He’s not a bad kid. He’s not. He’s young, aware of the trouble he is in but not understanding it. “You’re late. Again.”

He peers around his mother. “He’s been with the babe,” she tells me, both defending him and exposing him. “I know. But he has to come. Now.”

I’m an awkward kid myself, but it’s my job. From somewhere inside I can hear him saying goodbye to the girl, to their baby. Soon we are moving together, him laughing, doing tricks on his bike. “How is your baby?” I ask, and we pretend he still has a life.