Page 1 of Run Away Home: Tempered

Prologue

Danny

“ANOTHER NEW BOY? HOWmany can we fit in here? There’s too many!” I say.

“Should we go take a look at him?” Darren asks us.

We’re standing in the living room, hiding behind the wall near the walk-in room. I want to know what the new boy looks like.

“I think we should go see,” Andy responds.

I slide closer to the door, getting as close as possible without being spotted.

“HEY, DANNY, WAIT!” Darren whisper-yells. That’s when you yell in a whisper voice.

I don’t listen to him. I do what I want.

I peek around the door and into the walk-in room. The other boys follow. They stand behind me because they’re all chickens, but I’m not. I feel like a secret reporter. I should let them know what I see.

“Oh wow. Oh my gosh.”

“What?” Andy asks.

“He looks like he got the shit kicked out of him!” I tell them, then quickly turn back.

“Really? What’s he got, a black eye or something?”

“No, worse! He’s on crutches, and he’s got a wrist brace thing, and...he’s got a big bruise on his head! Oh! And one on his arm, too! Wait, no...” I squint. “The one on his arm is just a weird tattoo.”

“Whoa.”

“He must be tough. Maybe he got in a fight?” Andy asks.

“He doesn’t look tough. He prolly lost a fight. He’s all beated up. Also, he looks like a girl.”

“He looks like a girl?” Darren asks.

“Yeah, he’s got this really long, crazy hair. Like wavy, blonde hair, and...uhm, he’s really small like. Like skinny and short. He just looks kinda girly.”

Melissa turns around and sees me peeking.

“Come on over, Danny,” she says with a smile.

Ugh. I’ve been found. Some secret reporter I am. Andy and Darren run away as fastly as they can. Melissa doesn’t see them. Thanks, guys.

I walk over to her and the boy with my hands in my pockets and my chin down on my chest. I look him up and down with my eyeballs, but I don’t move my head. He just looks weird, not like anyone I’ve ever seen before. Melissa’s going to make me talk to him.

“Hi.” I wave, then look back down at my feet.

He says nothing. I sneak another look. Really? Maybe he thinks he’s too cool to talk to me because he’s older. He must be fourteen, or fifteen, or thirteen, or fifteen. But so what? I’m eight. Big deal. Why do the older ones never talk to the littler ones?

“I’m Danny.”

He just stares. Maybe he’s shy?

“He doesn’t speak very much English,” Melissa says.

WHAT? But he’s white! That’s very, very weird. I never seen a white kid who doesn’t speak English. They all speak English.

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