Chapter 1
I scream in pain.
“DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?” I cry.
Suddenly, a calm voice speaks to me.
“I am here...”
I quickly open my eyes to look for my father, but he is not there. “DAD! DAD!” I yell, still in my nightmare, even though I am awake. After several minutes, my heart beat returns to normal, and I realize what had given me that “dream”.
There, next to my blanket, lay a photo of Dad. He was smiling, laughing, pushing me while I was on a swing. I smile slightly, but I know that day was long ago. Too long, in fact, that I hardly remember that other life.
I place the picture on top of my collection of bottle caps, stretch, and brush my teeth. Sure, I live in the street, but I still need to keep healthy. It’s what Mom would have wanted, anyway.
I walk inaudibly out of the alleyway. It is dirty, and reeks of skunk, but it’s all I’ve got for a home. At least Mom is with me. In some form.
I walk through the dingy part of this town. The part where it is just like my home. Broken windows, the dark and sad expressions of the people around me, the smell of rats, and the eerie sounds coming from the shops give me hope. Why, you ask me. Because it reminds me that I am not as alone as I feel. The whole world sometimes just knowns what I am inside: abandoned, lost, destroyed.
I start to trudge up the hill to my other home, the one that I used to live in, the one where my parents put me to bed at night, read me a bedtime story, kissed me on the forehead, and promised that everything was going to be okay. Only, they lied to me.
I wipe my face clear of tears at the thought of this. But I might be strong.
The trip is long and hard. It is very steep, and I keep slipping on small rocks.
Finally, I am the top of the hill, and I overlook my sad and sorry city. I peer over, and all I see is the ground below. I gulp nervously, and back away. I accidentally bump into the old door of the house, and it creaks open, causing me to fall over onto the floor. I quickly stand up, and look around me.
I haven’t been here for several months, ever since Dad left. But a sense of familiarity still haunts me. 4529 Whitherbrook Lane hasn't changed. I can still smell the burnt bread my mom used to make. Unlike other mothers, she couldn’t cook. So I took over as head of the kitchen, and I found out I had a talent for what my mom didn’t. I would come home, cook a delicious dinner, and welcome my mother and father to eat. But that was the other me. Now, all I do is starve in silence. Once in a while, I will receive a free loaf of bread from the baker, or leftover fast food from the garbage bin. That is who I am.
I hurry over to my old bedroom, which is painted purple and gold. Although not a popular color choice, it was pretty on my walls. I browse through my bookshelf, looking for a specific book.
“Here it is,” I mutter, pulling out a big story book. On the cover, it has drawings of dragons, fairies, and even princesses. When I was little, I always dreamed of becoming royalty. But that was a stupid dream. Why did I ever think that I could pull that one off?
I open the book carefully. It’s pages are covered with detailed illustrations of the Three Little Pigs, Rapunzel, and Goldilocks. Dad used to read this stories to me. He would make up voices for all the characters, and sometimes, he would change the words if he thought they weren't good enough. Anything could happen when he read. I search the entire book eagerly, but there is no note from my father, explaining everything that had happened in the last few months. Disappointment fills my throat, and I try hard not to cry. I had made that stupid long trip for nothing.
I hear a slight creak. Immediately, I close the book, and peer out into the hallway. I spot a shadow, and my heart stops. What is that? I think.
“Hello?” a voice calls. It is a boy’s voice. Anger fills my body. This is my home, after all.
“GET OUT!” I shout.
“Hold your hair net, girl!” the voice answers. I quickly open the drawers in my dresser, and find my lucky knife. I jump out of my room, ready to pierce the heart of the voice who snuck into my family’s house, unwanted and unexpected.
“What do you want?” I ask, my body shaking.
It takes a while to register the person standing before me. He has black hair that flips in a wave. His eyes are a startling green, and he is very tall and muscular. He eyes my knife, and answers, “Um, I just saw you up here, and I think a girl like you shouldn’t be here on your own.”
“Excuse me?” I scream indignantly. “I can take care of myself.”
He shrugs, but keeps his eyes on the knife in my hand. “Are you sure you’re capable of handling that knife?”
Without thinking, I slam his body into the ground, and hold the sharp blade to his throat. “What are you really doing here? And who are you? Another kid who lives in his own house?”
He’s choking slightly, so I move the knife a little bit, but I keep my grip firm and steady.
He clears his throat, and speaks hesitantly, “My name is Jack. Jack Stapiano. I am here because...Well, I don’t really know.”
“What?”
“Well, you see, I don’t live anywhere, so I just followed you.”
“Were you coming to laugh at me?” I ask, guessing the answer.
“No,” he answers, and I am shocked. “I was just bored, and I guess I paid the price for that one.” Jack chuckles nervously, and I say nothing.
Suspiciously, I climb off his back, brush myself off, and pocket the knife, with the blade tucked into the handle.
“What’s your name?” Jack wonders aloud.
I turn away from him, not wanting to look into those piercing eyes again. They were almost familiar, but I couldn’t explain this to myself. I never met him in my life! After several minutes of thinking, I give up, and finally turn back to face him, carefully avoiding his eyes and looking at the floor.
“Who are you?”
“I just told you,” he says exasperatedly, “I am-”
“No.”
“What?”
“I mean, where do you live?”
“I’m a runner,” he states. “I live abroad, in the streets, you know.”
“Who are you’re parents?”
“They both died a year ago.”
“And you’ve been on the run ever since then?”
Jack nods. I look up, ready to dismiss him. But those eyes haunt me. So I just turn away against, pacing back and forth.
“What about you?”
I spin on the spot. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my home. Well, my old home at least.”
“How come you don’t live here?”
“None of your business.”
Jack is offended, I can tell, but I don’t care. “You know, I just want to keep it friendly between us. We are friends, after all,” Jack says carefully.
“Who said we were friends? I don’t even know you, Jack.”
“Geez, keep your hairnet on! I just want to make a conversation.”
“Well you know what,” I retorted, my temper rising, “I don’t want to have a conversation with you. And for the record,” I add, seeing he wants to interrupt me, “I need you to get out of this house. Now.”
Jack doesn’t move, but merely smiles mischievously at me.
“What?” I ask, annoyed.
“You’re going to need me.”
“For what?”
“You know, to get food, stay warm, make clothes. You really need help.” Jack points at my thin figure. He’s kind of right, I admit. My shirt is tattered and ripped in several places, my ribs are poking out, and I have goosebumps all along my arm.
“Alright,” I sigh, “say if I were to accept your help, where are you going to stay?”
“Can I stay at your place? I mean, if you have a place.”
Suddenly, I am uncomfortable with this. I only have one bed. Reading my mind, he quickly utters, “Oh, don’t worry, I can make my own sleeping corner.”
I breath with a sigh of relief. “Okay, but I still have the knife.”
We both chuckle freely, and we head down the hill to my home.
As I walk, I think that Jack is a lot more trouble than he’s worth. And I wonder what Mom would say. Pushing this thought away, I can’t help trusting him. Even though I attempted to kill him with a knife, I know that he trusts me too. And, to survive in this cruel world, I realize that I will need him at my side.
