Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Malcolm
The sky was turning a deep shade of gray as Trevor and I walked back toward the foster home, our shoes kicking up bits of gravel on the damp sidewalk.
The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving behind that familiar smell of wet pavement and something stale in the air.
I had my hands shoved deep in my hoodie pockets, my head down, listening to Trevor mutter under his breath about how much he hated running errands for the house staff.
“This place sucks,” he mumbled, adjusting the plastic bag under his arm. “They make us do their grocery runs, and what do we get? Nothing. Not even a damn snack.”
I didn’t respond. Complaining didn’t change anything. It never did.
Trevor kicked at a loose rock, sending it bouncing down the cracked pavement. “You ever think about running away?”
“No,” I said without looking at him.
“Seriously? Not even once?”
I glanced over. “Where would I even go?”
He didn’t have an answer for that, just shrugged and kept walking, his mouth twisting like he wanted to argue but knew he didn’t have a good point.
Running away sounded good in theory, but it was stupid.
What were we supposed to do? Sleep on benches?
Steal food from gas stations? Foster care sucked, but at least it was a roof. At least it was something.
The parking lot stretched out ahead of us, mostly empty except for a few scattered cars in front of an old liquor store and a discount pharmacy.
The neon “Liquor & Deli” sign flickered in and out, buzzing softly in the quiet.
We had walked through here a hundred times before, but tonight felt different.
Maybe it was the way the air felt too still, or maybe it was just something I couldn’t explain.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
I stopped so fast Trevor nearly walked into me.
The sound cut through the parking lot like a blade, sharp and panicked. A woman’s voice. I turned my head sharply, scanning the row of parked cars until I saw movement near a dark sedan at the far end of the lot.
Another scream. Then a man’s angry voice.
I saw them clearly now—two men, one holding a metal crowbar, the other yanking at the driver’s side door. Inside the car, an older woman clutched the steering wheel, her face pale with terror. In the passenger seat, an elderly man struggled against the second attacker, trying to shove him away.
Trevor grabbed my sleeve. “Dude, no. We should go.”
I didn’t move.
The man with the crowbar slammed it against the hood of the car with a loud bang. The woman screamed again, her voice breaking. My stomach twisted. I couldn’t just walk away.
Before I could think about it, I was moving.
I ran straight toward them, grabbing a rusted metal pipe from the ground near a dumpster. My pulse pounded in my ears, but my grip was steady. I was already close when I shouted, “HEY!”
Both men turned.
Without hesitation, I swung the pipe hard against the back window of their car. The glass shattered, sending shards flying across the pavement.
The guy with the crowbar cursed loudly. “What the?—”
I didn’t stop. I swung again, slamming the pipe against the side mirror, sending it flying. The man near the passenger door flinched, realizing that this wasn’t going to be as easy as they had thought.
I stepped forward. “Leave. Now.”
The crowbar guy sneered. “Mind your business, kid.”
I lifted the pipe slightly, meeting his eyes. “I just did.”
Something about the way I said it must have convinced them I wasn’t bluffing, because a second later, they both backed off. One of them shot me a glare before turning and stalking off toward the alley. The other hesitated for a second longer, then followed.
And then, just like that, it was over.
The parking lot was quiet except for the woman’s shaky breathing.
I turned back toward the car. “Are you okay?”
The woman turned her head toward me, her eyes wide. She was dressed in a beige coat, her gray hair neatly styled but slightly disheveled from the struggle. The man beside her, probably in his seventies, adjusted his glasses with slightly shaking fingers.
“Yes, dear,” the woman finally said, her voice still unsteady. “Thank you. My God, you—” She broke off, pressing a hand to her chest.
The man cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “That was incredibly brave, son.”
I blinked at the word. Son.
Trevor shifted beside me, still looking uneasy. “Uh, we should probably go before they come back.”
I nodded, stepping back. “You should call the cops.”
“We will.” The woman reached for my hand, gripping it gently between both of hers. “What’s your name, dear?”
I hesitated. “Malcolm.”
She smiled softly. “Malcolm. I’m Evelyn Sinclair. And this is my husband, Arthur.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say.
Arthur adjusted his jacket. “You boys live around here?”
I exchanged a glance with Trevor. “Sort of.”
“We live in the group home a few blocks down,” Trevor added.
Arthur’s expression shifted slightly. It wasn’t pity, which I was used to, but something else. Something thoughtful.
Evelyn turned back to me. “Well, Malcolm, I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”
I shrugged. “You don’t have to.”
But they did.
And in a way I never expected.
Later that night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was dark except for the faint glow from the streetlights outside. Trevor was already asleep, snoring lightly, but I couldn’t shut my brain off. Because I kept replaying what happened after the cops showed up.
Evelyn and Arthur hadn’t just thanked me. They hadn’t just shaken my hand and gone on their way. They had asked about me. Where I was from. How long I had been in the system. If I had any family.
And then, standing right there in that damp parking lot, Evelyn had turned to my social worker and asked what it would take to adopt me.
Like it was simple. Like it was possible.
I had no idea how to react. I still didn’t.
People didn’t just choose me. They didn’t just want me.
I stared at the ceiling, my stomach twisting.
This had to be a joke. Or a mistake. Or something.
Because people like me? We didn’t get second chances.
Did we?