Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Even though I know Dragon wouldn’t want me to do that.
Once he’s done with the ice cream, he meets my gaze. “You ready?”
“Are you?”
There’s meaning beneath my words. Is he ready to see his parents? Is he ready to tell me why we’re truly here?
We head to the car, and Dragon, without asking, takes the driver’s seat. Fine with me.
“What’s the address?”
He rattles it off, and I put it in the GPS.
And we’re off.
We drive through the city of Taos. It’s dark now, but even so, the quaintness of the small town is visible in the mom-and-pop restaurants and art galleries. He keeps driving until we get to what appears to be a mobile home park.
I hold back my surprise. After all, I shouldn’t be surprised. Dragon doesn’t come from money. That much is obvious.
“Damn,” he says.
“What’s wrong?”
“I grew up in a suburb of Denver. A northern suburb, and the houses were no bigger than cracker boxes, but they were sure as hell a lot nicer than this.”
I look around. “Some of these look very nice.”
He scoffs. “Please, Diana. Nobody in your family would be caught dead here.”
“Ava might,” I say.
My cousin Ava is famous for never touching Steel money. She runs a bakery in downtown Snow Creek, and she used to live above it. Now she lives above Murphy’s Bar with her new husband, Brendan Murphy. She’s renting out the apartment above the bakery.
“Yeah? Last time I checked, you’re not Ava.”
“Just shut the fuck up, will you, Dragon?” I can scarcely believe those words came out of my mouth, but they get a chuckle out of him. “What’s so funny?”
“You just said the F word. You told me to shut the fuck up.”
“Because you won’t stop thinking of me as some spoiled rich bitch.” I punch him on his upper arm. “I am sick as hell of that. Everybody at my new job—correction, my former job—thought the same. And you’ve heard me say the F word before, so fuck you.”
He says nothing.
We drive up to the unit. It’s not one of the nicer maintained ones. In fact, the small lawn is full of weeds, and the redwood steps leading up to the door look broken and rickety.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask.
“No. This is something I need to do on my own.” He looks around, scanning our surroundings. “Keep the car doors locked.”
I was planning to, though I’m not going to say that to him.
He draws in a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
Chapter Eleven
Dragon
Seventeen years earlier…
Today is my birthday.
I’m thirteen.
And that means I move to a new group home.
I’ve been at this one since I was eight, a little kid. It’s been all right. The food sucks, and there’s never enough of it, but my bed isn’t too uncomfortable. And the guys here aren’t too bad either. I’ve been in a few fights, gotten some bloody noses and black eyes, but I’ve always held my own.
The people who work here are nice. They don’t beat up on us. Don’t abuse us. I’ve heard some horror stories from some of my friends here about what could happen. What has happened to them at other places.
But today I turn thirteen. I’m a teenager. Shouldn’t that be a big deal in a boy’s life? If I were Jewish, I’d be a man today, according to my friend John Levine. He’s a little younger than I am.
I’m not Jewish. I don’t really know what I am. My parents never went to church, so neither did I. But we celebrated Christmas.
Christmas…
That last Christmas at home, when I gave Griffin those pink pajamas, she was so happy that she had to go change into them before she opened any more presents.
Does she miss me? Does she ever ask about me?
I miss her.
But I don’t miss my parents.
They didn’t believe me. They left me here.
My friend Jimmy—who left this home a year ago when he turned thirteen—told me that if you’re not adopted by the time you’re nine or ten, you never will be.
Nobody wants a problem teenager.
I don’t particularly think I’m a problem, but you never know.
I wish I were a little bigger. I haven’t had my growth spurt yet. Some of the other guys who aren’t yet thirteen are bigger than I am. That doesn’t bode well for me going to the new place.
My counselor’s name is David. He’s a nice guy, somewhere in his twenties. He tells us we’re all worth something, and that one day, we can be anything we want to be.
Yeah, right.
“You ready, Dragon?” he says.
Does he expect me to answer? The fact of the matter is that I have no choice. I’m leaving. I’d like to stay here. It’s not great, but no one hurts me here.
Sure, I get into a fight every now and then, but we’re guys. Guys can fight and then make up and be cool—all in a matter of minutes.