Chapter 2
Repercussions
A ball gets thrown in the air. It flies for nine, ten feet. A metallic hit. It’s a miss.
Sitting on a staircase, I bask in the morning sunlight, watching a basketball game. Five boys wear white shirts, five others wear nothing but shorts.
It’s too hot to do anything.
Among the clouds, there’s a slice of clear blue sky.
It’s a funny feeling, when you focus on the sky, and project yourself up there, beyond the clouds, become part of the air, you might even lose yourself, lose your past, your present, your future exists no more, you lose yourself to become part of the whole.
Suddenly, I feel a deep longing for the sky, which I have never explored and I never will. And I feel jealous of those birds that take the liberty to cross it whenever they want, while I am anchored to the ground in a body that has decided not to fly.
I wish I could leave it behind and join them, but I am stuck here on these steps, and all I can do is cling to that feeling, before it’s gone once again.
I don't like reality.
A shadow covers the sunlight.
«Comfortable?»
It takes me a while to adjust to the change of light, but eventually, I manage to make out the figure of a man in a short-sleeved polo shirt, a badge displayed around the neck, and two patches of sweat under the armpits.
«Very. What's up, Jared?», he sits beside me, nudging me with a knee.
«Why don’t you join them?»
«I don’t like Basketball».
«Why are you here, then?»
One of the boys shoots from under the basket, he lifts his shirt to wipe off the sweat, revealing his waist.
«You have visits», he adds, trying to hide a twinkle behind his eyes. He never smiles, but his eyes are always telling.
Reluctantly, I cast one last glance at the game before getting up. Drops of sweat cast the ball into the air. A three-point shot.
We enter the pastel-colored building, which is not cheerful at all. I follow Jared silently; I don't ask, and he doesn't tell. We stop in front of the door to the common room. He takes his keys, pulling at the cord attached to the belt, and unlocks the door.
I stand in my place. I won't take a step until he tells me what's going on.
«Don't worry, he won’t bite», he opens the door even wider. The orange of the room amplifies the sunlight entering from the wide, tall, barred window, giving the effect of those mirrors used at the beach for tanning. Someone sits at a round plastic table.
I'm not entirely sure if I know the guy. He's familiar, but not enough to spark a name. A man in his thirties, with enough wrinkles to look like an adult, but he still seems to retain that naivety, “I can save the world”. He looks like he wants to make a difference.
He waves his hand, and points to the chair in front of him.
«Hello, Noah, I'm-»
Oh. Right.
«The owner of the shelter».
Now that I see him up close, memories start coming back to me. Not a name. Fuck if I remember his name - or any name, for what it’s worth.
He nods, offering a hand to shake: «Joshua Winterfield. You can call me Josh, if you like. Please, have a seat».
I stare at him.
«Physical contact is forbidden».
His hand hesitate. I won’t shake it, doesn’t matter if Jared gives me his blessing.
«Why are you here?», he never visited. Why now?
Winterfield rests his clasped hands on the table, a finger nervously scratches the space between the knuckles, leaving white trails on the skin.
«We spoke with the social worker handling your case. She's been trying to get you out of here for almost a week. You refuse to go to any foster family or group home, why is that?», he maintains a cordial tone. His knuckles are now red. «Aren't you tired of juvie?»
I can hear shouts out of the window. Jared's walkie-talkie crackles to life, ordering him to join the courtyard. A colleague of his will take over. He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
Winterfield bends down to get a beige folder from a shoulder bag. He places it on the table and opens it. I catch a glimpse of a photo: it’s me, it’s my mugshot. And that’s my social services file. Frankly, I don't know how he got hold of it, considering I'm a minor, and he, until proven otherwise, has no legal rights.
As he reads, his expression changes, growing serious: «Not much is known about you, from what I see».
I try to distance myself from him, but this chair won’t move. Who gave him permission to read my file? I want to snatch it from his hand and throw it away. These windows only open a crack, though.
«Found on the streets of Riverton in 2021, you went from one foster family to another for a few months, settling with the Bennets, who already housed Alexandra Tanner, Alex that is, until March 2022. From what I read, on the night between March 22nd and 23rd last year, you and Alex ran away, taking some of the lady's jewelry and the husband's watch with you. The family car keys disappeared, but the next morning, the car was still in the driveway. You were fifteen at the time. The family then filed a report for your disappearance, and a few days later Mr. Bennet received the keys in the mailbox, accompanied by a printed letter asking to abandon the searching. So, the case was closed as a runaway, and there has been no news of you two... until two months ago, when you were arrested for theft and trespassing, two days after we met. Did I miss anything?» He looks up at me.
«You sent the police to my place».
«As Emma has already explained, it wasn't her intention to have you arrested. I mean, you two were living in a park, we were concerned. If you had told us...»
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Here I interrupt: «If I had told you... what? That just the day before, we had stolen from a shop? That it's not my first felony? I don't go around telling strangers my life story. If people learned to mind their own business, for once...», Winterfield talks over me. «We were worried. We met two kids sleeping on the street, defenseless and penniless, we had to do something!»
«I told Alex it wasn't a good idea, but they didn't listen to me. Do you think I like living in juvie, with no freedom, not being able to see my best friend? But at least I have a roof over my head, I'm getting an education, people know me, and hardly anyone causes me trouble...»
«Noah, please, enough. We're on your side, we want to help you. Meet us halfway», his voice is subtle, weary, desperate.
Alex always speaks highly of him; by now, they've been living in that shelter for almost two months. From what I understand, their social worker gave the green light for this arrangement. But social workers give the green light for almost any situation; in the end, what matters is that our file is tucked away in a corner of the desk, away from prying eyes, forgotten by men and gods.
It doesn't matter if the house is welcoming. It doesn't even matter if the house is safe, as long as we have a roof over our heads. Another minor away from the dangers of the world.
«Noah, are you still with me?»
I shift my gaze to the window, away from here, back to the sky. I miss it more and more as each minute passes.
My sentence will be up soon.
I have to admit I got lucky: two months for theft and trespassing, considering that my lawyer wasn't even the best among the worst. Perhaps average among the worst, but I wouldn't bet my life on it. I think the judge took pity on me.
After my release, who knows where I'll end up. I don't want to be placed in another trap. Surely, another Bennet wouldn't be ideal, definitely not.
Why does everything have to be so difficult? Why can't it go back to how it was before? I was fine, we were fine. Yes, we got caught in a few rainfalls, stole something to eat now and then, but we were fine. We didn't need anyone.
And now everything has changed... all because I listen to Alex. One might think I learn from my mistakes, but no, not me. I have to go my own way. And if I have to bang my head against the wall ten times to learn the lesson, I'll bang it ten times, and once more to be sure.
Alex is my wall. They get carried away in the heat of the moment, don't think about repercussions. And it’s so stupid of me to follow them, when I know so well they’re trouble. I deserve it.
Except I was hoping they were right this time. I had hope, for once. I truly had.
Whatever. I can’t change what happened, and there’s no time for self-pity. I have to work with what I have, I have to get us both out and back to safety, away from adults before things go south, away from here, where nobody knows who we are. I have to get us out of the system.
«They won’t budge, will they?», it’s a question I pose to myself, Winterfield just happens to be there.
«Alex? No. They’re pretty set on staying at the shelter until you two are back together».
They won’t leave until we’re back together, uh?
I place my hands on the table, trying to look like I know what I’m doing.
«Let's say I accept your offer. What happens next?»
«When you get released, you'll come to the shelter, and then we'll see».
I gesture for him to continue.
Winterfield puffs out his cheeks and taps the table with his fingers.
«We don't have many options, in your case. You don't want to go to any foster home or group home, and we can't find your parents. To be honest, I'm starting to suspect you gave us false names».
I may be dumb, but only to a certain extent. There's a reason why I managed to be on the road undisturbed for over a year.
«What can I say? It’s not my fault if social workers can't do their job».
It’s not very convincing, he’s not convinced at all.
«So, I can’t stay at the shelter long term, right?»
«That's not what I said...»
«No, you implied it».
Winterfield covers his eyes with his hands.
«Please, Noah. Don't twist my words».
I raise a hand in apology.
«The shelter... it's not a stable situation. We can't keep an eye on all the kids coming and going. Sure, it's safer than the streets, but it's not a real home. And we're not a family».
I wait for him to finish speaking.
«We can accommodate you for as long as you want, that's clear. But you need something more. So does Alex».
«Okay, I'm in. I accept».
Winterfield's jaw drops, caught in the act of formulating a sentence.
«Really?»
«Isn't that what you wanted?»
«I mean, yes, but... I didn't think you would accept, that’s all. Last time you met with Emma you were so set on refusing, from what I understand».
I raise the corner of my mouth: «Better not to assume anything, right?»
«Well, since you'll be living at the shelter, can you tell me more about yourself?»
I glance at the clock behind him. It's been about fifteen minutes since I entered the room.
«What do you want to know? You read the file».
«It says next to nothing. I'd like to have some additional information from you».
«Okay. My name is Noah, I'm sixteen years old, I’m a Virgo, I love dogs and long walks on the beach...»
«How did you end up in the foster care system?»
I look at him in silence.
«It just happened. Life got in the way», I find the table suddenly interesting. Particularly a stain on the table, which I try to rub off with my thumb.
«Life, huh? From personal experience, life alone doesn't throw you on the streets».
«Sometimes it does».
«What about your parents?»
«What about them?»
«Are they still alive?»
A shrug.
«Did they kick you out? Did you run away? »
I bite my cheek.
Winterfield lets the silence fall between us.
«I guess Joseph Smith was more important than me».
«Mormon family? Were you erased from the family photo?»
I shrug again.
«I’m sorry».
«It doesn’t matter».
Winterfield reopens my file: «The Bennets were Mormons too, right?»
«Uh-uh».
«Is that why you ran away when I told you I was Mormon?»
I stare at him in silence for a few seconds, unable to retort or utter a word, however much it's worth.
«Noah, you don't have to be afraid of-»
I stand up.
«You better go, it’s getting late».
I approach the window; the conversation is over. His footsteps get further and further.
«I’ll see you in a few days, then», he murmurs.
The door closes as I stand still looking at the sky, at that sliver of blue between the clouds, and I once again let it fill me with nostalgia.