Everyone always thinks the system is like it is for little orphan Annie where all the kids band together in their hopes for forever parents. It’s not like that at all. Too many kids, too many traumas in one place. It gets messy and competitive.
But one room, one bed means that my nights with Shadow are private in a way I’ve never been allowed before. Though he mainly chooses to stay under the bed, I’ll grab Snarp, a book, and a flashlight, and hang out under there with him. Sometimes I’ll read out loud to him. He doesn’t say much, but I think he likes it.
"You’ll understand one day," Dana says, reaching over to cover my arm with bony ice cold digits. "You’ll fall in love and realize you’ll do anything for that person. Anything to see them smile back."
I fake a smile at her, but my ten-year-old heart knows without a doubt, what her and Mark have isn’t love. I wouldn’t know better if not for the monster under my bed. I keep him secret and he keeps me safe.
In the short time I’ve come to be with Mark and Dana, I know one thing is for sure. I’ll never give my heart to anyone. Not ever. The movies try to paint it as a healing, joyful thing. But as Dana drifts out of my bedroom like a ghost, I know that it’s anything but.
In the last year and a half, I’ve never been invited to any of Helena’s family gatherings. Cramming into the car with Marie and Alice, I find their eyes are done up with eyeliner and sparklyeye shadow. They are dressed for a party. I panic at seeing the girls wearing dresses.
I picked out my nicest sweater which complements the electric green of my eyes, though it has a hole toward the bottom left side. My jeans don’t have any holes, but there is a small blood stain on the knee I couldn’t get out after slipping and falling on the ice one day.
Then I see Helena is wearing her usual pair of jeans. The only thing different is her tight-plaited braid is framed by two large gold earrings. I meet Helena’s eye in the rearview mirror to find her studying me. She gives a slight nod of approval before she takes off slowly on the dark ice-covered streets. I sit a little straighter, like the nod filled a hole I didn’t know was gaping.
Unlike the droll mood of our workdays, the girls chatter excitedly in Portuguese. Something about cute boys, but I have no interest in that.
As we pull up to the rec center, I take in the sight of colorful balloons and streamers decorating the entrance. Inside, we follow the screams of kids and the aroma of hot delicious food to the basketball court turned party central.
The thought of socializing with strangers makes my skin crawl. I want to turn on my heel and go home, but I can’t afford to be rude to my boss. Not to mention, it’d be difficult to get back to my apartment from this part of town. I don’t know the nearest bus stop or the schedule here.
Putting my coat on one of the hangars of the rolling coat rack, I try to remember to breathe. I force a smile at no one in particular, lips tight and barely there, just in case someone’s watching.
As I watch the kids run around and play games, I can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits me. I never experienced a childhood like this.
Growing up in foster care, I was always the new kid, never able to make lasting connections. But as I watch Helena’s family interact with each other, I realizethisis where Helena, Marie, and Alice live. They don’t live to work, they work to live this life, full of family, food, gossip, and fun.
And I live for the nights, waiting for a monster to show up.
Alice and Marie are off with a bunch of other giggling girls who are close to my age. Still, I have no desire to join them.
The smell of cooked meat wafts my way, and my stomach rumbles in response. I follow the scent, weaving my way through the crowd of people, trying to blend in and not make eye contact. Getting in line at a long table full of food, I start to help myself to large helpings. I know my eyes are bigger than my stomach, but it all smells so good.
The man behind me in line says something I don’t understand. I turn to meet the warm brown eyes of a slim man half a foot taller than me, wearing a blue button-down shirt and a friendly smile.
"I’m sorry, I don’t speak Portuguese." I think he asked me what I’m doing here, but usually my Portuguese context revolves around how messy people are or how pretty their stuff is, courtesy of Marie and Alice.
"I was wondering what a nice girl like you is doing in a place like this?" he says in perfect English.
He has a nice laugh that washes over me as I scoop a large helping of macaroni onto my plate.
"My boss invited me," I say, just as my plate starts to buckle under the weight of the food. The guy sets down his own plate and grabs mine, steadying it before I make a mess.
"Thank you," I say breathlessly. Dropping food on the floor, becoming the center of attention at someone else’s party, would be a literal nightmare for me. I plan to stay as innocuous as possible. I prefer to be a ghost, haunting this place so filled with life.
"I think you may need a second plate, or perhaps a bucket?" he suggests.
Shame slices my insides as I feel the heat of his judgment. Then I meet his gaze and find his eyes sparkling with lighthearted amusement.
Pretending to look around for a bucket, I say, "I thought all those were taken."
He laughs again and my lips curve up despite myself. "So, she’s funny."
I surprised even myself with that comeback. I press my lips together, half afraid if I smile too wide, it’ll crack whatever spell let me be charming for once.
"Oh good," Helena says, coming up from behind me. "You’ve met the birthday boy."
"You’re Miguel," I start in surprise.
