“Don’t worry, Two. I’ll figure it out.”
I don’t know how, but somehow, someway, I’ll stretch things further than I already have.
We have to survive so we become adults and can pay Father back.
I’ll earn our freedom if it’s the last thing I do.
Looking down at my sister, I swear to her, “I’ll always take care of you and keep you safe. I’m never going to leave you. It’s you and me against the world.” I just hope these are promises I can keep.
CHAPTER
ONE
GIRL TWO
Years Later
I’m sick again. I can’t stop coughing and my chest burns every time I breathe. My sister, One, kneels over me with a washcloth, swiping it across my forehead.
“You’re burning up, Two,” she whispers, fear for me, for her, fear for how Father will react to this bout of illness showing on her face. “We don’t have a lot of medicine left and Father hasn’t been home for a few days. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll be alright, One,” I promise her. “I just need to sleep a little bit longer.”
“Okay, you sleep and I’ll do your chores.” My sister is too good to me.
I’ve always been weak and sickly, and she’s always been strong and healthy. I never go without, she sees to it. She puts me before herself. One day, I hope to be like her. I wish I knew what was wrong with me and why I seem to be the only onewho’s always running fevers. One thinks it’s because of our environment, but I think it’s because I’m always so sad.
Our chores are minimal. We keep our space as clean as we can, do the laundry that’s piled up on the floor, and every once in a while, we get to go upstairs and teach ourselves how to cook for Father. We’re getting better at it. We’ve taught ourselves how to measure, follow recipes, and gather ingredients. Father promised us that one day, we’ll be able to eat our food at the table. It’s a goal of ours to sit in real chairs instead of the balled up blankets we use to sit on now.
“What do you want me to put on the television for you to watch while you rest, Two?” she asks.
Licking my dry lips, I ask her, “Can I read instead?”
Father came home with a stack of books one day out of the blue, saying that since we’ve taught ourselves how to read, we deserved a treat. He teased saying he gave us an A for effort which made no sense to me because effort starts with an E, not an A. I don’t know a lot compared to most people, but I do know that.
Maybe we know more than he does.
He’s mean, not smart.
I was suspicious because we never get presents, and I was right, he wanted us to know how to read better so that we could start making his meals because as Girl One says, he’s lazy and doesn’t like to do things for himself.
To him, it was a punishment, for us, it was a gift.
“Sure,” she answers. “A learning book or a fantasy one?”
“I’m too tired to learn how to write.” That's something we still struggle with. Composing letters and turning them into words is harder than we thought it’d be when Father gave us those books. We can read on a basic level, we can add and subtract if it’s simple, and we can even draw a little bit, but everything else is too hard to understand.
“We’ll practice making words when you feel better,” she concludes. “Want to read that new book he got at the thrift store? The one about dragons and riders?”
“What’s a thrift store?” I inquire. Father has told us that it’s where he buys things, but he never tells us more about it.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s magical,” she determines. “It must be wonderful because it’s how we get new clothes, blankets, and books.”
“Do you think one day he’ll take us there so we can see it for ourselves?” I question, crossing my fingers that she thinks he will.
“I don’t know, Two, but we can dream that he will,” she replies. “Dragon book or no?”
“Yes,” I answer. When she hands it to me, I smile. The cover is bent as if it’s been read many times, which means it’s special. Somebody loved it like I know we will. It says on it that it’s for young adults, and I wonder if that means we’re qualified to read it. “What does this mean, One?” I point at it and look up at her with inquisitive eyes.
