Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows

"You aren’t going back home until you've finished sweeping. Why not join us for some fun in the bathroom?"
I felt my fist clench and then relax at my side. This group was stuck somewhere between being mature and childish, always looking to stand out and
feel important, but they were also known for picking on the weak while avoiding the strong.
They often whispered about who they'd look up to as their leader. Just the other day, they were talking about how the toughest guy in the alley was
the hardest to deal with, and they couldn't even convince him to give them tattoos.
I carefully wiped the dirt off my new shoes with a piece of paper. Aunt Marie had just bought them for me.
"Hey! Did you hear me talking to you?" The tall girl leading the group looked impatient.
I looked up, my voice calm and steady: "Yeah, I heard you, but I'm not doing it."
She reached out, ready to slap me. I didn't even flinch. "Go ahead, slap me. Do it hard. Jonah is my brother. If you don't kill me today, I’ll tell him and
he'll make sure you're done for by tomorrow."
Her hand froze mid-air, and she hesitated, glancing at her friends. I had played this scene in my head countless times.
"What? Don't believe me? If you don't, either come home with me and see for yourself or wait until the parent-teacher conference tomorrow. Better
yet, come with me now. Once the door is closed, you'll be screaming for help, and no one will hear you."
I put on a show of bravado, enough to make them hesitate. No one followed as I confidently walked out of the classroom and the school. I let out a
huge sigh of relief.
Still, just saying it wasn’t as effective as having Jonah show up in person. Back home, I started thinking about how to get Jonah to pretend to be my
brother at the parent-teacher meeting tomorrow.
That evening, after Aunt Marie went to bed, Jonah was busy tattooing. I hovered around him, eager to help, refusing to be shooed away. I fanned him
when it was hot, covered him when it was cold, fetched water when he was thirsty, massaged his shoulders when he was sore, and even pounded his
back when he was tired. Whatever tool he needed, I had it sterilized and handed it to him instantly.
I would occasionally throw in a compliment: "Your sense of style is impeccable."
The client joked with Jonah, asking where he found such a thoughtful assistant. He kept shading the tattoo, his hand steady, and replied seriously,
"She fell from the sky."

The client chuckled, almost forgetting about the pain. As the tattoo session dragged on, the soft buzzing of the machine lulled me to sleep at the
table.
When I woke up, I was on a futon, and Jonah was just wrapping up his work. After the client left, he took off his gloves and got straight to the point:
"What's up?"
"Uh? Was it that obvious?" I rubbed my face. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes clearly said, "You can't hide anything."
I stammered, "It's just, there's a parent-teacher meeting tomorrow. Could you go?"
Worried he'd say no, I quickly added, "As my brother."
He perked up, teasing, "Oh, so you only call me your brother when you need something."
Feeling guilty, I touched my nose. Calling Aunt Marie felt natural, but for some reason, calling Jonah my brother felt awkward.
The curve of his smile was visible, his handsome eyes twinkling with amusement. "Alright, I'll go."
I sighed in relief, quickly adding, "Please, wear something that shows off your tattoos tomorrow."
When paired with his intimidating looks, they would make them even more frightened.