Page 38 of Raven

His face falls so drastically it’s impossible to miss. “’S all right,” he says and squints at the parrots in the palm tree.

You know what hurts more than a stab? Seeing your younger self and knowing how you got your scars. What rejection is like. The sound of the footsteps of the people you want so badly to be close walking away. Being alone. Wanting friends when others look past you like you are invisible.

Something hurtful probes inside me at how he reacted to my no and looked around disheartened. I already see what’s happening. Rejection grows on you slowly, year by year, until you become insensitive. You learn to wear a cold mask. A hardened heart. Thick skin. And a whole lot of bitterness that saturates your blood.

"Okay, listen,” I say, and his eyes instantly latch on to me with anticipation. “First burgers, then I need your help at the Center.”

After all, I do need his help. He will get his burgers and whatever else he wants. In exchange, he might help me figure out the blind spots in Port Mrei’s security.

His eyes light up like Christmas lights.

“But we are making a deal,” I say right away so he doesn’t think I will give him everything on a golden platter like many others in Ayana do.

He wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes at me in suspicion. "An’?”

"You're going to try very hard to talk like other people around here."

A grin splits his face. "Like Amélie?”

I guess he made friends with the yoga instructor. “Amélie is French. No, not like her. But everyone else says words properly.”

“Wha’ you mean?”

“They don’t swallow them. ‘What do you mean.” I repeat his words with an emphasis on the “t”. “Do you hear the difference?”

He scrunches up his nose a bit, looking at me confused.

“You say, ‘wha’ you mean.’ Instead of, ‘what do you mean.’ Yeah?”

“Bu’ faster is better, nah?”

“Nah,” I mimic him, annoyed. “I need you to try to talk like everyone else. Not swallowing words. Not saying them faster. Say them properly.”

“Bu’ why?”

“But why,” I say. “Repeat it.”

"Bu-tt,” he says with purpose, then giggles.

I roll my eyes and shake my head.

“But-t?” He widens his eyes. “But-t.” He frowns. “But-t,” he says in a low adult voice then breaks out in laughter. “Like tha’?”

“Like that,” I correct him.

He puffs his chest. “Like tha-t,” he mimics me with fake seriousness.

I don’t laugh anymore, and when he notices, he goes quiet.

“You angry?” he says almost in a whisper.

“No.”

I’m angry at the fucked-up world that leaves so many behind. Especially children. It makes me think of Emily, who didn’t have a good life. Who had to endure a filthy animal who stole her childhood. Who succumbed to the guilt that killed her at the end. It makes me want to take the Swiss Army knife and jam it in my thigh.

It’s not the nukes and chemicals or even viruses that destroy humanity. It’s people with fucked-up priorities and a twisted addiction to violence. The Change taught us that when we have an opportunity, we fuck up as many humans as we can. We support slavery. We look past human trafficking. And the worst—we leave the kids behind. We raise a careless generation that is taught to do pretty much anything to survive. “Me against the world” has become a mantra. “Me versus they” could be a world anthem by now.

“Wha’ your ring means?” the kid asks, staring at my left hand.

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