“Literally thousands.”
She cuts her eyes over to me as another code fails her. “There has to be another clue at Legacies,” she insists.
I just hope we’re not overlooking something.
Legacies has a lot more kids during normal business hours. According to Janine, most of the kids come right after school, but some are too young for school and their parents can’t afford daycare. It reminds me a lot of Our Place.
I knew Tanya and Chi Chi would’ve been great friends.
The volunteers at Legacies are kind, and they don’t hesitate to put us to work when we offer our services.
Dani is swept away helping a few of the kids get a snack, while I’m putting together an arcade-style basketball hoop for some of the older kids. Tavion floats to the forefront of my mind. He’d enjoy doing stuff like this and helping kids—without beating the shit out of bullies—could be a good outlet for him. I wonder if Sammy would be okay with him working at Our Place. I’ll have to check in with her when I get back, whenever that’ll be.
One of the kids stands out. He was here when we first showed up, sitting in the corner by himself, his nose tucked into a sketch pad, and he’s still sitting there drawing. Every so often, his gaze floats over to a little girl who’s playing classroom with a few others. Something about this kid feels like a magnet. Once I finish with the basketball hoop, I ask one of the volunteers about him.
“Oh, that’s Kenji. That’s his normal spot. He really doesn’t engage with us too much, but he comes every day to look after his sister, Raena.”
I think that’s why I’m so drawn to this kid: his protectiveness. “And he just sits there by himself every day?”
She confirms, cementing my decision to talk to him.
“Mind if I sit?”
He gestures for me to join before focusing back on his sketchbook.
“What are you working on?”
He sighs in frustration, turning his work toward me rather than speaking. He’s drawing a comic. The figure in the sketch looks more antihero than hero, but he’s cool as hell all the same. Instead of a traditional superhero costume, this guy has on street clothes and sunglasses. He’s got aknife in his hands, his fingertip pressed against the sharp end, but no blood falls to the ground. Perhaps he’s not one hundred percent human.
“Where’d you learn to draw like that?” The details—from his slate-gray-and-muted-gold palette to his use of shadowing to add density—scream of a professional.
I don’t expect him to answer me, but his deep voice catches me off guard. “My dad.”
“Is he an artist?”
“He was. He’s locked up now. Won’t let us come see him.”
Ah. That’s a feeling I can understand. When you lose the person who inspired you to do what you love, it’s hard to figure out where to put your anger. Sometimes the only place is in the thing you’re most passionate about.
“That’s shitty.” There’s no sugarcoating it. He doesn’t want an apology, and he doesn’t want an explanation. He wants his dad.
He looks surprised but seems to soften a bit. “Yeah. It is.” He waits a beat before speaking again. “Are you an artist?”
“I paint, yeah.”
“Cool.”
I have to fight to stay composed.Don’t get all cheesy on him now.“Have you ever thought about sending your comics to your dad?” His dad may not want his son to see him in prison, but I’m sure seeing his son’s art would make his time there a whole lot easier. It might make Kenji feel better too, to know his dad has seen his stuff.
“I thought you could only send letters.”
I won’t pretend to know all the rules of prison mail, but it’s worth investigating. “I could help you look into it.”
He nods his head slowly at first and then quicker, his eyes wandering back to Raena for a moment with a small smile. “That’d be cool.”
“You got it.”
“You, um, wanna read what I have so far?”
