Free What No One Else Can Hear by Brynn Stein Page B

boys.
     
     
    T HEY HELPED each other on their respective walls many times over the next several weeks, but one day, Stevie and Ryan were making only one wall collectively, consulting each other about which color should go where and whose turn it was to place it.
    That Saturday was a rainy one so the boys had been at the tower thing for a while. As it neared dinnertime, all the kids started taking turns washing hands, getting clothes changed if necessary—which often happened here for various reasons—and anything else that needed to be done to prepare to eat. The boys had almost finished their wall, so Drew and I had decided to leave them until last for the hand washing. We told them it would be time to go soon, and they were wrapping it up. They only had another layer or so since they were running out of blocks. We gave them the “five-minute warning,” and they seemed fine with that.
    Chuck had been going down an alphabetical list of the kids’ names to decide whose turn it was to wash their hands. Stevie, was seventh in line. In Chuck’s mind, he needed to check off that list of students in order and nothing else would do. “Time to get ready for dinner,” he said harshly.
    “Hey, Chuck,” I interjected. “Drew and I will make sure the boys get ready on time.”
    “Yeah,” Drew added a bit sarcastically, “just skip them and go on to the next name on your list, since you seem to be the self-appointed head of the hand-washing detail.”
    Chuck glared at us. “Don’t tell me how to do my job. It’s Stevie’s turn—now.” He looked back to Stevie. “Let’s go.”
    “Almost finished. Bear said five more minutes.” Stevie was being very polite. He didn’t transition well between activities and always needed the five-minute warning, as most of the children here did. Apparently Chuck didn’t care.
    “Well, thank the good Lord I am not Bear, and I say it’s time to wash hands.”
    “Chuck, I’m responsible for Stevie.” I had to deter Chuck from this track. Disaster was written all over this situation. “He’ll be ready in time. Go on to the next kid.”
    “Come on, brat.” Chuck ignored me.
    “Not done yet,” Stevie answered. Okay, he was becoming a little snotty, but the kid had reason to be, in my opinion.
    Chuck could be a class-A jerk any day of the week. That particular day, he was bucking for president of all jerks. He kicked out a foot, bringing the entire wall down, and said, “Now you’re finished. Time to go.”
    Then he grabbed Stevie’s arm.
    “Let him go, Chuck,” I yelled as soon as I could, but not before Stevie dropped to the ground screaming, arm still in Chuck’s grip. Empathic crisis or just plain temper tantrum? I wasn’t really sure, but with as much vitriol as Chuck was spewing outwardly, I couldn’t imagine his emotions were nice places to visit right then.
    Ryan didn’t care which it was. All he saw was someone being mean to his friend. He kicked Chuck in the leg hard enough to leave a good bruise the next day. Chuck let go of Stevie’s arm, causing him to fall on his side, and grabbed Ryan by the waist. Ryan was a small child, and Chuck had no trouble picking him up and heading toward the calm room. I rushed to Stevie’s side, and Drew followed Chuck.
    Chuck didn’t seem to care that children weren’t supposed to be left alone in calm rooms. He dumped Ryan on the floor, quickly exited, and slammed the door. One of Ryan’s many fears was being locked in someplace. He couldn’t even use the elevator. He was seriously claustrophobic. Chuck apparently didn’t care about that either.
    I hadn’t seen what was going on with Chuck and Ryan, as I was busy calming Stevie down. Stevie was getting himself under control in record time, probably because Chuck was no longer in the room, so it didn’t take long. I watched as his expression morphed into one of pure hatred. He started shouting all sorts of things about Chuck and what he was going to do to him for