Chapter 2

Rachel didn't like being called "Mrs. Greene".

One time, the cashier at the grocery store said, "Good morning, Mrs. Greene."

She was annoyed about it all day after she got home.

"Do I look old?" she asked me.

I was looking for Ollie's other sock when I heard her say that, so I looked up.

She was wearing a pink crop top, her hair in bouncy curls, and her eyeliner was super long. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, waiting for me to say what she wanted to hear.

I didn't know what to say.

If I said she didn't look old, she'd laugh.

If I said she was my mom, she'd get upset.

So I said, "You look like someone on TV."

She laughed, as I expected.

She walked over and kissed my forehead, leaving a bright lipstick mark on my skin.

"You're so sweet, honey," she said.

I didn't wipe it off.

It wasn't until I got to school that I finally scrubbed off the lipstick stain in the bathroom with a tissue.

That day, our teacher, Jenny Miller, asked us to draw "My Home".

Ollie drew a little house with three people standing at the door.

One was Mom, one was himself, and the third was someone with spiky hair, a little shorter than Mom.

Jenny bent down and asked, "Is this your brother?"

Ollie nodded.

"What's he doing?" she asked.

Ollie answered, totally serious, "He's making sure I have my lunchbox."

Jenny's smile froze for a moment.

Then she asked, "And what about your mom?"

Ollie drew a big purse next to Mom.

"Mom's heading out. She says she's still young," he said.

Some of the kids started laughing.

Ollie didn't get why they were laughing, but he laughed along.

I was sitting in the back row, and my blue crayon suddenly snapped in my hand.

After school, Jenny asked me to stay behind.

"Carter, who usually cooks dinner for you guys at home?" she asked.

My heart started pounding.

I spotted a poster by the classroom door for the Child Protection Hotline. The picture showed a family with forced smiles, each clutching a balloon.

I kept my eyes on the balloons, avoiding Jenny's gaze.

"Mom," I said.

Jenny was gentle. "Ollie says sometimes it's you."

"Yeah, sometimes," I blurted out. "Mom's really busy. She's always tired from work."

Rachel didn't have a steady job.

She'd worked at nail salons, coffee shops, and perfume counters in the mall. The longest she stayed at any job was three months. She always said her bosses were out to get her, the customers were annoying, and her coworkers were jealous of her.

But I knew better than to say it.

Jenny was quiet for a moment and then handed me a piece of paper.

"This is the application for the school's after-school care program. If your mom needs it, she can fill it out," she said.

I folded the paper and stuffed it deep into my backpack.

*****

When I got home that day, I didn't show it to Rachel.

It wasn't because I didn't want to join.

It was because the last part of the form wanted to know how much money we make, and needed a parent's signature.

I was scared Rachel might cry if she saw it.

But what freaked me out even more was that after she cried, she'd still head out the next day, like always.

*****

I liked soccer because on the field, everyone knew where they were supposed to be: defenders, forwards, goalkeepers.

It was nothing like home.

At home, there was no whistle, and nobody shouted "offside".

During the week the school team was recruiting, I finally saved up enough to buy a pair of used soccer cleats.

I earned the money by taking out the trash and walking our neighbor, Hannah's dog. Hannah was pretty old, and whenever she gave me the money, she'd say, "Don't tell your mom. She'd feel embarrassed."

I nodded.

I didn't tell Hannah that Rachel probably wouldn't even ask where the money came from.

The cleats were a bit worn, with the toes scuffed white, but the studs on the soles were still intact.

I hid them under my bed and took them out for a look every night before I went to sleep.

*****

The first practice was on a Thursday afternoon.

That day, Rachel promised she'd be home.

She was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through her phone, her hair a mess.

She spoke with a lazy drawl, "Go on, have fun. Don't worry about Ollie. I've got him."

I was happy all day.

When school ended, I ran home with my backpack. Ollie was sitting on the living room carpet, building with blocks, while Rachel stood in front of the mirror, curling her hair.

She was wearing that black dress.

I stopped at the doorway.

Rachel saw me in the mirror and spoke in a relaxed tone, "Honey, I'm going out for a bit tonight. Can you watch Ollie for me?"

My hand was still gripping the strap of my backpack.

"But I have practice today," I said.

Rachel turned to look at me. "Practice is every day, isn't it? It's just one night. My friend's birthday."

I wanted to say that practice wasn't every day.

The team only recruited twelve players, and the coach said we really shouldn't be late on the first day.

Ollie looked up from the floor and asked, "Where are you going, Carter?"

Rachel had already picked up her lipstick.

"Nowhere. He's staying with you," she said.

I didn't say anything else.

I went upstairs to change clothes and grabbed my cleats from under the bed.

The laces were already tied in a butterfly knot—the one I'd practiced over and over at school during lunch.

I sat on the edge of my bed, listening to Rachel's heels tapping across the floor downstairs.

I heard the door open and then shut.

Ollie called out from downstairs, "What's for dinner?"

I looked down at my cleats.

After what felt like forever, I took off my cleats and slipped back into my old sneakers.

When I went downstairs, Ollie was rummaging through the fridge.

"I want a hot dog," he said.

"We're out of hot dogs," I replied.

"Then pizza."

"We ate all the pizza last time."

"Then what are we having?"

I opened the cabinet and spotted a box of cereal.

I grabbed it and then checked the milk.

There was only a little left, and the date on the carton was yesterday.

I sniffed it and figured it was still good.

That night, Ollie had a bowl of cereal.

I told him I wasn't hungry.