The brat came out of school, face carved of stone. Through the short walk to the car he said not a word. All attempts to kickstart the conversation drew a blank.
"Whatever happened, brat? Did something happen at school?"
He nodded slowly, his eyes firmly fixed on his hands.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He repeated the affirmative head movement.
"I god cott by the vice prinspal. An I godda punissmint."
The voice was glum. Unseen violins playing funereal dirges were needed as background music for this one.
"Whatever for?" I should have known when I asked the question.
"I was faiding with S."
"Did S get caught too?" I asked.
"Nope. He ran away."
"You didn't run away?"
"Mard ka bachchas don run away. They stay and face the consikwences." Errm. Okay.
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