Chapter 4
As Brett said that, his voice wavered for the first time, a little shaky.
Maybe it was because he brought up my mom, or maybe it was something else.
I snorted silently to myself, thinking, 'Me? Well-behaved? Give me a break.'
I was so focused on listening to their fight, I barely even noticed the soup splashing at my feet.
I was dying to see if he'd actually follow his mom's orders and hit up his dad for some cash.
So when that bowl of soup got hurled at my feet, I didn't even flinch.
I was lost in thoughts.
At some point, my gaze drifted back to the top of Brett's head.
His hair was really short.
It looked like if I reached out and touched it, it would probably feel scratchy against my palm.
When I was a kid, the girl who sat next to me always had her dad come pick her up.
Outside the classroom, he'd crouch down and give her a piggyback ride.
I happened to look over at them back then.
His hair was just as short as Brett's, at least that's how I remember it.
I got a little distracted, thinking, 'But it's a little different with Brett.'
That man had just one cowlick on the top of his head, but Brett had two.
I thought, 'Brett is really weird.
'It's not just his personality. He's so nice it's almost freaky, and even his hair is kind of odd.'
I was totally spacing out, lost in random thoughts.
Until I felt a soft towel wrap around my ankle, gently drying off the water.
Brett stood up and said, "Let's go out. And I'll put some ointment on that bump on your head too."
I mumbled, "Okay," and followed him out.
My fingers brushed against the bracelet in my pocket through the fabric of my clothes.
For some reason, it felt strangely hot.
I sat down in the chair, and Brett came over with the ointment.
He squeezed out some white ointment and crouched down beside me.
After a moment's hesitation, he pressed the ointment into my hand.
"Here, you do it yourself," Brett said.
He got up, went out to grab a ladder, and came back in to swap out the ceiling light.
After I finished putting on the ointment, I tilted my head up and caught a glimpse of his back as he worked up on the ladder.
A long time ago, I remember the teacher reading a story to us in class.
The story described the moonlight outside the window as warm.
Dad was up on a ladder in the living room, changing the lightbulb, his back broad and upright.
Mom was in the kitchen, cooking, her slender silhouette framed in the doorway.
After the teacher finished reading, she looked at the class and asked, "Does this scene feel familiar? Doesn't it feel warm and cozy?"
Most of the kids nodded.
But I rolled my eyes at it, let my pen fall on purpose, and knocked my textbook off the desk.
The teacher shot me a look.
She gave me that familiar mix of irritation and resignation like she was annoyed but already used to dealing with me.
I didn't have a dad, and my mom almost never cooked in the kitchen.
Most of the time, in my memory, there were only moldy pots full of maggots, and the counter was greasy, yellowed, and infested with bugs.
I never knew that kind of warmth everyone talks about, so I hated it.
But right then, I stole a glance at Brett's back.
Out of nowhere, that day in class popped into my head.
Brett's back looked so fragile.
He was tall, but there was nothing broad or imposing about him.
In that moment, I suddenly thought, 'Maybe the moonlight outside really is kind of gentle.'
That night, for once, I actually finished my homework.
Lying in bed, I could smell the crisp scent of soap on the sheets.
I hadn't slept in a real bed in years, but now that I finally had one, I kept tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
Back then, my mom would bring home different men, and we'd crash on whichever bed was available in the two bedrooms.
The mattress always reeked of cigarettes and booze, mixed with the sharp, cheap perfume.
And there was always this gross, fishy smell I couldn't quite put my finger on.
I never really got used to sleeping in a real bed.
Sometimes I'd crash on the couch or curl up in some random corner.
Didn't matter if it was hard or freezing, I'd always manage to make it through the night.
But now, the bed was soft and warm.
I kept watching the moonlight outside my window, but I just couldn't fall asleep.
After what felt like forever, it must've been the middle of the night.
Suddenly, almost without thinking, I jolted upright in bed.
I fished the bracelet out of my pocket and quickly pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand.
I slipped the bracelet under the stack of papers at the very bottom of the drawer.
That was where it used to be.
In a haze, I was about to let go, but suddenly snapped out of it.
I looked blankly at my own hand, not even sure what I was doing.
This was the only thing worth anything I'd managed to dig up after all that trouble.
Was I really going to put it back?
No way.
I thought, 'Man, you really need to get some proper sleep.
'If you stay up all night, even your brain starts to go haywire.'
Brett had already said he'd be sending me away soon.
"You can be dirt poor, but you can't ever be broke," my mom had said.
I gave my messed-up brain a little pat.
I stuffed the bracelet back into my pocket and clutched my clothes to my chest.
Bundled up in the blanket, I crashed out.
When I woke up again, the sky was just starting to lighten.
I heard some strange, soft rustling noises.
When I opened my eyes, I saw my backpack had been dumped out, everything inside turned upside down.
My textbooks and stationery were strewn everywhere across the floor.
My pants had obviously been rummaged through, thrown on the floor with the pockets sticking out.
Gloria was sitting in her wheelchair right next to my bed.
She leaned over with effort, pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand, and dumped out all the papers inside.
My heart shot up to my throat.
With a jolt, I instinctively jumped out of bed.
Gloria snapped at me, her voice sharp and frantic.
She shouted, "Where's the card?
"Where the hell did you hide it?"
The bedroom door, which had been left ajar, was suddenly shoved open.
Brett walked in, his face clouded with anger.
"Mom, are you done making a scene?" he snapped.
I stood there, clutching my clothes to my chest.
I saw the bottom drawer of the nightstand was wide open, papers strewn all over the place.
The hiding spot for the bracelet was now laid bare.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to jump out of my throat.