The boy’s small shoes dragged their knotted laces through puddles as he headed for the back door. He tugged at the few buttons left on his shirt as the seams stretched at the shoulders. He licked his swollen lip. Brushed fingers through sweaty hair. He then feathered fingertips over another black eye before trudging into the kitchen.
“How long now, Grandma?” He called out.
From the kitchen table, Grandma moved towards the calendar and peered below the lens edge of her glasses balanced on her nose. “Two weeks, three days,” she said, picking up the pencil string tied to the board and crossed off today’s date.
The man-child grinned while grabbing an ice pack from the freezer. “Two weeks and three days to go.” That’s when school rules no longer mattered. Not in summer holidays when his Bully Payback Programme would begin.