Page 57 of What Boys Learn

I inhaled deeply, waiting for him to say more.

He glared at me. “You, on the other hand. I didn’t even know I had an uncle until I was, like, thirteen years old.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“And you take away mail that’s addressed to me. You can’t stop me from writing to him, you know.”

My face flushed hot. But finally, we were talking about it. We should have talked about it before, but there was nothing harder for me than saying Ewan’s name, and once we started, he’d be with us all the time—an outline of a person, filling in with details I wanted to forget. Becoming real. Becoming a threat.

“Haveyou written to him?”

He didn’t answer.

I suppressed a growl of frustration and I tried to remember what it felt like to be a teenager. The constant temptation to use any bit of control you had—to dissimulate, to hide things, to take perverse pride in the little power you had.

“I planned to tell you everything when you turned eighteen. Until then, he isn’t supposed to write to you.”

“It’s not a law. We’re family. You can’t be home every time the mail comes. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

He was right about that, because I’d tried. I’d even asked Robert, who explained that prisoners have lots of rights when it comes to mail, especially the outgoing kind. He told me I could make a special request to the warden, and I tried, but my letter got no reply. Correctional facilities were more concerned with monitoring incoming mail for contraband.

I walked to the foot of Benjamin’s bed. “Is he asking you to send him something?” My mind raced. “Ordosomething?”

When Benjamin still didn’t answer, my entire body flamed with rage. This was why my last visit with Ewan, in prison, was just before Benjamin was born. Ewan had been away for six years at that point. I didn’t worry about Ewan’s effect on me, but once I found out I was pregnant, I realized I had someone else to care about.

“He’ll manipulate you,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and steady. “He loves doing that, and he’s good at it.”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“I think we’re all stupid at times. Especially when we’re young, or afraid. It’s how people get into trouble. You do one thing, and then another, and before you know it . . .”

I remembered Benjamin’s cryptic comment on the way home. Now it made all the sense in the world. “He was the one who gave you advice. To keep the photo of Izzy and use it to threaten Manny.”

Benjamin sat up and pushed away the closest pillow. “How many times did I get beat up in Waukegan?”

“I don’t understand.”

“How many times did you have to come to the principal’s office?”

The answer was three. And he got the blame, every time, whether he’d been the first to provoke a fight or simply unable to resist provocation.

“How many times did I get beat up at Summit, Mom?”

“Different kids.”

He scoffed. “Zero.”

His eyes narrowed to angry black slits.

“Well, look where taking a convict’s advice has gotten you—outsideof school, in the real world. The world where you’ll be living for most of your adult life.Ifyou’re lucky.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I’m going to ask you one last time. Did you hurt Izzy or Sidney in any way?”

He stared at me, eyes dark and dry.

“You don’t deserve to keep asking me that. You’re a liar and a hypocrite. You’re mean to your own brother. You think everything’s black and white. I’m not talking to you. We’re done.”