I clap my hands over my ears.
I’m not… I need… Sorry.
I sit up.
They are words that need to be shaped into sentences. Standing, I leave my sister. Stepping more confidently toward Kettle’s room, I part the curtain and kneel.
He breathes with the frequency of someone trying to force himself to sleep. “He got a job,” he mutters.
I reach for him in the dark and find his hand. In the dark, we can do this. I squeeze. “Who got a job?”
Kettle sits up, pulls me to sit beside him. He is a layered stone. Chipped and jeweled at its center. “Krow. Krow got a job. And I should be happy for him, shouldn’t I? I mean, I am happy for him, but I also wish… I wish…”
His voice dissipates into sandy bricks and cold air. “You wish it were you,” I finish for him, and his sigh is as deep as the subway. As dark as the unlit way.
He laughs sadly. “I wish it were me.”
I lean my head on his shoulder gingerly. Scared of every glued-on moment. Each broaching of the wall between us. We’re a kid’s craft project. Precarious and unstable. But oh so beautiful and full of promise. “But you don’t think it could be you?”
His head lightly touches mine. Always careful, like I’m made of eggshells. “I know it can’t be me.”
I roll my head from under his, and our noses touch briefly. A kiss on the wings. “You’re so hopeful in so many ways except this one. I know you will get a regular job one day. I know you can have what you want.”
His hand tightens around mine. “And what is it I want, Kite?” he says heatedly. The way he says my name is like it’s in flight.
Heat crawls up my neck, and I pull back a breath. “A normal life. A home. A family.”
He sighs again. Pent-up anger and frustration still caught in his throat. “I have a family. And as for the rest, well, I think people like me don’t always get what they want. In fact, they rarely do.”
He collapses onto the bed, pulling me with him. We’re building breakable things here. We’re tying clouds together with nervous fingers. I lay my head on his chest, daring to place a leg over his. It feels more natural than the sun. “Maybe not,” I whisper as his hand goes to my hair, gently teasing the knots out. “But you deserve those things more than anyone I know. And maybe sometimes, if we believe hard enough, we might just get what we deserve.”
His chest rattles as he chuckles. “Sure. And I believe in fairies, too.”
Our breathing sinks to a softer rhythm. Again, those words float up between us. I’m not… I need… Sorry.
I raise my head, trying to find his face in the dark. “Kettle?”
His sleepy voice mumbles, “Mm.”
I nudge him. “Kettle…” He doesn’t respond. And then I say his first name. The name he has only shared with a few people. “Hiro.”
He disconnects from sleep, rolling to face me. “Hiro,” he whispers wistfully. “I like the way that sounds coming from your lips. It feels true or like it could be… like I could be more than…”
My breath falters, and I try to remember what I was trying to ask him.
Deep breath in. Steel and swords. “What did you mean last night, when you said I’m not… I need… Sorry.”
He shifts beneath me, his hand resting on my shoulder. He breathes in slowly, deeply, and sighs. “I’m not good enough for you. I need you, but I know it’s not fair or right to do so. And well, sorry is kind of self-explanatory, isn’t it?”
“Oh.” I push my lips together to stop the inappropriate giggle from fluttering out of my mouth, but it gets away from me. He tenses.
“That’s funny to you?” he asks, hurt.
Wrapping an arm around his chest, I squeeze. “Oh, Hiro! Not one part of what you just said holds any truth at all.”
Silence gathers like clouds to a mountaintop.
Not a single one.
11
HIRO
I think about my mother. The name she gave me. It rests like a feather on my nose. Like her touch. Soft. Fingertips tapping with affection. Hiro. Hiro Jackson. Two words that shouldn’t go together. That’s me all over.
And when Kite says it, it sounds like a promise.
She elbows me gently. Her bag clattering with the presents the Kings have sent along for us to give to Kin. “What are you thinking about?”
That things change like a rip. It’s never gentle and easy. It’s tearing and ragged edges. Sounds that make a person wince. I’m thinking about my brother. Finally free. An adult. It makes me smile. Kin as an adult is a jarring proposition. I want him to come home. Kite waits patiently for me to say something. I stare at her skirt. It’s getting grubby around the base, and her stocking has a hole in it. I tip my head, my hand reaching for the hole. She glances around the empty bus, spots of pink appearing on her cheeks. It’s just below her knee and I place a finger on her skin, tracing the edge of the tear. I hear her drag a breath in. Ragged just like change.
“I can mend this for you,” I whisper.
Her mouth is parted. Small warm breaths. She places a hand on mine. Leaving it on her knee. “Th… that would be… nice.”
We stare out the window, watching the trees grow bare. Mountains of leaves piling in the gutters. Her leg has healed well, only the slightest limp when she’s not concentrating. It’s a good sign.
It has only been a few days since she brought Frankie home. But in those days, we’ve begun building this life. This unsteady life. I feel like I’ve been riding the tilt-o-whirl. Disoriented. Distracted. Not sure which way I’m supposed to be heading.
I gaze at the curve of her neck. Her caramel-apple hair wound into a knot. I do know, wherever I’m heading, I want her beside me. It’s a dangerous, ridiculous thought I’m trying not to give into.
I’m not fairing so well in that department.
She plays with the button of her shirt, rolling it slowly. “What are you thinking about?” I ask as the bus bumps over a pothole. I want it to be me. I don’t want it to be me. I mentally slap a palm over my face. This would be easier if she didn’t blink honey eyes full of affection at me. If she had the sense to see how beneath her I really am.
“Frankie,” she says, hand on the cold window. “Do you think she’ll be okay by herself? She’s not like the others. She’s not used to being on her own.”
The bus squeals to a stop, and I stand. “She’s not alone. The Kings will look out for her. I made them swear they wouldn’t leave the tunnel today. I trust them; don’t you?”
She nods. “I do. It’s just…”
I let her pass me, trying out this gentlemen thing, and we exit the bus. “It’s just… that you only got her back a few days ago?”
Kite’s chin drops to her chest. “Oh, I shouldn’t have left her.”
A breeze that’s impersonating a winter wind sweeps between us, her skirts billowing, her hair flying out from its pins. “You promised Kin. And besides, this is the King’s world. This is the way we live. The sooner Frankie gets used to it, the better.” She’s biting her lip. Frozen on the sidewalk. “I promise. She’ll be fine. We’re only going to be gone for a few hours.”
Putting a hand to her back, I push her carefully toward Craftman House. There’s a spring in my step. A lightness to my shadow. Seeing Kin again will be good for us both.
The street is bare, and it gives me a rare, unmonitored moment. Pushing my cap back, I let the light fall on my face. Kite watches me with fascination. No one’s watching. Judging. And I sweep her hand into mine. Watching the way our shadows loop together in one continuous shape like a single ink brush character.
We can have these minutes. I try to enjoy them.
Ducking through the wind chimes, we reach the front step and ring the bell. The door opens before the sound has finished. Miss Anna sways like a reed, her face grim. She tries to smile when she sees us, but her eyes are tired and worried. My bones straighten. My body prepares for a blow.
“It’s good you’re here,” she s
ays, bowing to meet our eyes from her tall height.
My hand tightens around the bag of handmade gifts from the Kings. Paper-clip sculptures and a bag of sweets squash together in my grip. Kite’s hand goes to my shoulder. “What is it, Miss Anna? Is everything okay with Mr.… Mr. Ikeda?” she asks with worry.
The screen door clangs behind us, and I tense. Why must I always be robbed of moments? I was happy for minutes. Minutes was all I was allowed to have. I laugh, and the two women turn to me curiously.
I hear a groan, and something clatters to the floor. Kin’s deep voice bellows down the stairs. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.” His singing is off key and sarcastic.
We stare at Miss Anna, and she smiles sweetly. “It was bound to happen. It always does, eventually.”
“What was bound to happen?” I ask suspiciously, thinking they’ve worked out who he is and he’s being shown the door.
She wraps long, slender arms around Kite and me, then leads us to the base of the stairs. “A setback.”
“A setback. Is that it?” I put one foot on the stairs, looking up at the dark, stained wood that swirls like a twisted piece of rope, while Kin’s moaning floats down to our ears.
Miss Anna shakes her head as Miss Lake comes plodding downward, the steps creaking under her weight. “It’s not a small thing, young man. Realizing you’re not improving as fast as you’d like. And maybe you’ll never be who you once were.”
My face falls. A dark shadow in its place. We let Miss Lake pass and Kite steps up, climbing the winding staircase. “When you turn eighteen, the world should be your oyster,” Miss Anna says, her face contorting with a memory of her own or of past patients, I’m not sure. I find that statement to be completely untrue, but I let her go on. “Imagine how your friend feels, knowing he might have to live with his disadvantages forever.”
I give her a strange look, wondering which particular disadvantage she’s talking about. His injuries, his race, the fact that he’s homeless. “My brother is strong.” I take the stairs quickly. Charging upward past framed yellowing photos of men in uniform to shake some sense into Kin. My brother is a survivor. A King.
Kite is waiting for me at the top. Her hands curled into light fists, the crack of a door casting light onto the landing.
Nodding, I follow Kin’s singing, pushing the door open to find my friend lying in bed. Green-faced and unhappy. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Little brother, you came!” His voice sounds strange. Almost drunk. The open bottle of pills by the bed explains some of the behavior.
“Happy birthday, Kin,” I manage, though there seems to be nothing happy about him.
After I pull up two chairs, I let Kite sit first. Kin’s eyes land on her blushing face, and he grins. “Future wife!”
She bows her head. “Happy birthday, Kin,” she says shyly.
He shuffles up, rests against the headboard, and looks between us both. “I’ve missed you, Kettle. Things are…” His head drops as he breathes in and out slowly. “Sometimes things are so hard here.”
I lean forward, trying to find my friend in all this self-pity. “What’s your deal? Why’re you acting like such a wet rag?”
Kin smirks. Parts of him coming back to life. “Wet rag? I’m hep. I’m always hep. It’s just… This rehab thing is hard. I’m fighting against pain. Injuries. Some people’s attitudes.” His eyes slide to the window. “And well…” He sighs and straightens. “How are the rest of the Kings? Staying out of trouble?”
I know what he can’t say; he misses his family. “Fat city! You know we do the best we can.” Kite looks confused. “Oh, and we have a new member. Her name’s Kricket; she’s Kite’s little sister.”
Kin rolls the blanket down. Straightens his shirt. “Ah, my future sister-in-law.” He winks at Kite and I should be happy that his mood has improved, but I want to smack that wink right off his face. He looks at me for a moment with mischief. I think he knows it, too.
He shifts awkwardly on the bed, his weak leg not cooperating. Kite puts her hand up to stop him. “You need to rest,” she orders.
The sweat across his brow and the hardness of his mouth show his pain. It hurts me in so many ways I can’t even count. He salutes her and leans back. “Yes, ma’am. I like a woman who can order her man around.” Tensing, I roll my shoulders.
“Anyway, I have some gifts for you.” I hold up the bag, and he winces as he tries to take it. I place it in his lap. “Can I help?”
He picks up the bottle and rattles it. “Hard to swallow these without something to wash it down with.”
I grab his empty glass and stand, my eyes connecting with Kite’s worried expression. Her eyes speak of tuned heartbreak. “You’ll be okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “Of course.”
I leave them. Taking the steps fast.
When I reach the kitchen, Miss Lake is washing dishes and humming quietly to herself. Crooked shelves laden with dry stocks like flour and sugar in candy-colored containers lean dangerously over her head. “Can I get a drink of water for Mr. Ikeda?” I ask, holding the smudged glass up.
She turns suddenly, clasping her heart. “Oh my! You frightened me. Of course, of course, help yourself.” She points to a refrigerator. I take a jug of cordial from a shelf, reveling in the sheer luxury of the appliance and the mist that floats around the food and drinks.
“It’s hard for him here, you know?” she says as I place the jug back.
“Huh?”
Her kindness is overwhelming and foreign, and I honestly don’t know how to take it. “He’s so much younger than the rest of them. He would be better off with people his own age, don’t you think?” She taps the table pointedly.
“Oh. Uh, my living arrangements are a little, well…” How to put homeless into terms she will understand and not be shocked by. “Um… impermanent.”
Her eyes crinkle. “I see… Would you consider staying here for a time? Helping him come to terms with what his life will be like now? You’d be very welcome.”
My eyes fall to the floor. The linoleum is dented and scratched but clean. “I can’t.” I wish I could, but I can’t. I have so many lives that depend of me.
She makes a hmm sound, turning back to her dishes. “That’s a shame.”
12
KITE
“You should ask him,” Kin says as he puts the bottle of pills in his bedside drawer.
Paintings of cottage gardens hang off-square on the wall. I glance up from my hands. Kin’s dark eyes are sincere, pained but determined. “Ask him what?” I say, though I know the answer.
Kin opens the bag. Pulls out the sweets. “I bet these are from Kane, right? He found a sweet shop that gives their funny-shaped stuff out to street kids on Wednesdays. Real nice people.” He presses the blobs of candy through the plastic, the bag crinkling. “Ha! This one looks like Kamo…”
I tip my head. Wait for Kin to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “He’ll say no.”
Kin laughs. “Yeah, probably. He has this idea of how things should be. The idea of the Kings is a prime example. A gang of street kids who work and never steal. Who’s ever heard of such a far-out idea?” He chuckles. Admiration and affection light his eyes.
My face warms. “Hiro is special,” I murmur.
His eyebrow arches. “Hiro. I haven’t heard that name in a long time.” Then he reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. “I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re pretty damn special, too, Kite.”
My eyes find the painting behind his head. An English thatched roof and roses climbing up the wall. It’s idyllic and dreamy. Unreal. “What do you mean?”
Kin groans and squeezes my hand. “I think you know what I mean. Anyway, find your moment and ask him. I know my brother—he’ll never say yes for the wrong reasons. But you’re one very good reason.”
Could I ask Kettle to marry me? Things are changing between us. Feelings are growing fast like that English climbing rose. Kin and I stare at each other. It could be. I
t could be. It could be… Perfect.
Something turns in Kin’s expression. His eyes widen. His brows fall to the sides. There is desperation in his voice when he asks or almost begs, “Please, Kite. Please try.” My hand hurts from how hard he’s squeezing. “I don’t want to stay here forever.” He blinks. Eyes like mirrors. I know those eyes. There are secrets in there. They sit like three corner jacks. Sharp and embedded.
Hiro clears his throat, and we spring apart.
The mood in the room darkens a little as he crashes down in the chair.
Rolling his eyes, Kin teases. “You two looking so uncomfortable is about the best present you could’ve given me!”
Hiro lifts his fist to punch his brother, but stops just short of connecting. “Shut up!”
Kin chuckles, and it’s good to see some color in his cheeks even if it’s coming at our expense. “No really, when are you two gonna make it official? Shacking up together without a wedding ring…” He holds up his ring finger. “It’s scandalous.”
Hiro grimaces. “You know, they said you were having a setback.” He huffs. “Your setbacks are like a sneeze. Where’s all the moaning and groaning gone?”
Kin shrugs, palms to the ceiling. “What can I say? I’m just stronger than your average war hero.” His act is convincing. Especially if, like Hiro, you’re desperate to believe it.
Now Hiro rolls his eyes. “Seriously, though, it’s good to see you smile.” He claps a hand on Kin’s shoulder and leans in, their foreheads almost touching. “Happy birthday, brother.”
Kin’s voice is smaller, a little less sure when he says in an almost-question, “And many more?”
Hiro crows, startling the other patients. “Definitely!”
We leave Craftman House with the promise that we’ll be back soon.
Kin’s ideas of marriage have watered seeds that were already planted. But I know right now, Hiro will say no. Things haven’t changed that much in three days. Not enough anyway.
Hiro Loves Kite Page 5
