the café and sees him working behind the counter. Eli is the fun uncle who seems to bring Connor treats and gifts every time they meet. His grandparents tease about his behaviour but their affection is clear.

“Connor—”

“Please, BB,” he says softly, his large, light brown eyes begging and innocent, I can’t possibly betray him.

“Well, what are we going to do, Con? I can’t have you working for me for free when you haven’t done anything wrong. It feels too child-laboury.”

Panic flares in his pupils. “We-we could call it an unpaid internship, o-or I’ll actually break in and damage your shit. Don’t fire me, please.”

I try to contain my amusement. “Or, you know, I could justpay you.”

He jerks a little in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, Connor, I think I can manage that.” I smile at him, and he grins back.

“And you won’t tell my mum?”

“No,” I say carefully. “But I'm not a liar. So, if anyone outright asks me if I’m paying you, I will say as much.”

“Okay,” he says with a nod.

I reach across the table and extend my hand; he takes it with a firm shake. “Welcome onboard, kid.”

twenty

No. 9: Beat my anxiety

August

“Put that over there, would you?” I point to the corner of my little patch for the village fete so Connor can put down the chair he’s carrying.

“A please would be nice,” he grumbles, giving me a pointed stare that looks so much like Joanie, I nearly smile.

“What, Bea been teaching you some manners with all those recipes, has she?” I arch a brow at him and he just grins.