Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1)

by Charisse Moritz

“You’re such a jackwad. Why would I pay for a piece of shit paper? I could have done that myself!”

  “So why didn’t you? Oh wait, you were too busy slutting it up with Philly cheesesdick.”

  “You deliberately sabotaged me, didn’t you?” She throws an egg at him, misses and hits the cat. The cat screeches, which startles the dog. The dog barks, runs after the cat, slides through a smear of broken egg and knocks the boy on his ass in the puddle of orange juice. Baby Barbie finds it hilarious, until he grabs her by the ankle and yanks her down.

  She screams, kicks at him and says, “Oh, you are so dead!”

  Can I leave? Can they sort this out themselves? Survival of the fittest and all that? Cuz I can’t be stuck here, playing babysitter. There’s way too many of them, way too much goddamn noise. I don’t like it.

  My skin shrinks and shifts over my bones and refuses to settle back into a comfortable shape. Even my eye twitches. Then Tulip grabs my racing fingers and yanks. Tears run down her cheeks and her bottom lip puts on a big show.

  “I want digs,” she whines.

  I just look at her.

  “I want digs!” she says louder, outright bawling now. FML.

  “She means eggs,” says a smaller version of the guy on his ass in orange juice. One of the skateboarders? “But she’s too little and helpless to do ANYTHING for herself.”

  “That’s why there’s a big mess for everybody else to clean up,” says another kid who is an exact copy of the first one. It’s creepy. Thing Two rolls up on me and takes his time checking out my face.

  I know what I look like. Like I’ve walked through a spider’s web and wear the imprint carved into my skin. It gets me lots of attention, pity, insults and all sorts of shit I don’t want, and my brain’s already starting to buzz.

  “Dude,” says Thing Two. “That’s so badass. Check it Ten.”

  Thing One flips his skateboard with his foot, catches it and tells me, “Straight outta DC Comics. Totally cool, dude.”

  “Tia makes me digs every Saturday!” Tulip wails. “And it’s Saturday!”

  “Hey Tully,” says Thing One. “Why don’t you make a list of what you want? Fold it into a paper airplane and sail it out the window.”

  “Told you. I want digs!”

  “Eggs!” shouts Thing One.

  “That’s what I said!” screams Tulip, and I want out of this batshit.

  “They taste like toe funk anyway,” says Thing Two.

  “Sweaty toe funk.”

  “Dipped in puke.”

  “Rolled in ass juice.”

  “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” And now Tulip stomps her feet she’s so pissed off. It’s sorta cute. Then she turns and raises her teary face and skinny arms up at me. “Please Tummy.”

  I’m not sure what she wants me to do, but she’s crying harder and louder by the minute and driving me effen bonkers. Just to make it stop, I hunker down to her level, thinking I could maybe stuff something into her mouth, but right away, she latches on like some sort of tree monkey and says, “Up, Tummy. Up.”

  So I pick her up. I’ve got no friggin clue how to hold her, but she takes care of that. She knots her hands at the back of my neck, wraps her legs around my waist, and her butt perches on my hip. She cuddles her head into my shoulder and her hair is soft under my chin. My arms sort of fit around her. Huh.

  Orange Juice Dude gets to his feet, and he’s super tall, super skinny, young and looks sorta familiar. Here we go. He’s gonna be pissed by my filthy mitts touching his little sister, and I really don’t want to slap this kid around in his own kitchen. But he just tilts his head, exactly the way Barbie/Tia does and says, “Are you the guy who pounded Philly?”

  I’ve heard the name before, but I don’t know who Philly is. Is it the family dog? Cuz I’m a nasty son of a bitch, but I wouldn’t smack their dog for chrissake. And obviously the dog is fine. It’s licking orange juice off the floor.

  “Yup,” says Baby Barbie. She stands and flicks a glob of egg yolk at her brother’s hair. “He’s the one. Philly now treats me like I’m the poster girl for genital herpes, thank you very much.”

  To me, the brother says, “Good.” Then he grabs an egg out of the still wide open refrigerator and smashes it on the sister’s head.

  “Food fight!” yells Thing One. “Food fight!” Thing Two echoes, and no way I’m sticking around for anymore of this. I might need to take Tulip with me, for her own safety, and I kinda like carrying her around. She’s the only physical contact I’ve had in I don’t know how long ... except for Sasha and that was more of a transaction.

  “That’s it! That’s enough!” It’s Barbie/Tia. The rest of them freeze. I don’t blame them. She’s ferocious. She also looks like death after it’s been run over and dragged behind a bus all the way to Detroit and back. Doesn’t stop me from checking out her tits, legs and ass. Her bright blonde hair is in a messy ball on top of her head, and I’m disappointed she’s wearing a bra now.

  “Somebody want to explain what in the everloving hufflelumps is going on here?”

  “It’s all Tully’s fault,” Thing One is quick to throw her into the wood chipper. “She tried making eggs and wrecked everything.”

  Tulip now sobs into my shirt, getting me wet and snotty, and so worked up she’s hiccuping. I don’t know what the fuck to do about it. I try to peel her off, which ain’t happening, so I sorta bounce, sorta pat her back and look to Barbie/Tia for help.

  Barbie’s wobbly on her feet, pale as paste, but still taking charge, doing her thing, taking care of everybody but herself. “Ten, Hem, you guys are on clean up duty.”

  “No friggin way!” “Not fair!” they each shout, but she shakes her head.

  “Clean up and I’ll forget about the chipmunk, staple gun, Mora’s thong, and pretend I didn’t see your skateboards in the house.”

  “What did you two butt munchers do with my thong?” The younger Barbie wants to know, but the older one ignores her and says, “Theo, wash up and could you start the washer? Mora, get yourself and Tully clean and dressed. I’ll make breakfast. Oh and by the way, everybody, this is Taz.” She looks at me then starts pointing at various blonde heads. “In age order this is Mora, Theo, Tanner, Tristan, Tully.”

  Am I supposed to remember that? Orange Juice Dude is Theo. I caught that much.

  I’m lucky I remember my own name, because Barbie/Tia is suddenly standing too close. I hold my breath but can’t escape her. There’s too much of her. Her smell, hair, curves, and she’s warm. Maybe she still has a fever. She’s a thousand degrees, like rubbing up against hot coals, and I’m getting sweaty.

  She brushes the hair off Tulip’s forehead, bends to kiss her cheek, and the only reason I don’t jump is because I’m paralyzed. “Go with Mora, get dressed Baby Sis. I’ll make your digs, and we’ll find time to play together today, OK?”

  “Can Tummy play?”

  “Um.” She glances at me. I set Tulip down and ease a step backward. I don’t want to get stuck playing saloon again. That was nothing like I expected, and I’m guessing the rest of the family is as eager for me to be gone as I am.

  “I know,” says Tulip, bouncing around. “You can teach him to bump uglies!”

  What?

  “Oh God.” Barbie/Tia closes her eyes for a second and her cheeks now have color. “I don’t think so. We need lots of space and music and well … off you go with Mora.”

  As much I want to know more about bumping uglies with Barbie/Tia, now’s my chance to duck out. Except she’s making food. But the Things are right. Her cooking tastes like toe funk dipped in puke, rolled in ass juice. Doesn’t matter. I’m hungry. Which also doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m invited. Anywhere. Ever.

  I drop my crazy fingers into my front pockets, inch toward the door and am almost there when Barbie/Tia shifts in front of me and says, “You’ll stay and help? Please?”

  CHAPTER 25

  TAZ:

  After juvie, I got placed in a couple of good
homes. I didn’t know how to act and I fucked it up, so they didn’t want me and sent me away. I got stuck in some bad homes. I knew just how to act, so I fucked it up and they sent me away. When I’d had enough, I finally bounced and tried it on my own. It was better and worse. Lonely. Safer. Quiet. Hopeless.

  I now unravel where I stand.

  Barbie/Tia sees it and wraps a gentle hand around my bicep. I don’t like it. This house, this family doesn’t fit me. I jerk my arm away and then regret it.

  “C’mon.” She pretends not to notice. “Let’s make some eggs.”

  I check the door, make sure I’ve got a clear shot at it, and then just stand there while she gets out the skillet, mixing bowl, eggs, and a bunch of ingredients. My fingers shuffle on repeat. This is the goddamn lunch line all over again. I need to go, before they figure out just how nuts I really am, but don’t want to. I want to stay, see what this is like, and that just stings.

  I shift my weight from foot to foot. Barbie/Tia smiles at her brothers smearing the orange juice around on the floor, smiles at the dog getting in the way, smiles at the cat chasing what looks like a grape under the table. She smiles at me. And tilts her head, trying to get me to join her. Why?

  When she literally smashes shell and yolk into the bowl, I finally step forward. I can't watch her wreck another batch of eggs, not when I’ve been living off garbage pickings and gas station shoplifting. I shove myself up to the counter, but then don’t know how to start and end up fidgeting and feeling like a big idiot. My shoulders knot as I brace for whatever happens next.

  “You want to handle the eggs?” She nudges them toward me “Use them all. There’s never enough food to go around.” She acts like it’s OK I’m here, like we do this everyday.

  So I crack eggs. When she tries to toss raisins into the mix, I guard the bowl and shake my head.

  “What? It’ll add a little color,” she says. “A little texture.”

  I knew there was something wrong with her. Raisins? Jesus. I shake my head again.

  She then cranks up the flame under the skillet, apparently building a funeral pyre for the eggs. I turn it down. When she starts digging with a spatula, scraping metal against cast iron, I rattle from head to toe and nearly swallow my own tongue until she finally hands the spatula over and switches to making toast. She burns the toast. But there’s tons of it.

  She offers me a plate. “Take what you want, quick, and defend it with your life.”

  Then she yells, “Food!” And there’s a stampede. The effen floor shakes. The cat bolts. The dog hides. The kids descend like it’s ice cream day at fat camp, pushing and shoving, grabbing and wrestling one another. Theo throws Tulip over his shoulder and cinches one of his little brothers in a headlock. Thing One and Two get yelled at for spitting on each other. Tulip gets scolded for dancing on her chair. Tia sneaks scraps to the dog. Baby Barbie steals toast from Theo, and he gets even by sticking his thumb in her eggs. I wedge into a safe corner, stay way the fuck out of it, but can’t stop watching them. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

  CHAPTER 26

  Tia:

  My brothers and sisters drop into their chairs at the table, cram eggs into their mouths and make animal noises. I consider apologizing for the zoo that is my family, but usually it’s worse, so I’m actually relieved right now. Until Ten climbs up on his chair and sings this horrible song from Tully’s favorite movie.

  “Let it go, let it go. Can’t hold back anymore.” Then he burps.

  “Don’t do that!” Tully shouts.

  “Couldn’t keep it in,” sings Hem and he burps.

  “You boys are naughty and bad, and I don’t like you right now.” Tully throws down her fork, jumps up from the table and stomps up to Taz, where he’s mashed against the counter, hugging his untouched plate against his chest. I hate to tell him, but any open display of food is like baiting in bears. It’s dangerous.

  Little Sis hooks a finger in his belt loop and tugs. “C’mon Tummy. Let’s go play.”

  “Hold on there, Baby Sis,” I stop her. “Did you finish your digs?”

  “I don’t want anymore. I wanna play with Tummy.”

  “First you need to clean up your plate. Then you can entertain yourself for awhile.”

  “No!” She stomps a foot and raises the volume by about twenty decibels. “Tummy and I are going to play magic pony dress up!”

  She now uses both hands, yanking on Taz, while he glances back and forth between her and me, looking as desperate as a cat headed to an ice bath. I don’t blame him. Magic pony dress up is a big commitment.

  “You need to cool it, Baby Sis. Your inner Mora is showing.”

  “You mean she’s demonstrating her confidence and independence,” Mora calls over.

  “Nope, she’s acting like a girl,” Hem offers up.

  I squat down so I’m eye level with Tully. “Taz is my friend. Our friend. He’s not here just for you. You need to share.”

  “Is it your turn to play with him?”

  And now I’m blushing like an idiot. “Yes.”

  “Mora says you two are gonna noodle.”

  There’s a chorus of snorts, chuckles and wolf whistles from the peanut gallery as Mora half shouts, “I said canoodle and the little brat was eavesdropping.”

  “I wasn’t eat stopping and you’re a brat!” Tully yells back. “Pinch her, Theo!”

  “Ow!” Mora yipes. “Theo pinched me.”

  “Good!” Too loud. My cheeks are on fire. Deep breath. Making sure not to glance at Taz, I concentrate on Tully. “We’ll probably just do boring homework kind of stuff.”

  “Will I get another turn with him?”

  “I think so, but probably not today.”

  She’s pouty, pigtails drooping, but cleans up her plate like a good girl, and then drags her little self into the living room, making sure to huff nice and loud.

  I take my seat at the table, push out an empty chair and pat it, hoping, hoping, hoping.

  I’m fading fast, would love nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but I think this boy needs me, needs us, needs something. I’m not sure he has anywhere to go, but he’s got one foot heading toward the door, has yet to take a bite of his eggs, and I’m thinking he doesn’t know how to accept kindness because maybe he’s never been offered it. Which kills me.

  “Sit with us,” I finally say. “Join us.”

  He still hesitates, his whole body bunched up tight, eyes now fascinated with a blob of old jelly on the floor. It’s really too bad he’s not a goldfish. I could leave him in a sandwich bag and let him get acclimated to us nice and slow.

  Theo glances from Taz to me, scrunching his face like he does when he’s thinking, then says, “So, um, Taz, right? You know anything about lawnmowers? Me and Tia, we’ve been trying to get the mower started. It turns over but won’t catch. Maybe you’d wanna take a look at it with me? Either that or we could set up a nature preserve out there, cuz the grass is high enough to hide a full grown elephant.”

  “You’re just trying to get him to mow the lawn for you,” Mora cuts in. She looks over at Taz. “Don’t fall for it. He’ll do anything to get out of his jobs. And if you’ve got extra time, you could be doing something fun, like teaching me how to drive. We can drive to the mall! Shopping trip!”

  “Dude, you gonna eat those eggs?” Ten asks him.

  “They don’t taste like dump for once,” Hem adds. “So if you don’t want ‘em …”

  “Hey!” I jump in. “Let’s not have a repeat of Aunt Charlotte.”

  “C’mon burp twins,” says Theo, palming both of their heads. “Time for me to school your asses in basketball.”

  “Quarter!” I announce.

  “Wait up!” Mora follows after. “Who’s teams and what are we betting?”

  As they file out, we hear Ten answer, “Losers do a naked lap around the block at midnight!”

  Hooboy.

  And then Hem, “I’m betting against whatever team Mora’s
on. She sucks donkey weiners.”

  “Oh, you two shit stains are going down.”

  “Quarter! Everybody! You all owe, and I’m keeping track.” I prop my elbows on the table and cradle my aching head. I love my family. I truly do, but the sudden quiet is way more amazing than anything Michelangelo ever painted. I could spend hours appreciating it, and closing my eyes makes it even better.

  Just as I’m starting to nod off, I feel Taz ease into the seat next to me. Hallelujah. It’s about time. This boy is more work than sorting seven people’s laundry. I’m almost sure he’s going to be worth it.

  “Do you?” I ask.

  He gives me those pretty, pretty eyes with the spiky lashes and the birthmark over the lip, and his mouth is perfect. Even his scars set him apart as something rare. It’s not really fair. There’s no effort there. He slept in his gray T-shirt and ripped jeans, hasn’t showered, and his hair is knotted into one of Tully’s pink twisties, but I’ve got no complaints. I might be a little disappointed by the bun. I want to see his hair down. I want to run my fingers through it, play with it, pull it, jump on him, and I don’t know what comes over me when Taz is around. I turn into a slutasorus rex.

  “Do you know anything about mowers?” I try again.

  He shrugs. I pick at the toast. It’s burned. I think something is wrong with the toaster.

  “Do you know anything about Calculus?”

  This time I get a nod.

  “Really? Because I’m so totally lost in that class I’ve considered hiring a sherpa. Maybe you could help me with calculus, and I could, I could … hmmm. Oh! I could give you a ride to school!”

  “No.”

  He spoke! I probably shouldn’t take a victory lap around the kitchen. Especially when he’s being a Negative Nancy.

  “No to the calculus or no to the ride?”

  “The ride.”

  Two words this time. We are on a roll.

  “OK. I can work with that.” I smile. He doesn’t. “I saw you running the other morning. I couldn’t catch you.” I smile bigger. He’s not scowling anymore. I take that as a win. “How about we run together sometime? I go every morning before school, so we could meet up. Or I could throw a lasso around you on your way by?”