Chapter Four
Even after the tenth deep breath, Aiden’s hands continued to shake.
“Stepmother,” he typed in English first and quickly deleted it.
“Yin Mei,” he began in Chinese, “I’ve been thinking.
” He stopped tapping his phone. He reread it five times, deleted it, then typed the same two sentences again.
His stepmother would probably be more pleased if he called—then spend an hour reiterating the importance of family and whispering some halfhearted proclamation about how his brother would be so proud without meaning a single word.
He began his text message again.
Just tell her you know what you need to do and get it over with! Aiden deleted a variation of the same two sentences a third time and tossed his phone aside. Groaning, he lowered his head into his hands. Ge would just do it. He’d say it to her face.
Seeing his face should give some courage. Aiden grabbed his backpack and rummaged through the pockets for his brother’s photo—only to come up empty-handed.
He blinked. Then…I hid him. His breathing quickened, and despite earlier, his hands shook harder.
He dug out his journal and flipped through the pages.
He grabbed his folders, dumping the pages out.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his chest heaved for air.
He flipped his pencil bag inside out, parsed through every item, focused on the floor, and willed the photograph of his brother to appear in his hands, but it continued to elude him.
I brought him with me today. His memory raced, walking through the day. He reached for the textbook still stuffed with the out of order papers from earlier in the day and froze.
I left him in the textbook.
The memory resurfaced sharp and clear of him wedging it into the textbook and hugging it to his chest.
Until the textbook crashed on the floor and scattered everything across the wide, busy floor.
In his eyes, he saw it crumple underneath the stampeding feet of other unsuspecting students.
It slid against the tiles into a corner with the other trash, and a giant broom swept it away to never be found again.
Aiden slumped against the wall. That was my only picture of him. How can I lose him just like that? He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his head in his arms. His stepmother’s lecture of weaknesses echoed in his head.
· · ·
Muffled voices laughed outside his window. He peeled the blinds back from where he sat and peeked out to see a group of kids holding rolls of posters, supplies, and a tablecloth.
They’re going to the org fair, he thought, watching them dance past his window. Ge said I should check out clubs, and that I’ll make friends there.
He should go, but he stayed glued to his apartment’s floor. His mind wandered, tracing the deaths of his family and the lack of tears fallen for them. His brother died, and no one really cried at the funeral, and even now, the tears eluded him.
His father died when he just entered high school.
His father spent more time with his stepsiblings and even more time drinking and smoking.
His stepmother sniffled, and his brother’s eyes were filled with grief when they watched him die in the hospital bed.
There he goes. That was all Aiden thought and felt toward the corpse.
He supposed there was a time when his father towered above everyone with a voice that carried commands. When his father ate well and laughed well.
Yes, his father was once a different man who actively participated in his life. Until that night happened, where a heaviness fell against his body and his hand transformed into an ice block that gripped his skin and refused to let go.
Aiden’s breaths quickened. He frantically looked at the walls that closed around him. The window beside him loomed menacingly, and even with blinds, he knew bullets could race through and destroy everything in their path.
He needed to leave this small space. He needed to go somewhere open—somewhere safer with civilians and potential bystander casualties that the enemies wouldn’t risk.
He grabbed his keys, slipped into his shoes, and dashed out the door.
However, under the glare of the sun, Aiden only found his panic rising.
He stumbled past the people walking toward campus, and he blindly followed the crowd before him into a pot of strangers standing shoulder to shoulder with each other.
Tables dotted the open area with signs of bright colors announcing their functions.
Voices bounced through the air. Free T-shirts. Free cookies. Free toys.
A free card! I have a free card! a child giggled in his head.
Growling, Aiden shoved himself into the crowd.
“Come see our table! Look at our table!”
No—look at my card! I have the better card!
Laughter echoed and rattled his entire body. Aiden covered his ears and squinted against the sun’s glare that reminded him of a car’s oncoming headlights. Strangers’ voices mingled together. Words jumbled into incoherence.
“Sorry about that!” someone called when he bumped shoulders.
Sorry about that! I’ll be right back! His brother dashed around a corner of their home.
Don’t go. Aiden wanted to scream. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t muster a single sound. Things go wrong when you leave. Stay here with me.
He reached out with his hand. His feet stumbled against the ground, knocking into bodies.
“Hey!”
Sorry. I’m sorry. Who was he saying sorry to?
“Hey!”
Did he even manage to say sorry out loud like he intended?
“Hey!”
How many people did he crash into? He needed to leave. He needed to leave before the strangers around him decided to throw him out.
“Hey, you, I’m sorry I don’t know your name!”
He stopped in confusion.
The voice was familiar. Warm. He wrenched his head around, prepared to face the trap his own memories laid out for him, only to see a strange, yet familiar, face dashing toward him.
The blond hair and clear, blue eyes triggered no memories, but the voice slicing through the haze of tumbling emotions with gentle yet fervent coaxing did.
“Hey! I’m so sorry—excuse me—I’m really sorry.” The boy weaved through the crowd, despite his considerable height. He stopped in front of Aiden, slightly panting. “Hi, my name is Brendan. I don’t know if you remember me.”
“I do,” Aiden mumbled.
Brendan’s voice remained warm. “You dropped something the other day. I’m glad I chased after you. I wasn’t even sure if I saw the right person.”
The words wiped the murkiness from Aiden’s senses. Voices became distinguishable, and the people stopped blurring. The sun stopped glaring.
Aiden blinked, looking around. People called from tables with large gestures and eager smiles.
A crowd of people bustled about to each table, looking over facts and asking questions.
In the crowd of enthusiastically recruiting students and curious newcomers, their shoulders jostled, and they acted like nothing happened.
The atmosphere was too pleasant, and they were too good to get upset at getting brushed in such a tight space.
I’m at the org fair. His breathing evened. He straightened himself.
Then, he repeated what Brendan had already said.
Aiden stumbled forward and latched his hands tightly around Brendan’s arm. His heart sung. “You found something? What did you find? Was it a photo?” He clenched his hands. “Please tell me it was a photo!”
As long as I get it back. I don’t care if this boy judges me or pities me.
To his surprise, Brendan’s face lit up. “I knew it was important! Yeah, it’s a photo. I have it in my backpack. Wanna come with me?”
Aiden nodded. He stayed close to Brendan’s tall back and watched in awe. “Sorry. Coming through. Excuse me. Sorry, sorry!” The people parted to his voice, forming a perfect pathway.
It feels weirdly safe to follow him. His hands had finally stopped shaking.
Brendan led him to a club’s table where the two friends who also checked on him were busying about. “Sorry about that, Christina.”
She shrugged. “Javier’s taking care of it.”
Aiden glanced over at Javier, still with the unruly brown hair, waving his hands in the air.
Brendan searched inside his backpack. “There it is.”
The world fell silent around him. Aiden focused on the tiny picture cupped in Brendan’s hand. It was a flimsy piece of paper—easy to fold, easy to rip, and easy to lose.
His brother’s familiar face smiled back at him in a perfectly preserved piece of paper with edges smooth, colors vibrant, and not a crease in sight.
Aiden’s mouth fell ajar. He gently took the picture back and gazed at Brendan. “You kept it. For me.”
“Yeah.” Brendan’s shoulders relaxed, and he flashed a smile. “It seemed important.”
Something warm slipped down his cheek. Blinking, Aiden held tightly to his brother’s photograph and used his other hand to wipe the warmth away. His skin met water, and he blinked more, staring at the moisture glistening on his finger.
Tears? I’m crying?
“Brendan, can you explain this to them?” someone else called.
Aiden looked up to see someone at the table. “Sorry,” Brendan said and swiftly moved to the front.
Brendan encouraged the person to ask more with hands held open in invitation and body leaning forward in attention. Aiden watched the potential club member grow more eager with every question answered, and before long, signed a name and email onto a list.
“He’s a bit of a klutz sometimes, but he’s a good president.”
Aiden whirled around at the girl’s voice. She smiled. “Christina. Are you interested in joining?”
“What’s this club?”
“It’s a photography club. Not a professional one. We’re all just taking pictures as a hobby, so no worries if you have no experience. We’re always looking for new members.”
“Photographs…” He looked down at his brother’s picture.