Chapter Two
Seventeen Years Ago - Ryder
TODAY WAS THE first day the prick has left the house in a while, his days normally spent sipping beers and watching TV, which means there’s another kid coming to the house. I stopped feeling bad for them a long time ago. Besides, I’m usually getting into enough trouble that Cyrus forgets all about the others anyway.
I don’t do it to protect them, I’d be in trouble whether they were here or not, having learned a while ago that trouble is my shadow. Where I go, it follows, and it’s the only mercy these kids are offered in this house, so I wouldn’t change it even if I could.
Speaking of Cyrus, he should be getting back any minute now. He’s not the sort who became a foster parent out of the kindness of his heart, but keeps us for the paychecks, which allow him to waste away in his recliner day after day, until an inspection comes around every once in a while, and he has to play doting caretaker. There’s been a few social workers come through over the years who saw Cyrus for who he truly is, but it’s a broken system, so he continually gets a pass.
They know it. I know it. Making my way back up to my room, I take up my usual spot by the window, watching for the new arrival. It’s never been an exciting thing, so I don’t know why I do it.
I just do.
The car pulls up a few minutes later, parking on the street directly in front of the house. Cyrus’s bald head emerges first, colored a dark red as if the alcohol has permanently stained it, followed by the rest of his body. He shuts the door, walking around to the back door opposite to him.
But the door opens before he gets there, and tiny, worn-out pink sneakers jut out, belonging to someone so little her feet can’t even reach the ground. Something happens in my stomach, likely thanks to all the candy I just scaled the kitchen wall to steal. Or maybe the years of Hamburger Helper and instant mashed potatoes have caught up to me at the ripe old age of eight.
I know that feeling didn’t happen because of the new girl.
She jumps the rest of the way out of the car, exposing the top of her dirty blonde head, and grabs her matching pink backpack. It’s too big for her, probably heavier than she is, but she insists on carrying it. Just like her shoes, it looks like it was pulled out of a dumpster. Not that I expected her to be wearing anything new, considering she’s coming here to live.
Her chin sticks out and she’s got this look on her face like she’s ready for battle. She doesn’t look much bigger than a five-year-old, but if she’s here, I know she’s experienced things that have forced her to get clever, to grow up too soon.
This little girl isn’t imagining there’s unicorns running about just waiting for her to find them, or going off to play with the pretend fairies in the yard. Her eyes are busy scrutinizing every inch of this place, gauging what she’s gotten herself into. I’m impressed when she doesn’t look intimidated.
Cyrus reaches over and grips the little girl’s shoulder a bit too roughly, pushing her forward. I don’t like it. She’s too tiny for him to be pushing her around. In fact, he shouldn’t be touching her at all. Period.
On a regular day, after I’m done stealing or doing whatever else goes against the rules, I would take up a good hiding spot until I figure out whether I’ve been caught or not. Hiding doesn’t do anything but delay the inevitable, but it puts the power in my hands.
To hell with hiding today.
I’m going to say hi to the new girl.