Dennis stood at the end of the porch, near Ralph.
The boys were to replace those who had recently left for new homes, most likely for good, Martha had said. Some of those boys were part of the group Dennis was in. His own treatment, she said, was not going well.
There was a waiting list, now, for Brightwood. Not just for foster kids, but for children adopted overseas and domestically whose parents were disappointed with their behavior.
As Dennis watched, the last boy jumped off the van. He was small and slender, with glowing skin and buzz-cut hair. He had an earring in one ear, and a ready smile that faltered when he looked up with wonder at the tall gray building above him, and the row of watching gulls.
The new boy sat next to Dennis at lunch. The cook had made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. It used to be one of Dennis’s favorite meals, but he had mostly lost his sense of taste. All he tasted anymore was the rug.
“Hey,” the new boy said.
Dennis didn’t reply. He watched soup run off his spoon.
“My name is Reggie. What’s yours?”
“Dennis,” he said.
“How old are you?”
Dennis had to think about it. Months of holding time had polished his mind clean. He couldn’t even remember his last birthday. Had the cook celebrated it? He didn’t think so.
“Eight,” he said.
“I’m twelve.”
There was silence.
“How long have you been here?”
Dennis didn’t answer.
A staff member watching the boys scribbled notes about their behavior. He had been instructed to keep an eye on these two.
Dennis waited near the front door. Martha had made it harder to see the rabbit—the staff was always watching the boys now—but recently he had discovered he could slip out during shift change.
When no one was looking, he darted out the open door, dashed into the trees, and found his new hiding spot. He crouched down, relieved.
There was a crackling of brush.
Dennis whirled around to see Reggie behind him.
“What are you doing?” Dennis hissed.
“I followed you,” Reggie said. He looked proud of himself. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up!”
“Why?” Reggie crouched next to him.
“You’ll scare her away!”
“Scare who?”
Dennis was angry. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted Reggie to leave. But more than that, he wanted him to shut up.
“It’s—a creature,” he muttered.
“Really? Where?”
