2. Luc
2
LUC
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
“ W hat do you mean you’re getting a new brother and sister?” I shove my lunch into my mouth like the world is heading into a depression and this will be my last chance to eat for the foreseeable future. It’s not, of course. My parents aren’t, like, rich or anything. But we have a decent house. We have clothes and shoes and dinner on the table every night.
Which is a hell of a lot more than Ang gets, that’s for sure.
But I’m twelve now, and hell if that doesn’t mean my stomach doesn’t always feel empty anyway.
“You don’t just get new brothers and sisters like they come from a catalog.” I roll my eyes. Lounging back on his ratty couch, I side-eye the television while Sam and his brother, Alex, play a racing game on the PlayStation. “They’re not even babies. Who adopts a grown ass kid?”
“Swear like that in front of my mom,” Alex growls, “and she’s gonna shove soap down your throat.”
I take another hefty bite and crunch down on the chip sandwich filling my mouth. “Your family already has three kids, dude. Why the hell would they adopt a couple more?”
“Because their parents died.” Sam zooms ahead of Alex on the game, his shoulders and arms moving like that somehow makes his turns tighter. His speed, faster. Lowering his voice, he spares a fast glance for the doorway that leads to the kitchen, where all the adults talk adult stuff, and the girls— Sam and Alex’s sister, plus my two—play and squeal somewhere else in the house.
Because the Turners’ home is where we all come to hang out.
Chief Turner’s is where all the kids come to eat and chill.
Which is probably why the dude is adopting a couple of already-grown kids.
“They had a break in,” Sam whispers. His eyes focus completely on the screen again. “Dudes wanted to rob them or something. And they had shotguns.”
“You shouldn’t have been listening to Mom and Dad talk about that stuff,” Alex—aka X—grumbles. “It wasn’t information for your ears.”
Sam only shrugs. “Their parents got shot. Point blank, buckshot tore them up and made a huge mess. There was blood everywhere, Dad said. All over the kitchen and stuff.”
“That’s pretty shitty.” I take another bite and bide my time until I can race. “The kids didn’t get hurt?”
“Nope.” His shoulders bounce as his car jumps a ravine and slams back on the road with sparks flying out the back. “The boy, Marcus, he’s twelve, too. He grabbed his sister and hid in the closet till they left.”
“And the robbers just…” I widen my eyes and picture the scene in my mind. Of course, a pre-teen’s imagination, coupled with a Gran Turismo game, makes what I see all the more dramatic. Flying bullets, fighting men. A little ninja karate, maybe. Nunchucks, too. “The robbers left them alone?”
“Didn’t even know the kids were there,” X inserts. “Or didn’t care. Dad reckons they didn’t expect anyone to be home at all. Like the Macchios were supposed to be on vacation or something.” He hisses in the back of his throat when Sam’s car zooms up and smashes him from behind. “So when they got in the house and were busted by the parents, shit was already pretty noisy. They shot and ran. Didn’t even go upstairs.”
“So it was all over pretty quick, then?” I flop my leg over the side of the couch and kick X’s elbow, earning a snarl that turns more severe when I grin. “Walk in, get busted, walk out, and the kids are off to the orphanage?”
“It’s not like they’re being adopted or anything.” Sam cuts left and overtakes his older brother. “And not quick. The parents died at, like, midnight or something. Dad didn’t find the kids until the next morning.”
“Your dad found them? Like,” I shoot forward on my chair and try to catch my friend’s blue stare. “Him, personally?”
“Yeah, he was on duty when the call came in, but their house was all the way over on the other side of town. Marcus went to the other school.” His tongue comes forward past his lips as he concentrates. It’s funny because that’s the face he makes when he’s writing a song, too. And playing guitar. It’s his concentration face. “I heard the cops knew that the Macchios had kids, but thought they’d ran during all the ruckus. Cruisers were all over town for hours trying to find them.”
“And they were in the closet the whole time?” I glance back at the door when the girls playfully scream. Laine, Jess, and Sam’s baby sister, Britt, are pretty damn inseparable. Just like me, Sam, and Ang… and sometimes X, too. Though he’s on the fast track to becoming a cop just like his dad.
He snitches often enough.
“Now they’re coming here,” I conclude. “Marcus is our age, and the other one, the sister, is Britt’s age?”
“Pretty much. I guess that’s why Dad volunteered. He already had the same aged kids, and every other kid in town is eating out of our kitchen already.”
I look down at my sandwich and smirk. Yum .
“Her name is Kari,” X inserts, twisting his body to bring his hotted-up car around a tight corner. “And she’s apparently kinda small for her age. So just…” He slams his controller to the couch and growls when Sam zooms ahead of him and crosses the finish line. “Goddammit. You cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat!” Sam tosses his controller into my lap, laughing as X pushes to his feet. “I’m just better than you.”
“You’re an asshole.” Alex shoves past my couch, hitting my leg with his as he goes by and makes a beeline for the front window overlooking the yard. “They’re gonna be here in a minute. So you should probably go home, Luc.”
“That’s rude.” I set my half sandwich on my knee and pick up the controller still warm from Sam’s palms. He takes Alex’s controller and resets a new race. “I’m not leaving because you’re feeling bossy.” I select my car. My wheels. Paint colors. And when Sam defers to me, I select the track. “Did you ever consider talking to someone, X? You can get a little… ya know… controlling when things aren’t going exactly your way.”
“Did you ever consider shutting the fuck up?” He releases the blinds, so they snap back into place noisily. Then he turns to me and sneers. “This is my house.”
“This is our house,” Sam counters calmy. If Alex is the tense, grumpy Turner, then Sam is his mellow other half. Calm. Cool. Always kind. Hell, I’m not sure there’s anything anyone could do to the dude that would trip his trigger.
Except, maybe, fuck with his family.
“And Luc is my friend,” he continues. “Even if he’s annoying sometimes. ”
“Hey.” I shoot a look toward my friend . “Jackoff.”
“He talks a lot,” Sam continues, his lips twitching at the corners. “He’s not very good at the drums.”
“Hell, I’m not. I’m at least as good as Dave Grohl. And I’m still only twelve.”
“Dave Grohl would wipe his ass with your play book,” Alex growls. “Don’t pretend otherwise. What you do is make noise, not music.”
“I make damn good noise, considering my inferior instruments. And I have a plan to save up for a better drum kit. It’s hard earning money when you’re my age. No one trusts you to do the job right.”
“That’s not age,” X grumbles. “That’s just you.”
“Boys?”
Mrs. Turner stops in the living room doorway, the perfect Mrs. Married Life homemaker. She wears a soft blue checkered dress, with a mini-half apron wrapped around trim hips and her hair styled in a bob I’d swear came straight out of the salon.
Except it didn’t.
I know it didn’t because I’ve been here since breakfast time, and salons aren’t open that early.
“Dad is on his way back,” she murmurs. Her eyes are blue, just like her three kids. Her hair, dark, just like theirs. She smiles, her lips curling with faultless lipstick until her straight white teeth glitter in the daylight flickering through the windows. “It’s going to be a pretty big afternoon for us, okay? Marc and Kari are going to be scared and shy. So I thought maybe?—”
I set my controller on the couch, unbothered about the race I’m supposed to be competing in, and instead, I shoot my hand into the air. It’s like we’re in school and she’s my teacher.
“I’d like to stay, if that’s okay, Mrs. Turner. I know the house is already kinda full, and it’s only gonna get worse. And I know X has this need to have everyone stacked in their rightful place.”
“Shut the hell up!”
“And welcoming new people into his home is gonna take effort and adaptation from him,” I tease. “But I feel like Marc is gonna need friends, right? And he’s our age.” I jab a thumb back at my chest, then away toward Sam. “We’re his age, which means he’ll come to our school starting Monday. I just figure, he could do with the friendship.”
“Luc, honey?—”
“I think he needs family, Mrs. Turner. And I know I don’t actually live here, but I still consider you my family. ”
Her eyes shimmer. Target: hit.
“We could take him out to the garage. Get out of your hair.”
“We’ll give him and Kari a tour of the house, Mom.” Sam sets his controller down and rests his elbows on his knees. “Kids want other kids. They don’t want adults.”
“They’re going to want quiet, honey.”
“Sam’s literally the quietest, calmest dude we know!” I press my hands together as though in prayer. “He’s gonna want his people, Mrs. Turner. And he’s already spent time with the chief. That’s plenty of adult sh—” I choke my word down. Swallow the swear before I get myself booted out on principle. Then I smile. “That’s plenty of adult time for now. I’ll stick around for an hour or two, then I’ll get the girls out of here and you guys can settle in for the night.”
“They’re here!” Alex practically flaps at the window. Nerves wafting from his pores and presenting as an almost six-foot teenager with ants in his pants. “Mom! They’re here.”
“Alright.” She draws a deep breath and closes her eyes for a long, concentrated moment. Then she exhales and opens them again. She looks to Alex first and lifts a challenging brow. “Relax. Everything’s going to be fine.” Then to me. “Please don’t rile everyone up, Luca. We want quiet.” She lifts her voice when I snatch my sandwich and jump up from the couch, striding her way. “We want a peaceful transition.” Then she slaps her hand to my chest and stops me when I try to pass. “We don’t want drums. Or band practice. Or skating in the street.”
I look down at her hand and scowl. “You’re taking away all the good stuff, Mrs. Turner.”
“Their parents died, honey. Just days ago. They weren’t sick. There was no time to prepare, and there was certainly no closure. Imagine losing someone you loved as suddenly as they lost their family.” She firms her lips, allowing me time to consider a world where such cruelty exists. “Imagine wanting to hug your mom just one more time, but you don’t get to.”
“I’m gonna hug my mom just as soon as I get home,” I decide solemnly. “And my dad, too.”
“And you’re very fortunate to still be able to do that. Marc and Kari can’t.” Dropping her hand, she smiles and pats my shoulder so I can pass. “Calm, Luca. Lock it down.”
I stalk straight toward the door as the crunch of gravel outside travels this way. Car doors slamming. One. Two. Three. I look down at my shirt—Tony Hawk, of course—then to my jeans, littered with crumbs I hastily brush to the floor. I fist my half-sandwich, but even with nerves swarming in my stomach, my appetite remains untouched. My need for food, far greater than any other influence. So I bring the meal up and take another bite as Sam walks up on my left, and Alex, on my right.
I glance over my shoulder and spy three little girls at the base of the stairs. Two blondes, the color of their hair so fair, it could almost be white. And their opposite, Britt, with black.
We all have sky-blue eyes, though the Turner family and mine share no DNA.
It’s just a coincidence, I guess. One that becomes a little less pronounced when Ang is hanging around and his silver stare breaks up all the blue.
“Are we ready?” Mrs. Turner fusses with her dress. She smooths the already smooth fabric down, patting her mostly flat stomach and presses a hand to her chest.
I bet it’s pounding.
Then she shakes her hair back and takes control, opening her front door and smiling for the trio sluggishly moving up the walkway.
A boy and a girl.
And Mr. Turner right behind them.
The boy—Marcus—is damn tall compared to the other guys in our grade, with black hair and eyes like emeralds. He already has a deep wrinkle pounded into the space between his brows, a line that will only grow deeper as he gets older. He carries a backpack slung over his shoulder and wears jeans a little too big for his body. A little slouchy as he digs one hand into the pocket, and the other wraps securely around a little girl’s palm.
He studies us the way we study him, I think. Not entirely trusting of the situation. He’s tired. Pissed. He’s like a cat, I suppose, forcefully removed from his home and shoved into a world he never asked for.
But the girl, Kari… she’s his opposite in a lot of ways. She’s younger. Smaller. He has broad shoulders, while hers are tiny. His hair is cut short, hers hangs halfway down her back. His is black, hers, brown, and though his is ruler straight, hers comes with curls and frizz I’m not sure she knows what to do with yet.
Maybe that’s something her mom did for her.
And now her mom…
I swallow as that thought ricochets through my mind.
Her mom is dead. Just like that. Here one minute and gone the next.
“Uh…” Mr. Turner carries suitcases, one on each side, and sets them on the concrete stoop. Then he clears his throat. “This is everyone.” His ey es sweep across our crowd, pausing on me as he shakes his head. Since I don’t technically live here. And I’m not technically part of this family. “Marcus,” he murmurs. “And Kari.” He doesn’t touch the duo. He doesn’t dare hold their hands or break the grip Marcus has on his sister.
Already he, and the rest of us, know our place. And it’s not holding Kari’s hand.
“This is everyone,” Mr. Turner repeats. “Alex,” he nods to my side, “and Sam. That cutie back there,” he points past us, “is Brittany. And her little friends are Jess and Laine.” He chuckles. “Since I guess the whole neighborhood has come out for this. We’ve got Luc too.”
He says my name. Not exasperated. Not mad that I’m eating his food again. Just… acceptance. I’m one of them. So I push my chest forward, pride pulsing from my skin like rainbows from a Care Bear.
“Luc and the twins live up the street,” Mr. Turner explains. “But they’re around a lot. And Luc will be in your grade at school,” he says to Marcus. “Sam is a little older.”
“I’ll be your best friend.” I take a bite of my sandwich and grin when a morsel of chip falls to the floor. “You’ll live with them, but I’ll have your back in the halls at school.”
Marc regards me for a long minute, his stare a fiery hot poker that beats at my confidence, if only for a flicker in time. But then he blinks, looking down at the hand he holds, and the little girl who clings to a soft, pink blanket with sweet little bears printed on the edges. “My sister is in second grade.” He stands on his toes and studies the girls at my back. “Any of you in second, too?”
“They’re in first,” Mrs. Turner says gently. “But the school isn’t huge, and everyone knows everyone. The girls will get to play together at lunch. And my friend, Betty, will be Kari’s teacher this year. So we’ll keep a very close eye on things to ensure a smooth transition.”
“Will I get to see her?” Marc’s jaw ticks. Anger… or maybe worry, pulsing in every breath he takes. “I’m not in elementary school anymore, but I’m gonna want to see?—”
“It’s a K-through-twelve school,” Sam inserts. “We’re on the same grounds as the littles, just on opposite sides. So if you wanna see her or whatever, that’ll work.”
“We could walk you across,” I volunteer. “Until you and your sister are comfortable with the new school and stuff.” I look at the younger girl and tilt my head to study her glossy eyes. Bright green, just like Marc’s. But where his are narrowed and angry, hers are just… round. And scared. And wholly trusting of the guy who holds her hand.
She studies me, starting at my shoes and working her way up my jeans. To my shirt. She examines the chain I wear around my neck. Then she leans a little to the side, as though to get a new view. A new angle.
Finally, she brings her curious eyes to mine and blinks when I lift my chin.
“I’m Luc. And you’re little.” I look at Marc and break away from our secure line covering the door. “Let’s head out to the garage. We got a spare bass you could try.” I clap his shoulder and walk down the steps. “We won’t be extra loud or anything, Mrs. Turner. And I won’t touch the drums. Promise.”