“Oh.” That…made sense and wasn’t even a little nefarious.
Why was he being so logical? I crossed my arms with a huff, half tempted to pitch a fit just to see his cruelty come out. Honestly, it didn’t help that the guy had a face most girls would fawn over. With those green eyes, sharp features, and the short-styled goatee and mustache, he was exactly like those picture-perfect heartthrobs in movies, as long as he didn’t talk.
“You didn’t commenton his scars.”
“No.”
Just that. A simple no. He was pretty to look at but shit at making conversation. Perfect description of him.
“Well, thanks, I guess.”
“Why the hell would you thank me for that?”
“Because everyone talks about them.”
“Well, they’re assholes.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess they are.”
I didn’t even realize I was smiling until I caught sight of my reflection in the window as we parked at Lou’s summer camp. It felt like the biggest betrayal of my brother’s memory.
“Lou. Lou,” Boyan called out, bouncing up and down in his seat. He waved his arms over his head to a waiting Lou on the sidewalk.
Timidly, she climbed into the car without a sound, frowning at us.
“This car is just like Sally,” Boyan told her.
“Yeah,” Lou whispered.
“Who’s Sally?” Renzo whispered to me.
I chortled up through my nose. “A character in an animated movie. She’s a Porsche.”
“Huh.”
“Got any food?” Boyan asked Lou.
Lou took out an apple and a milk carton from her bag while I handed them two individual packs of now-warm string cheese I’d stuffed in my back pocket earlier and some crackers. Our loot for the day was whatever extra food we could sneak out of the community youth centers. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing if Marlene forgot about us for dinner or hadn’t filled the fridge again. Micah ate with whatever friends he had and never brought us anything, so we’d learned to return the favor.
“Madonna,” Good god, Renzo said. “What is that?”
“What does it look like?” I deadpanned.
I refused to be embarrassed about this. People looked down on us foster kids enough anyway. One rich murdering jerk wasn’t going to make me feel like less for stealing from a youth center to feed myself and my foster siblings.
“Not all of us have Porsches. And it’s not like I can get a job yet that’ll pay for one either.”
“I’m hungry. Can I have some now?” Boyan asked.
“Not on my watch,” Renzo gritted out.
I wanted to protest, but he veered the car so hard around the next couple of corners that I was too busy clutching the grab handles for dear life. Finally, he pulled to a stop directly in front of a well-lit pizzeria.
He tossed Ricco his keys as we all got out. “Park it, but if I find a dent or scratch on my car, I’m taking my payment back in knuckles.”
Then he herded Boyan, Lou, and me inside. The hostess greeted him warmly by his last name and led us to a half-circle booth against a window, which she called his regular seat. I caressed the vinyl seat and glanced around at the warm decor of the place, with pictures and mirrors lining yellow walls. Hip-hop songs played under the loud conversations from the groups in the booths around us and at the bar. My mouth watered from the smells of garlic bread, baked dough, and marinara sauce full of oregano. It had been so long since I last sat in a restaurant, but the kids had probably never been in one at all. They gazed around the place with slack jaws, licking their lips at every pass of a server with food.
“Are we really eating here?” Lou asked as Ricco tucked himself into the booth. She looked on the verge of tears if I said no. So I just nodded, hoping this wasn’t some cruel joke.
