Page 74 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
I think about the last time she was this excited and guess, “It was lasagna day in the cafeteria?”
“No.”
“Fried chicken?”
“No, they don’t have fried food at school anymore.”
“Right. I forgot… There was a food fight?”
She frowns and sighs. “No… Why are all your guesses about food?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Then, eat!”
I flush, remembering what happened in the kitchen yesterday. Niccolaio still hasn’t returned since then, and I’m not sure if I should be worried or angry. Either way, I haven’t been able to bring myself to step into the kitchen, the memo
ry too fresh in my mind. But I am starving, and I need to eat sooner or later.
When I get up to eat, Mina shouts, “But not yet! Guess what!”
I sit back down. “Barbecue chicken pizz—”
“I get to play Juliet in the school play!”
I mash my teeth together, so my jaw doesn’t drop in shock. I’m not disillusioned. I realize that people can be cruel when it comes to kids in wheelchairs. Even theater teachers. And that’s why I know this may be a once in a lifetime opportunity given Mina’s condition.
“That’s… that’s amazing, Mina,” I say, and I mean it.
But inside, my heart is pounding, and my mind is running through a million possible scenarios that would allow me to attend her play without putting her in danger, all less likely than the last. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t mind hiding out in a safe house. In fact, I was thankful to be in this situation.
Growing up broke meant that, every second of every day, I wondered if I’d have a place to sleep, food to eat, and water to drink and clean myself with. It meant rationing a single scoop of peanut butter from the Dollar Store for breakfast and dinner so that Mina could have a decent, balanced meal.
Instant ramen was a luxury I was rarely able to afford, and the best meal I had each day was the free school lunches I more than qualified for. If there was food in the kitchen cupboards, I ate it all—even if it was expired, though that rarely happened, because I seldom had enough food to reach an expiration date.
But now?
If the pantry in the safe house isn’t fully stocked, one of the guards stops by to grocery shop for me and Niccolaio or drop off some takeout from restaurants that I would never be able to afford on my own. Heck, I haven’t even thought about a bill in weeks.
And the showers? I have to force myself to cut them short—not because I’m too broke to pay for the water bill, but because I care about the environment.
But I would give all of that up to go to Mina’s play.
There’s no way I’m missing out on this.
No matter what I have to do to get there.
“Can you go?” Mina asks me. “It’s three Saturdays from now! Please, please, please, please, please!”
I quickly do the math. By that time, I’ll have lived with Niccolaio for almost two months now. There has to be some progress by then.
“Of course, I will,” I promise.
Mina squeals in delight and quickly shouts her goodbye to me when one of her friends from the group home calls out her name in the background. After I hang up, there’s a large pit weighing heavily in my stomach. There’s no way I’m missing Mina’s play, but I have to consider the safety risks of attending.
“You’re not going out,” Niccolaio says from behind me.
I jump, startled. I didn’t even hear him come in, though that doesn’t surprise me, since he moves like a darn ghost. I didn’t hear him come in yesterday either, which led to things that must not be named. What does surprise me is that I haven’t seen him since he watched me come yesterday and left shortly after, and now that he’s here, he’s not even addressing what happened. I eye him up and down. He’s wearing another outfit, though, which tells me he went somewhere he could change.
