You have yet to make anything easy.
What the heck is wrong with you? You don’t just get everything youwant.
Oh?
I’ll protest. I’ll make sure the social workers know who and what you are. I’ll talk to a judge if I have to.
And how have they listened to you so far?
I clicked my phone off and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Boyan. Lou,” I called out. “Come on. We’ve got to get going.”
The five- and seven-year-olds protested and dragged their feet across the play yard, even trying to plead with Ricco to let us stay longer. I was having none of it, especially with the looming threat of Marlene’s presence once we got back. It just seemed way too easy for Renzo Iannelli to have solved all our problems with a few threats. Or maybe it was just easier to face Marlene—the devil I knew—rather than admit that Renzo was right, and that I had no control over my life. With one little snap of his fingers, he could change everything I knew once more. For better or for worse, I had no idea.
Hours later
Are you really serious about this?
You want to deal with me and all my hate?
On a constant basis?
You’re certifiable, you know that?
Why?
Not even going to answer me? That’s childish.
Ask me something worth my while, and I’ll answer.
You’re a real piece of work.
Haven’t you ever heard of “you catch more flies with honey than vinegar”?
I’m not trying to catch you. I’d rather swat you dead and stomp you to pieces.
Charming.
This doesn’t make sense. You’re messing with me because of the car, right?
Mr. Iannelli?
Is it that difficult to answer?
TYPE, damnit!
If I’m not worth a reply, then why adopt me?
If you simply accepted the situation, you wouldn’t have any roundabout questions. You’ll be free from living with the Hayeses. Is that not what you want?
It’s a little late for your savior complex. Eight months too late.
My sincerest, heartfelt condolences for your brother. Truthfully.
A tear dripped onto the phone as I reread those words over and over. On and off, I tried to type something new. Something angry. Something sharp. Something degrading. Each word I typed, I deleted because it changed nothing. Noah was gone, and I was still here, trying to live the best way I could.
You’re adopting me? Really? It’s not a joke? Me, out of all the kids out there?
