“It’s a jaguar.”I wriggle its legs.“A really fast one like you.”
“It’s called a Trail Cat.The mascot for the basketball team.”
“No.”I squeeze it and pet its little head.“It’s a jaguar.And his name is Little Jag.”
He rolls his eyes, which means I win.
He digs into his pocket one more time and pulls out something wrapped in plastic.A small chocolate cake, the kind they sell at gas stations.It’s squished a little, but who cares?It’s cake.
He unwraps it and sets it in my hands.Then he sings, soft and deep, “Happy birthday to you…”
His voice fills our fort, and I smile so big my cheeks hurt.I have a cat and chocolate cake and my big brother sitting beside me, trying his hardest to sing as good as my mom.
It’s the best birthday I’ve ever had.
I break the cake in half and shove one piece at him, but he gives me his stern look, so I huff and eat the whole thing myself.It’s the yummiest thing I’ve ever tasted, even if the frosting sticks to my fingers.
When we’re done, we brush our teeth and go outside to use the portable potty place.Then we hurry back before anyone can talk to us or stare too long.
Inside, Jag pulls the scratchy blankets over us.He lies down with the backpack behind him, and I curl up against his chest.His arms come around me, strong and unmovable.
Outside, voices rise, shouting, crying, metal rattling, and someone moaning too loud.But Jag keeps me safe.
I’m drifting off when his sleepy voice rumbles against my ear.
“You need to go back to school, Dove.”
“Noooooo.”I groan into his shirt.
“You’re smart.Smarter than most kids.You need school so you don’t lose it.”
“I won’t.”
“But for that to work, you might need to stay with a foster family.Just for a little while.”
“No.”I flip onto my back and glare at him through the shadows.“No way.I’m not going anywhere.You can’t make me.”
“Shhh.”He taps my lips.“Keep your voice down.”
“I’m not staying with strangers.I’m staying with you.”
“Sweetheart…” He shifts so his eyes are close to mine.“I’m never leaving you.”
“Promise?”
“I swear it.”He holds up his pinky.
I hook my pinky around his, squeezing tight.Then I bring our hands to my mouth and kiss our twisted fingers.He smiles and kisses them next, sealing it.
Outside, the world yells and falls apart.
Inside, Jag and I hold on.
Two years later
I’m not supposed to be here.
Not in this house, not in this room, not in this stupid system that tosses me around like a mangy stray.
