I don’t answer, not until the granola bar is gone and I steal the rest of his Dr. Pepper. “Some people are crappy without all that. But... I’m sorry your parents are like that.”
“It’s whatever. The people who lived here before us left this, so I never have to be around them unless the sun is down or they’re forcing me to church. Why are you so hungry? Do they feed you?”
Telling is bad. Telling is worse than running. But he doesn’t even know my name, so am I really telling? “Not usually. Sometimes if they order pizza, they pass out before they eat it all. And there’s food in the house sometimes but I’m not allowed to use the stove because I’m only ten and I’m scared to eat it without cooking it because I get sick sometimes.”
“That sucks.” He looks around him before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a Snickers bar. “Want this?”
My eyes widen. “Chocolate? Really?”
“So weird,” he says with a chuckle, then hands it over. “Why did you think I was dead?”
“Because you have orange eyes. I figured only ghosts have orange eyes.”
“They’re not orange,” he argues. “Or I guess — is that why people look at me strange? They think I’m a ghost?”
”They look at you funny because you look like Halloween.” Shifting onto my knees, I scoot forward so I can push his messy hair out of his eyes. “Hair is dark like night, eyes are orange. Orange and black are Halloween colors.”
His gaze locks with mine. “I like Halloween, so I guess that isn’t so bad. Are yours gray?”
He leans in closer to see better, but immediately leans away when he realizes how close we just were, a blush coloring his cheeks.
Boys are weird.
“I don’t know. Sometimes they’re blue, sometimes they don’t have any color at all.”
“I think that’s cool. Sometimes the world doesn’t deserve color.”
I don’t think it has any, but I don’t argue. I’ve taken enough. “It’s getting dark, I have to go home. But thank you for all of this. You’re a nice person and I don’t think people should look at you funny.”
He seems to just realize how far the sun has set and begins cleaning up. “If you come back tomorrow I can sneak out my lunch or something.”
As tempting as that is, I don’t want him to feel the way I do. “That’s... okay. I’ll figure something out.” Swinging over the edge of the door, I plant my feet as much as I can and add, “Please don’t tell anyone I was here. Bye,” before scurrying down.
If I don’t get home soon, I won’t be here by lunchtime tomorrow.
Bash (Age Twelve)
I hate it here.
I hate this house and the seven hundred crosses my parents have dangling from the walls, like each new one will clear their path to heaven.
They’re standing over me with their arms crossed, angry I got into another fight at school, but this boy deserved every punch I gave him. They don’t care though. They don’t care that he pulled down a girl’s pants on the playground, all they care about is the fact that mom is stuck with me at home for the next couple days andthey can’t pawn me off on the teachers. I hate them. But they hate me more.
Dad steps in closer and pushes his thumb onto my black eye, pressing hard until I whimper loud enough to satisfy him, and then he walks away muttering to his God like he’s actually listening.
“One more fight and you’ll have to change schools. Is that what you want?” Mom hisses, tugging my head back by my hair when I shrug like I don’t care.
I don’t. Why should I?
“I knew public school would rot your soul, Sebastian. No supper tonight. I don’t want to see your face until you’re ready to atone.”
That will be the day after never, but I shrug out of her grip and run outside to the only place that’s ever felt like home. The only place they stay away from, but my safe haven isn’t empty when I get there.
The sad girl is back, looking skinnier than the last time I saw her, but I don’t see any bruises this time. “You’re back.”
It’s been weeks since I saw her, and I was starting to believe it never actually happened. I guess it wasn’t a dream.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers quickly, wide eyes darting all over my face. “Are you okay?”
