Whatever that means.
The policewoman who speaks my language, though with a thick accent, told me they found my brother’s body. “He didn’t make it.”
Why are there bad people in the world allowed to hurt others?
I couldn’t do anything to help them. When I get big enough, I’m going to make sure no one can ever hurt me, can’t push me around, or take what’s mine. I won’t be weak ever again. If being a good person only gets you hurt, then I will be a bad one. The baddest there ever was. I’ll find those men who hurt my family and I’ll hurt them back.
The doors to the sunroom open and the lady who is in charge of all the thirty kids here enters, bringing with her people who come and go on a daily basis. Some of the same faces, some new.
They walk around and talk about us like we’re on display in a store. I watch the others put on a show and try to make themselves look tidy and nice.
Why do they want strangers to take them away? Don’t they miss their real parents? It was strangers who came into our house and killed everyone. Well,almosteveryone. I don’t want any more strangers in my life.
Maybe I’m just different from them. Mama always told me I was too clever for my own good.
“You’re an old soul, Zane. Too smart for someone so young. It’s why you have no friends. They don’t understand you.”
My brother would always scoff and say, “More brains than brute.”He was much older than me and said I was Mama and Dad’s mistake.
Maybe I was. Maybe it was also a mistake that I woke up from the hit with the gun that was clearly meant to kill me too. Or, maybe I didn’t wake up at all and this is a dream.
I want to go back to the room where my bed is, but I know I have to spend time in the sunroom and wait for the “guests” toleave. So, I grab a book from the bookshelf and plonk down on a beanbag chair.
One Mississippi…two Mississippi...
As I open the book, my eyes clash with a bright green pair staring at me from across the room. They belong to a boy around my age who looks at me like he knows me. And it’s the strangest thing, because I feel like I know him too.
Weird.
He starts walking over to me, and I fidget in the seat because I don’t know what to do. A smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he drops down on his knee in front of me. Kids don’t smile at me. They pick on me and steal my things. His smile feels strange to me, but I also like it.
Reaching out with his finger toward my face, I stiffen as he traces the scar of my wound. It’s large and ugly and still very sore, but for some reason I don’t mind him touching it.
“Wow,” he breathes. “It looks like a lightning strike. It’s awesome.” He speaks my language and it’s so clear. I can’t help but feel a little piece of happiness at the sound of it.
“Really?” I ask with a frown.
“Really! I’m Rodion. What’s your name?”
“Zane.”
His smile broadens. “Z, like your lightning wound. Awesome.”
The skin is still tight in places and looks ugly. I don’t think it’s awesome at all. But, he thinks so, and I want to believe him.
“Why are you here?” I ask, a little piece of me hoping he’s here to stay. I really want a friend.
His green eyes probe mine and he uses his finger to once again trace the ragged, sore scar. But when he touches it, it feels better.
“I’m here for you,” he says simply as he plucks the book from my grip. Once he tosses it, he drags me to my feet by my hands and pulls me across the room.
“W-what?”
“Mom! Mom!” he calls out to a woman, trying to move around people to find her. His mother comes into view. She’s so pretty and really well dressed. Like the women in the movies. Blonde hair falls into her face as she kneels down next to the boy with eyes the color of the grass in the summer months. Her eyes dart over to our joined hands.
She smiles over at me, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that makes a lump grow in my throat.
“Mom,” Rodion says, voice urgent. “I’ve found him.”
