by Sara Alva
He swallowed. “Yeah, I’m done.”
“What about that paper that’s due Monday? Have you started?”
“Um…“ Dwayne rubbed the back of his head. “I was gonna start tomorrow.”
“And if I hear that excuse one more time, no TV until it’s done.”
The taller of the two boys—Andrew, if I remembered right—snickered. “Good, ’cause Dwayne never lets me watch what I want.”
Brandon served himself a second helping of green beans. “Too much TV will rot your brain, boy!” he said, and I got the distinct impression he was mimicking Ms. Loretta.
Ms. Loretta must have, also, because she gave him a glare. “Watch yourself, boy.”
I finally raised my fork to my mouth and pushed in a bite of chicken. I felt like I’d stepped into some kind of wholesome family TV show: a meal of veggies and proteins, two parent-types, and their annoying but loving family.
It was freaking me out.
I was definitely the which-one-of-these-things-does-not-belong, with my complete silence. Well, me and Seb, ’cause he hadn’t said a word to anyone, either. He just kept shoveling food into his mouth, black eyes lost and unfocused.
When we’d finished the meal, each one of us took our dishes to the sink, washed them, dried them, and then replaced them in tidy cabinets. Ms. Loretta watched me do mine with her hawk-eyes, like she was afraid I’d do it wrong without supervision. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t know how, growing up in whatever shithole she’d imagined for me.
But unwashed dishes meant roaches, so I’d done a fair share of cleaning in my day.
Ms. Loretta nodded approvingly as I set my fork back in the drawer. “Suzie said she’d be by early to talk to you. You have a little over an hour to read and shower, then it’s lights out. Don’t be keeping my boys up—they have chores tomorrow.”
She and Ms. Cecily headed off to watch TV in the living room, their wide backsides taking up the entire length of a ridiculously orange couch.
I followed the train of boys up the stairs, wondering if I should try to slip away during the night and make my way back home. It’d probably cause more trouble in the long run, but if I could at least warn my mom of what was going on, maybe she and Hector would have a chance to get their stories straight.
Then again, if I caught Hector at a bad time, he might just beat me senseless and worry about the consequences later.
“You wanna shower?” Brandon stood in front of a closet full of black metal crates stuffed with clothes. He tossed me a wrinkled t-shirt and a pair of faded gym shorts from some school I’d never heard of. “The boys go first, but they shower fast, ’cause they usually hate it.”
Despite myself, I almost cracked a smile. I remembered that phase. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”
Dwayne grabbed a book and climbed onto the bunk above Seb, who had somehow already managed to return to his cocoon of blankets. I sat on my bed and waited for further instructions
“You need shoes for tomorrow?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah. Sure.” If I did have to bolt, shoes would be a plus.
“What size?”
“Uh…like ten and a half.”
More like nine and a half, but I wasn’t going to make the mistake of outgrowing another pair anytime soon.
“Well, these are a ten.” A pair of scuffed-up, ratty-ass black Keds sailed across the room and landed by my feet.
Fucking perfect.
“You don’t have anything less…fucked up?” I picked up the shoes by their laces, noting a sour odor.
“Hey, beggars and choosers, and all that shit.” Brandon laughed. I let him mock me without a fight, mainly because when he laughed it showed off his dimples. The skin in those dimples seemed a little paler than the rest of his face…like dollops of cream against some cinnamon.
Time to distract myself.
“So…uh…do they come up and check on you or some shit? Or do they mostly leave you alone?” I directed the question to Brandon, since he was really the only one talking to me.
“If you do what they tell you to, they mostly let you be.”
“How long you been here?”
“Just six months. Dwayne’s been here the longest—almost a year now.”
Six months to a year? Jesus, I hoped that wasn’t going to be my fate.
“And what’s wrong with him?” I jerked my head over toward the mound of covers that was Seb. “I haven’t heard him say a word since I got here.”
Dwayne rolled his eyes at me from his higher perch, turning a page in his book. “Seb’s retarded.”
I glanced back at Brandon for a better explanation, and he arched his brows at me with a smirk. “I wasn’t kidding before. He really is. He don’t talk at all. They said there’s something wrong with his vocal chords or something, but he don’t write or do sign language, so he’s gotta be retarded.”
“Oh.”
I wondered if he were deaf, too, because he didn’t stir at the conversation.
Scampering sounds followed by much more solid footsteps announced the younger boys and Ms. Cecily in the hallway. All three took a left into the room across the way.
“Showers’re free,” Brandon said, and a towel hit me square in the face. “Best hurry up before lights out.”
“Are you gonna go fir—” I peeled off the towel to find Brandon undressing.
Oh, Jesus.
My fingers locked into fists as I looked away and concentrated on the strands of Seb’s strange blond hair. “Uh, you first?”
“There’s more than one shower.” Brandon’s laughter dragged my eyes back to him, but thankfully he now had his towel securely around his waist.
Only that left his entire torso exposed. His trim, caramel-colored torso.
I had a feeling I was going to need a lot more than the alphabet to get through this.
“Will y’all shut up now? I’m trying to read this shit for a book report,” Dwayne growled.
Unfazed, Brandon sauntered out of the room. I took three deep breaths, went through the alphabet backwards, and followed.
At the end of the hallway was a large green-wallpapered bathroom—yet more evidence of the sisters’ tacky taste—complete with a double sink and two tiny shower stalls that looked like they’d been ripped out of a school locker room. They had plastic on the sides but only that cheap-ass white curtain on the front. Brandon ducked into one with his towel still attached, then tossed it over the bar once he’d pulled the curtain shut.
Water splattered to life and I shuffled over to the sink to stare in the mirror. My face was a wreck, lids drooping with some unseen weight and circles of shadowy gray haunting my eyes. I couldn’t be sure how much of it was the hangover and how much of it was a reaction to being ripped from my life, but I certainly hoped I’d look better in the morning.
Except, come morning, I’d still be trapped here…and if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that I didn’t belong. I didn’t belong at family dinners, or with bantering boys in bunk beds. My reflection didn’t belong in this large bathroom with its god-awful green walls and ugly showers.
These people…no eran mi gente.
I had a lot more despair to dive into, but something else in the room’s reflection suddenly caught my eye: that cheap plastic curtain. As was always the case with those things, it didn’t quite make it all the way to the wall, leaving a tiny sliver of the shower’s inside visible.
Mid-inhale, my breath caught in my throat.
Brandon was under the stream of water, his back toward the opening, rubbing foamy shampoo into his hair. Cascades of liquid traveled down his shoulder blades, taking the suds with them—white on brown-sugar skin. Some of the droplets continued over the curve of a firm ass, while others disappeared into his crack.
He shifted a little, and I could just make out a mass of dark pubes at his groin.
Holy fuck.
I dove into the empty shower stall, trying not to moan at the nearly-painful erection I’d magically s
prouted. I peeled off my clothes and kicked them out, then turned the stream of water on cold.
There was way too much temptation in this place. It wasn’t like Brandon was the only one—Dwayne was no ugly fucker, either—and they were all far too close for comfort. Sharing a bedroom, a bathroom, practically showering together…I’d be lucky if I survived the weekend without making a complete fool of myself.
But as Brandon had said, beggars can’t be choosers, and all that shit. I was already as hard as I ever got, and it seemed a shame to waste it. My hand slipped down to my dick, and I summoned Brandon’s image back to my mind. Glistening-wet skin, sliding soap suds, dark curly pubes…best material I’d had in ages.
I began to stroke myself, quick-and-dirty, because I wasn’t sure how much time I’d have. I half-registered that the shower beside me had gone off, and that Brandon had left. Released from some of my fear of discovery, I stroked even faster, letting out only the smallest of sounds that I hoped would be carried away with the pounding of the shower water and the creaking of the pipes.
A slightly louder gasp escaped me as I came, jetting out streams against the shower wall.
“Fuckin’ a!”
The curtain abruptly flew back, and Brandon and Dwayne stood in front of me, slamming fists on each other’s backs as they struggled to hold in their laughter.
“Jackin’ off in the showers on his first night!” Dwayne hooted.
I shoved my body into the corner, attempting to keep the last shreds of my dignity from washing down the drain. “Close the fucking curtain you fucking dicks!”
“If you shout, Ms. Loretta will come in. That’d be fucking perfect,” Brandon chimed, dimples glowing.
Fucking dimples.
They pulled the curtain shut and left the room chuckling, but I stayed cowering in the corner, waiting for the waves of shock and humiliation to stop traveling my skin. Two minutes passed before I could peel myself from the sticky wall and gingerly step back into the water to rinse myself off. I was still shaky, but common sense had started to filter back in—what I’d done wasn’t that out of the norm. I was a teenage guy; it was what we were supposed to do. No one had any reason to believe I was…different yet, right?
Creaks and moans from the old wood flooring told me someone else was approaching. Panicked again, I hurriedly stopped the shower and snatched the towel to cover myself up. It was only then that I realized I’d forgotten to take the gauze off my wrist, and it was now thoroughly soaked.
“Alex?” Ms. Loretta boomed. “Is there a problem? You been in there way too long, boy. We don’t take showers like that in this house.”
I sank my forehead against the wall.
This was bad. Very bad.
~*~
I awoke to an empty room again the next morning. Or, almost empty. I could hear activity downstairs, but not a sound near me. Seb nearly scared the shit out of me—for the second time—when I finally got up. He rose from his bed like some kind of robot, instantly homing in on the sheets I’d left in a tangled mess. Within in a few seconds he had them smoothed out and the pillow fluffed, so the bed fit in perfectly with the others in the room.
I made a mental note to fix my own bed from now on. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having a retarded servant, even if he didn’t seem to mind.
Then I made a second mental note, reminding myself there wasn’t going to be a “from now on.” Thinking that was like giving up…and I wasn’t prepared to go down without a fight.
“Alex? Ms. Suzie’s here to see you!” Ms. Loretta shouted from below. I could almost feel the walls vibrating with her call.
I glanced down at the gym shorts I wore. They were a little too tight, and not something I’d be caught dead in ordinarily.
“Hey…” I turned to Seb, since he was the only one around. “Can I get some clothes to wear?”
Seb cocked his head, giving me a strange look with his almond eyes.
I wondered if he even knew what I was saying.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” I said slowly, walking toward the closet while Seb’s eyes followed me. But before I could get there, Brandon buzzed through the hallway and shoved a bundle of clothes into my arms.
“Hurry it up. Suzie don’t have all day.”
I met Suzie downstairs on the orange couch, wearing a D.A.R.E. t-shirt with a hole at the shoulder, school-uniform navy pants, and the disgusting Keds. I looked like a fucking loser.
“So can I go home now?”
Suzie frowned. “Alex, do you have any idea where your mother and Hector could have gone? We still haven’t been able to reach them.”
I sank down into an upholstered chair. “I dunno. Vegas, maybe.”
“Do they often leave you alone like this without any way to reach them?”
“I’m fifteen, la—Ms. Suzie. I can take care of myself.”
I noticed her chewed, unpolished nails tapping away on a file folder with my name on it.
“I’m sure you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned over to see if I could figure out what she had in that folder. “So, what now? I keep waiting here until they come back?”
Suzie nodded. “We have a hearing this morning to establish temporary custody since we can’t yet determine the situation at home.”
“Temporary custody?” I recoiled at the words, and at the thought. “Like, I belong to these people now? What the hell! You said nothing final was happening!”
“Temporary,” Suzie repeated. “Just so that you can stay with Ms. Loretta and Ms. Cecily while we wait for your family to speak to us.”
“But what if you talk to them and you…you don’t believe that nothing happened? Do I have to stay here forever? I mean, do I get any say in this at all?” My voice rose in pitch, and I cut off the stream of questions before I ended up in a squeak.
“If we determine there’s a problem at home, it doesn’t mean you’ll never be with your family again. DCFS is not in the business of ripping apart families. We’ll work with them, through counseling and other services, to try to make sure you have a safe home to return to.”
I rubbed at my eyes, feeling a fierce headache coming on. “So…just because you and a teacher are too stupid to believe me when I say nothing happened, you’re going to keep me with a bunch of strangers, make my mom jump through hoops to get me back, and get Hector fucking pissed at me.”
I didn’t look at Suzie, but I could hear her flustered sigh. I caused adults to make that sound a lot, it seemed. “If it’s our mistake, you’ll go home, Alex. I’ve told you that.”
This whole thing was a mistake.
“But what if you don’t believe it’s a mistake…what then? What about school and stuff?”
“Well, you’d be enrolled at the school here so you don’t miss anything while we work with your family.”
That’s all I fucking needed—to be the new kid at some school I had no clue how to get around in—and not just in the literal sense.
“I don’t want to go to a different school.”
Suzie squirmed forward on the couch cushion, making a move to stand. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’m just explaining all the possibilities to you.” She rose and started to place her file back into her bag.
“What’s that?” I tried to latch onto the folder, but she pulled it away.
“Just some notes…and your school records.”
“My school records? Like my grades and sh— and stuff?”
She stopped her movements and looked directly at me, her eyes suddenly calm and studying. “Reports from the school nurses for the past several years.”
Oh, shit.
“I’m…I’m a boy,” I blurted out. “I get into fights with other kids and stuff…boys get hurt sometimes. It’s totally normal.”
“I never said it wasn’t.” She straightened her suit jacket—a dull brown one, this time—and gave me a sad look. “But if you ever want to talk about what’s in here…or this”—
she reached out to gently lift my wrist—“there are people who care.”
I jerked my arm back and glared. “I have nothing to talk about. And I’m not staying in no house full of reject kids, or going to no new school.”
Another exasperated sigh came from Suzie’s lips. “We’ll see, Alex.”
And I saw—for the briefest of moments before I wrapped myself back in denial—
I was screwed.
Chapter 6: Don't You Even Care
When the water ran in that old house, every pipe seemed to moan. I didn’t know which noise was worse—that, or the barking sounds from Ms. Loretta. From what I gathered as I drifted in and out of sleep on Sunday morning, the “chores” she spoke of were a daily ritual, and everyone else was hard at work while I hid in my bed.
Well, hid wasn’t the right word. I chose to consider it my own form of resistance.
I finally wandered downstairs around noon, and only because my stomach wasn’t on board with my plan to avoid everyone until it was time to say adiós. I slipped past Ms. Cecily reading to the younger boys in the living room and found Seb sweeping the kitchen floor, using long, practiced strokes.
“Hey, jack-off.” Brandon trampled in behind me and grabbed a cup to fill. His t-shirt was stained with sweat, and he smelled of freshly cut grass. The scent instantly reminded me of the neighbor we’d had for a few months back when I was in middle school— a twenty-something-year-old gardener with the most amazing body. He’d taken me to work with him in the beautiful homes of Brentwood one day, but I was pretty much useless after he’d removed his shirt to mop the sweat from his brow.
And oh, crap. Brandon was still talking.
“You missed breakfast, but we’ll have lunch in a little while. Were you trying to sleep all day or something?”
I couldn’t imagine why he thought I’d prefer spending time with him and the others to being alone in the room…especially when they’d picked such great nickname for me.
Seb had evidently finished gathering all the crumbs into a corner. He ducked behind my legs without warning, almost hitting me, and retrieved a dustpan from under the sink to complete the job.
