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When he doesn’t answer, I start to walk upstairs. After a couple beats I hear him following behind me, the creak on the third step up giving him away. He doesn’t offer to help when he sees me struggling with the mattress, which tells me a lot about him. I drag it down the hallway and into the boys’ room, sliding it across the carpet next to Timmy’s bed. Timmy looks up from his comic book, but on seeing the new boy behind me his eyes return to the cartoon. He’s done this a few times now. Joey, who was playing with trucks on the rug, comes over and starts messing with the pump.
“Nothing like being a sardine.”
“I’m sure it won’t be for long.” I shrug, trying to look on the bright side.
“Six months. As soon as I turn eighteen I’ll be able to get the hell out of here.”
I connect the pump and start to inflate the mattress. “They moved you here only for six months?”
“Well, it was this place or juvie. Which would you have picked?” He raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head. “Right. You’ve probably never been in trouble in your whole life. You wouldn’t understand the real world, princess.”
His voice is so full of anger and hatred, and it hits me square in the chest. Why would he assume I have it easy, just because I live with my parents? The image of the pump becomes blurry and I blink back the tears. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I wish the sentence had come out strong and brave, but it was barely a whisper as I duck my head and slip past him, leaving the mattress only half inflated. I should feel bad, but he can do it himself. I’m done helping ungrateful people.
“Not like I want to either.” His voice carries down the hall, chasing me into my room. I slam the door behind me and drop my face into my pillow.
He was definitely not what I expected. The way he looked at me, almost as if he was looking through me, is the same way people at school do.
Like I’m invisible.
Which suits me fine because, if I’m honest, most days I wish I were.
