“That’s my video-game room!” Enu complained.
“Not anymore,” Udans said. “You can move all your gaming equipment elsewhere. A bed and dresser will be arriving for Edwy in”—he looked at his watch—“about an hour.”
Enu muttered something under his breath. Udans ignored him.
“Edwy has been enrolled in school,” Udans continued. “The two of you will need to show him how to log on and sign up for classes.”
“We’re not babysitters,” Kiandra said. “We’re busy. We’ve got better things to do.”
“What—your nails?” Udans asked, probably because Kiandra was looking down at her fingernails. For the first time, I noticed that they were painted purple and decorated with stars and swirls outlined in white.
“I resent that,” Kiandra said, glaring at him. “It’s not fair that you make it sound like a traditionally female interest might be inferior to whatever you want me to do. And that you make it sound like all I am capable of is beautifying my body, instead of—”
“Kiandra, are you trying to make this take a hundred years?” Enu interrupted, punching her playfully on the shoulder. “When I’ve got a game to get back to?”
This was when any Fred would have sent them both to their rooms. I could just hear the gentle scolding: You need to think about whether you are treating those around you with proper respect. You need to take a little time to ponder your words and actions more carefully. . . .
Ugh, ugh, ugh. How many times had I heard that particular lecture back in Fredtown?
But it was weird. My stomach felt funny, and I thought maybe it was because Udans wasn’t sending Enu and Kiandra to their rooms.
Maybe they were too old to be sent to their rooms. Could that happen? Even with kids who hadn’t outgrown behaving like they needed to be sent to their rooms?
My stomach felt funnier than ever. I told myself it was just because of all that fizzy grape soda pop I’d drunk in Udans’ truck.
“I don’t need a babysitter anyway,” I told Kiandra and Enu. “I can take care of myself!”
“So it’s settled,” Udans said, like he was pretending he hadn’t seen or heard Kiandra and Enu do anything wrong. Or, um, me, either. The Freds wouldn’t have liked my tone.
“I just need someone to tell me where the school is,” I said, “and—”
Enu and Kiandra started laughing at me again.
“He thinks school is a place!” Kiandra moaned between giggles. “Don’t you know anything?”
Was that a trick question? How could a school not be a place?
“Dude, you just log on to the computer, click the box that says, ‘Homework completed for the day,’ and that’s it. You’re done with school,” Enu said.
I couldn’t help myself. I turned to Udans. “But my dad said—” I began.
“Let me guess—did he lay it on thick, about what a prestigious boarding school you’d be attending?” Kiandra, still giggling, rolled her eyes even more dramatically than ever.
“Don’t you tell him any different!” Enu shook a fist at me. Was that supposed to be a threat? “It’s better for everyone if our parents think they’re paying for intense, hard-core boarding school, but our grades are really coming from an easy-scam online school.”
“It’s not like they’re ever going to be able to come here and check up on us,” Kiandra said, shrugging. “Or like they’d believe you instead of us.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “How much of a mini-Enu are you? Will you have trouble remembering to do the daily fake homework check?”
“I—”
She didn’t seem to expect an answer. She didn’t even listen.
“Even that is no big deal,” she went on. “Let’s say you forget for a whole week—even a whole grading period—and you’re a little panicked about that. Well, then, a certain sister is capable of hacking into the site and making it look like you did all your homework—or at least did the one little minimal chore the school requires to pretend like you’re doing homework . . .” Kiandra faked a cough and cleared her throat in an obnoxious way. “Not that anyone here might have needed that help.” She muttered under her breath, “Stupid Enu. How much have you had to pay me?”
I glanced again at Udans, who just sat there, stony-faced.
Enu and Kiandra had to be joking, right? And was Udans in on the joke? I knew what school was. It was sitting in a classroom, and the teacher talking on and on and on—blah, blah, blah—about citizenship or life’s purpose or something else boring. And then Rosi and I—it was always the two of us together, because we were the only twelve-year-olds in Fredtown—we’d have to do some project about the shape of fruit flies’ eyes, or the rhyme scheme in poetry, or how democracy works. And Rosi would take the project seriously, and she’d worry because I just wanted to make the assignment sheet into a paper airplane and see if I could fly it into the teacher’s hair. And Rosi—
I really couldn’t think about Rosi right now.
Enu laughed louder.
“The kid actually looks worried,” he chortled. “Like he thinks any of this matters!”
“It matters a lot to your parents,” Udans said sternly. “It makes them so happy to think you are at a good school. ‘Preparing the leaders of tomorrow’—isn’t that what the website says? Your parents love getting the school’s reports about how well you’re doing.”
“All the more reason to keep lying to them!” Enu crowed.
Udans dropped his head. Was he peering down at the crumbs in the carpet or . . . was he really, really sad?
None of this made any sense.
Kiandra sat up and put her hands on her hips.
“How do we know you’re not just snowing us, Udans?” she asked. “How do we even know this boy is our brother? What if he’s some relative of yours, or . . . or just someone whose family is bribing you to—”
“Would you like to talk to your parents about this matter?” Udans asked. “We can make a phone call right now.”
Kiandra’s eyes darted from side to side.
“No, that’s okay,” she said quickly. “I believe you.”
What was that about? Why wouldn’t Kiandra want to talk to our parents?
I could hear my Fred-parents’ voices in my head, saying, A child’s love is the most important thing to any parent. Just spending time with you is what makes us happiest.
And the thing is, my Fred-parents drove me crazy. I thought they were crazy. And weird. And secretive. But they really seemed to mean it when they said that stupid little guilt-inducing line.
Didn’t Kiandra want to make our real parents happy? Didn’t she feel a teeny bit sad that she hadn’t seen them in twelve years? Didn’t she want to see them?
What did Kiandra and Enu want?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My bed and dresser arrived, and Udans directed the deliverymen to set it up in a room already overflowing with electronic gear. Enu kept darting in and out, carrying boxes and cords and odd-shaped items he called game controllers. The whole time he complained: “Oh man, I’m going to have to move this gaming system too? Did you have to order such a big bed? How much room does a little kid actually need?”
“I’m not a little kid,” I told him, but he acted like he hadn’t even heard me.
And then everything was arranged, and the deliverymen left. And then Udans walked toward the front door.
“Wait!” I called after him.
He turned around, his pirate ponytail whipping to the side.
“Why?” he asked.
Because I don’t think Kiandra and Enu want me here. Because I don’t know how they’ll treat me once you’re gone. Because I don’t know enough about Refuge City yet. Because I’m worried about my friend Rosi, and maybe if you stay, I’ll work up the courage to ask you to check on her or . . .
I couldn’t say any of that.
“Don’t I get money like you gave Kiandra and Enu?” I asked. My Fred-parents would have been horrified. I enjoyed imagining their dist
ressed expressions.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Udans said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin plastic card. He held it out to me.
“That’s not what you gave them!” I complained.
“I haven’t set up your account yet,” he said. “You can use this debit card until then. But . . . the old man can see what you pay for.”
“You mean, my parents trust them more than me?” I asked indignantly.
Udans leaned close, like he was going to share a secret.
“Or he doesn’t want them to know he’s giving you more,” he whispered in my ear. “Because you need all those new clothes, remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
He winked at me.
“I’ll be back in a couple days,” he added. “Or maybe next week. As soon as I can.”
And then he walked out the door. And I was alone.
I’d been alone before. Of course I had. Until the night before, I’d thought I was an only child. Back in Fredtown I’d spent a million hours privately dreaming up pranks and schemes to drive the Freds crazy. Back in my parents’ hometown, I’d gone fishing by myself; I’d walked all over the place by myself.
Still, in Fredtown I’d always had little kids looking up to me, asking me constantly, What are you doing? Can I help? Can I play with you? I’d always had someone to hang out with, if I wanted to. And when we were traveling to my parents’ hometown—away from all the Freds, forever—Rosi and I had promised to watch out for each other. Every time I was alone after that, I’d been thinking about telling Rosi what I saw. I’d been planning to ask her questions, to see if she’d figured out any more than I had.
But Rosi wasn’t here in Refuge City with me. I tried not to think about the exact promise we’d made to each other on the plane from Fredtown. She knew I wasn’t good at keeping promises. And this time it really wasn’t my fault. But if Udans was right about everything, I might never see her again. All I had now was Kiandra and Enu.
Maybe they’re not so bad, I told myself. Maybe . . . maybe they were just acting up to get rid of Udans. I’d do that. Maybe it’s going to be great having a brother and a sister!
I went into “my” room, where Enu was sprawled on the floor in front of the one remaining TV he’d insisted on keeping in place there, after the deliverymen moved three others to the living room. He had earbuds in his ears and held one of the “game controllers” in his hands. He kept waving it around and jabbing at buttons on top of it. On the TV screen it looked like spaceships were exploding and . . . were those dead bodies falling out? Dead astronauts?
I had to be wrong about that. Nobody would make a game involving dead bodies.
“Can I play too?” I asked Enu.
He didn’t answer. He must not have heard me. I tugged on the wire of the left earbud, and it came out of his ear, falling into my hand.
“Give me that!” Enu growled, grabbing the earbud and stuffing it back into his ear. On the TV screen a spaceship sped by, dignified and majestic. It didn’t explode. No dead bodies fell out.
“See what you made me do?” Enu complained. He stabbed a finger against the controller, and the word PAUSED appeared on the screen. “I had a perfect score until you came in! Even on an old, easy game like this, you mess me up! Go away and leave me alone!”
“But . . . this is my room,” I said.
Enu grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me close. He curled his lip and stared me straight in the eye.
“It’s only your room when I say you can use it!” he said. “Now—get out of here. Quit bugging me!”
He shoved me away. I managed to avoid hitting my head on the wall only because I have good reflexes.
I stayed crouched exactly where I fell for a moment before I decided to say, “You know what? I think I’ll go hang out with Kiandra. What you’re doing looks boring.”
I got up slowly—like it’d been my decision to huddle down against the wall in the first place. I noticed that Enu had gone back to staring at the screen. I walked back into the living room. Kiandra was sitting upside down on one of the couches, her legs against the back of the couch, her feet against the wall, her head leaned backward on the part of the couch where she was supposed to bend her knees. I wished I’d thought to try out that pose in Fredtown, because it would have made my Fred-parents’ eyes bulge out and their voices strain to stay a normal pitch and volume even as they scolded something like, Young man, do you know what happens when we don’t take care of our possessions properly? What do you think will happen if you’re constantly leaving footprints on the wall? Whose job do you think it should be to wash them off?
It was more fun to imagine their distress than it had ever been to listen to their lectures.
I walked over to the couch and lay down in the same position as Kiandra. I had to stretch my legs a little farther to be able to touch the wall with my feet. I leaned my head back—upside down, like hers. She had a laptop computer cradled in her lap—also upside down—and I craned my neck so I could look at the screen.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She tilted the laptop away so I couldn’t see.
“Nothing I want to share with you,” she muttered.
I couldn’t help it: I looked around automatically, expecting some Fred to materialize out of nowhere to tell Kiandra she was being rude, and that was unacceptable. The Freds totally believed in sharing. Why wasn’t she considering my feelings? Didn’t she care?
But it wasn’t like I wanted any Freds around to tell her that. No. Of course not.
I reached out and yanked the laptop back toward me. On the screen I caught a quick glimpse of the words Refuge City Scholars Academy Computer Science Homework, Week of— I started laughing.
“You’re doing homework, and that’s what you’re afraid to let me see?” I mocked. “What—are you a really bad student, and you’re ashamed that I’ll find out you’re doing, like, second-grade work, and still failing at it?”
She wanted to go rude? She should know she was messing with the Fredtown Champion of Rudeness.
Kiandra hit something on the keyboard that made the whole screen go blank. She snapped the laptop shut; I had to snatch my hand back or she would have smashed my fingers.
“For your information, I am a very good student,” she said. She glanced toward the room where Enu was playing video games, and lowered her voice. “I just don’t want anyone to know I actually do the homework.”
Okay, that was weird. What was this, backward world? In Fredtown it had been not doing homework that kids had to hide. Kids like me.
Kiandra gave my shoulder a shove.
“Everyone I know with little brothers says it’s awful,” she muttered. “So annoying.”
Whoa. Who knew I was capable of being an Annoying Younger Brother? Just by using the same skills that made me a Bad Influence on Younger Kids back in Fredtown?
But a quick memory flashed across my mind of Rosi with her little brother, Bobo, walking down the aisle of the plane that was going to take us back to our parents’ hometown. Rosi had had her hand on Bobo’s shoulder, protecting him. Keeping him safe from me.
She always took care of her little brother. She never shoved him or told him he was annoying.
So what? I told myself. Bobo’s, like, five. I’m twelve. I don’t need a big brother or big sister—or anyone!—taking care of me. Who cares if Kiandra and Enu don’t treat me like kids treated their little brothers in Fredtown? This isn’t Fredtown!
But my mouth opened and words started coming out before I had time to think. That happened to me a lot. Just . . . not usually with these particular words.
“What do you think our parents would do if they knew you were being mean to me?” I asked.
Kiandra shrugged.
“What can they do?” she taunted. “They’re not here! They can’t do anything!”
Was that true? I thought about arguing that they might stop giving her money. Or they might tell Udans to give her a t
ime-out the next time he came to Refuge City. Or . . .
Or they might take Kiandra’s side over mine. They’ve been sending her money and taking care of her for years. They didn’t even meet me until the day before yesterday.
“If . . . ,” I began helplessly.
“Oh, I get it,” Kiandra mocked. “Do you really think they have any control over us from back in Cursed Town?”
I made myself laugh at what Kiandra had said.
“ ‘Cursed Town’?” I mocked. “Do our parents know you call their home Cursed Town? What if I tattle and get you in trouble for that?”
Kiandra flashed me a puzzled look.
“Kid, everyone calls Cursed Town ‘Cursed Town.’ That’s its name.”
“Oh, right,” I scoffed. “You think I’m going to fall for that? Like someone hundreds of years ago started a village and said, ‘Hey, I know what will make this a successful place. I’m going to give it a name that makes everyone think there’s a curse on it!’ You must think I’m really dumb! Everyone knows the real name of our parents’ hometown is . . .”
It suddenly occurred to me that I had never heard the name of our parents’ hometown. Not once. Even the Freds had never spoken it. They just called it “your real home.” Nobody in my nearly two days of living in that town had mentioned it. And I’d walked all over the town—there hadn’t been any signs saying what the town’s name was.
But if your home’s name included the word “cursed,” would you want to advertise that?
I thought of the horrid, burned-out place in my parents’ hometown that I’d showed Rosi the night Udans “kidnapped” me.
It had seemed like a cursed place.
Kiandra opened her laptop again.
“Proof,” she muttered. “Here’s a map.”
She tilted the screen toward me. I’d only ever used a computer for schoolwork—the Freds had this idea that it might be bad for kids to spend too much time staring at a screen. But I knew enough about computers to be able to tell that Kiandra had called up an official-looking map site. She zoomed in to show me Refuge City and all the area around it. I could pick out the mountain range that stood at the outer edge of Refuge City, and the winding road that Udans had used, bringing me here. I followed that road back out into the flat-looking countryside. Back, back, back . . . not long after the road crossed a thick, forbidding-looking black line, it did indeed lead to a dot labeled CURSED TOWN.
Children of Refuge Page 5
