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„What's on your face?“ Ian asks, standing in front of a blackhaired boy who's sitting in the dirt, leaned against a tree.
There are four wounds, in the shape of little squares spread across his temple, the skin surrounding it clothed in different shades of blue and black. He doesn't respond, but his hand instinctively raises up to his head, as if to check if the stitched up gashes are still there.
„Does that hurt? Because it looks like it does!“ The expression of the boy becomes mocking almost automatically, as he huffs and wets his lips with his tongue.
„No, course it doesn't hurt. Who do you think I am? Some weak bitch?“ Ian shrugs.
„I guess you're not!“ The boy nods. „Damn right!“
Nobody talks for a while, but Ian sits down oppossite to the boy. He isn't sure if he has ever seen him around in the neighborhood, but he definitely hasn't seen him here in school before, which is weird because yesterday was the first day of first grade and who misses that?
„Are you starting first grade like I am?“ Ian asks, painting patterns into the dirt with a brittle twig.
The boy rolls his eyes, but nods.
„Then where were you yesterday?“
The boy regards him as if he's missing some very obvious point and, when Ian still doesn't get it, points to his head.
„Hospital.“ Right. The strange bruise...
„Oh.“
Silence.
„I'm Ian, by the way,“ the other kids nods halfheartedly and spits into the dirt.
„Mickey Milkovich.“ He spits out his last name and waits for Ians reaction.
He doesn't see the usual feelings that spook across people's faces when they hear the word Milkovich. No anger, no disgust, no fear.
Ian doesn't seem to mind at all.
„Hi, Mickey. So where did you get the bluespots?“ The boy sighs extendedly and turns his back to Ian. He doesn't mind. It only makes him scoot a little closer.
He can smell smoke and alcohol on him, the smell surrounds him like a cloud. While other people probably would, Ian doesn't think he smells bad.
It reminds him of his sister's smell when she comes into his room every evening and places and little goodnight kiss on his forehead. It smells like his brother after he's been in the van in the garden, smoking furtively so their sister won't find out. It smells like his whole house.
Ian waits. He's not entirely sure if he's going to get an answer, but it's lunch break and he doesn't have lunch or anything else to do.
„It's from brass knuckles.“ Ian furrowes his brows. „But why?“
Mickey turns around and punishes the redheaded boy with a hostile glare.
„My dad got them for his birthday and he needed to try them out somewhere. Now will you stop the fucking interrogation?“ He sounds like it seems so logical to him, that the only option for the trial run was his own face.
„Shit,“ Ian swears, trying to adjust to Mickeys manner of speaking „that sucks.“
Mickey snuffles and rubs his bottom lip with his thumb.
„Better me than Mandy.“ It's nothing more than a whisper and Ian has a hard time understanding the muffled words coming out of the boys mouth.
„What was that?“ - „Nothing.“
As he pushes his spikey hair into place, Ian can make out a few letters on Mickeys hands. The boy notices what his eyes are glued to and a grin spreads on his face as he joins his fists together to show off the writing underneath his knuckles.
„Cool, huh?“ Ian smiles lightly and looks at the letters for a while, then shrugs helplessly.
„I can't read yet. What does it say?“ Mickey laughs.
„Me meither. But it says Megatron. The transformer!“ Ian rolls his eyes. He knows that. Ever since his neighbor Kev had brought over the pirated DVD, he and Lip haven't stopped watching it.
„So is it real?“ Mickeys smile fades a bit.
„No, mom says I have to wait until I'm fourteen. My brother writes it for me with sharpie sometimes, when I help distract the dude at the kiosk so he can steal cigarettes.“
„Cool.“ - „I know.“
The silence that follows gets broken when Ian's stomach growls loudly. He didn't get a chance to eat breakfast today and because Mom and Frank have run off with all the money, lunches are off the menu until further notice.
Mickey looks like he's fighting an inner battle, then he sighs, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a snickers bar.
„Here,“ he spits and tosses it at the redhead. Ians face lights up as he closes his finger around the rare treat.
„Thank you, Mickey. But what about you?“ He smiles so brightly, that the other boy almost smiles back. At the last moment, he manages to turn the smile into a yawn.
He reaches into his pocket again and pulls out another candy bar.
„Like I said,“ he explains „me and my brothers rob the kiosk sometimes.“
They eat in silence and the food, to Ian, feels like water to a starving man. The chocolate tastes so delicious, he can't help but let out an appreciative moan. Mickey laughs.
„Relax, dude. It's a fucking snickers bar.“ It is. But Ian hasn't had chocolate in a long time.
If they're lucky, Monica or Frank will leave them some money every now and then and when they do, Fiona goes to the store and buys healthy stuff, like vegetables, never something as delicious as a snickers bar.
The bell rings and everywhere in the schoolyard, kids pack up and run towards the building, Mickey stays seated.
Therefore, so does Ian.
„Are you not going back inside?“, he asks, when Mickey makes no move to stand up and follow the crowd.
The boy shakes his head.
„Nah. I'm gonna try and get out of here without anyone noticing. Gotta test your boundaries, right?“ Ian nods although he doesn't really understand what Mickey means by that.
Fiona says boundaries are to be respected and that they are important.
Thinking of Fiona reminds him. He should go to class. She would be furious if she found out he already skipped on his second day of first grade.
Reluctantly, Ian wipes his dirty hands on his jeans and gets on to his feet.
„Okay, I gotta go. My sister will kill me if I don't.“ He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. What an uncool thing to say. Mickey scoffs scornfully.
„Do what you gotta do.“
Ian hesitates before asking his next question. „Will you be here again, tomorrow?“
Mickey shrugs. „Dunno.“
The redhead deflates a bit and nods. „Alright, I guess I'll see you around then.“
He doesn't get an answer, but he doesn't mind.
Before he can reach his classroom, his brother Lip pulls him aside, his backpack loosely over one shoulder.
„Who was that you were hanging out with at lunch?“ Ian shrugs.
„His name is Mickey, why?“ Lip shakes his head. „Yeah, that's what I thought. Listen, Ian. Don't get mixed up with the Milkoviches. You'll either end up dead or one of them and I don't know which is worse. Stay away from him, alright?“ Yeah, right.
„I don't think he's as bad as everybody thinks.“ He had seen earlier how the other kids had looked at Mickey, but like him, he had pretended not to notice.
Lip shrugs.
„You don't wanna test that theory, Ian.“ With a light shove and a halfsmile, he says goodbye and walks away towards his own class room.
The next day, when the bell rings for lunch and Ian runs outside towards the tree, Mickey's already sitting there, a smirk on his face, diferent letters on his fingers and a bag of Candy and Chocolate lying in the dirt next to him.