The Hopeful, The Hardheaded and the Homework

Chapter Three: Funeral Parlours and Tense Strings: Enoch

Enoch tugged down the hood of his jacket and looked up at the sign over the shop with a sigh. "O'Connor's Funerals" was emblazoned across the ebony wood in gold letters, above two large windows. Upon these was written in the same gold font, "Cremations", "Burials", and "All your funeral arrangements" in front of a display of several different makes of coffins in one window and urns in the other. As the funeral parlour was closer to his school than home, he'd elected to walk in the light drizzle of the afternoon rather than take the bus.

He sighed and wiped his muddy shows on the doormat, a strangely welcoming touch considering the nature of the business and stepped through the door. The little bell over the front door tinkled as the door swung open and closed and Enoch marched directly towards the back as his father poked his head out of the office.

"Ah, Enoch, it's just you."

Enoch nodded a hello and slid his bag from his shoulder as he stepped into the office and dropped it beside the chair on the other side of his father's desk.
Enoch greatly resembled his father. From the deep brown of his hair to his build and stature, father and son were much alike. Except for his eyes. Enoch shared his mother's pale blue eyes, as striking a contrast to the darkness around his eyes and his skin was. Like Enoch, his father had the same dark hair which when left untamed, curled as much as Enoch's did. It was more often than not parted neatly and professionally set off with the black suit jacket he often wore in the front of the shop.
"I need ya 'elp cataloguing out the back today."

"I got 'omework." Enoch sighed and shrugged his shoulders as he turned and looked over at his father by the office door. "Can't I do that first?"

"If by 'omework, you mean drawin' those silly sketches and pretendin' to work, then no."

"They're not stupid." Enoch huffed and shook his head, blowing a curl away as it fell forward in front of his eyes. "And no...actual work. Come on, Dad, seriously?"

Owen O'Connor sighed and pursed his lips as he considered it. Eventually he laughed, more to himself and nodded. "Yeah, alright. You needa get your grades up anyway, you do that first but I do expect some 'elp eventually, Enoch."

Enoch gave a mock salute to which his father only responded with a sigh and the rolling of his eyes before closing the door behind him and leaving Enoch on his own.

The boy dug his phone and his headphones back out of his pocket and set them down on the surface of his father's desk. He sunk down into the chair and pulled his backpack over to him. Unzipping it he rummaged around inside to pull out the loose pencils and pen before pulling out his biology textbook, safely returned by Hugh, and red binder. He hadn't been lying to his father. He did have homework to complete but nor had his father been completely wrong. Enoch fully intended to bring out his sketchbook as well.

But why wasn't it in his bag? Enoch frowned and bent down again to rummage through each pocket and each item individually. His heart started to race against his ribs. It wasn't there. He was sure he remembered putting it in, or had he completely missed it? He could have left it in his locker but that wasn't likely as all his books had gone right in his bag from History.

Enoch swore and kicked his bag, knocking it over and sending sheets of paper falling from it onto the floor. It wasn't something that should have mattered, but it did more than he liked to admit. If that had fallen into the hands of the wrong person, he'd be labelled even more of a freak than he was already.
It wasn't the names that bothered a jot. It was the likelihood of not getting all his things back. His designs and drawings might not have seemed like something that should have been particularly private but he'd kept them his and only his for years through high school and Enoch possessively did not want that to change.