"Come on," the red-haired girl says, trying to sound tough but failing. "This place is boring anyway."
They scatter like leaves in the wind, leaving me alone with the scary, silent giant who just saved Sparkles. I sit in the dirt, my knee throbbing and bloody, and stare up at him. He's so tall I have to crane my neck back to see his face. At least, the part of it that isn't hidden beneath his shaggy dark hair and the bandana.
For a long time, we just look at each other. Then he crouches down—even crouching, he's still taller than me sitting—and gently picks up Sparkles. His hands are huge but careful as he brushes the dirt from her pink fur and holds her out to me.
"Thank you," I whisper, taking Sparkles back and hugging her tight. My voice comes out shaky with leftover fear and relief. "I'm Ellie. What's your name?"
He just stares at me, silent as a rock.
I tilt my head, studying his face. The scars look old, like they've been there a long time. I wonder what happened to his face, and what's hiding underneath the bandana, but Mom taught me it'srude to ask about things like that. To talk about things people can't help.
"You don't talk much, do you?" I say, then feel stupid. Maybe he can't talk at all. "That's okay. Sometimes I talk too much. Mom says I talk enough for everyone in the whole world. But my friends at my old school don't mind. Usually."
I pause, suddenly homesick for those friends I'll probably never see again.
"I just moved here with my Mom because my Dad'srealfamily found out about us, and they were mad." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "I don't know how we're a fake family, because I think we're real, but Mom cries when I ask questions about it, so I don't."
Tank's expression doesn't change, but something changes in his eyes. Like he understands about families that don't make sense.
"Can you not talk, or do you just not want to?" I ask gently.
He holds up one finger.
The first one.
"Oh," I say, understanding. "So you can't talk. That's okay. I bet you're a good listener."
He nods once, then stands and motions for me to follow him. I try to get up, but my knee buckles and I wince. The scrape is deeper than I thought, blood seeping through the dirt caked on my skin.
Before I can try again, Tank reaches down and scoops me up in his arms as easily as Dad does. I squeak in surprise, Sparkles clutched against my chest.
"You're really strong," I tell him. "And huge." I study his face as he carries me through the trailer park. "You're tall enough to be a teenager, but I don't think you are. Are you?"
He shakes his head.
I guess I just need to ask questions he can answer like that.
"Are you… twelve?"
Another shake.
"Eleven?"
Another.
"Ten?"
This time, he nods.
I grin.
"Knew it!" I kick my feet excitedly because I guessed right, and he grunts, so I try to hold still. "I'll be nine in three and a half weeks. Then we'll only be a year apart!" I pause, taking in how much bigger he is. "That's a whole lot of growing in a year. I think you're gonna be even taller than my Dad."
He doesn't respond, but he squeezes me a little closer. I've never been carried by anyone except Mom and Dad, but Tank's arms feel safe just like theirs. He's so strong, I think he could keep the whole world from hurting me.
We walk past trailers that look just like mine, small and worn and tired. Most are nicer, though. Some even have little gardens in the front, bright flowers fighting against the dust and heat. Others have broken cars and piles of junk. It's like a wholedifferent world from my old neighborhood, but Tank moves through it like he belongs here completely.
I want to ask which one he lives in, and for how long, but I decide maybe I've asked him too many questions. Mom says some people need some space in their brain between questions, and Tank seems so serious. He might be one of them.
