The second day was even worse. That was when he found out what dinners were really like there.
First came school. Ms. Samson seemed all right, but the other kids took a dislike to him like they always did, and by the end of recess he’d seen the inside of the principal’s office. When Angie and Louise picked him up at three o’clock, he was glad to get away, and equally glad that Mark was staying at school for a soccer practice.
But Mark had arrived by suppertime.
“Time to eat, boys,” Angie called. Then, “Chance, your supper’s ready.” A special invitation just for him.
When Chance entered the kitchen, Angie was already busy with Louise. She did look over and give him a smile, but she turned right back to what she was doing. He could hear the TV going in the other room, Mark’s laugh at some show, and clinking cutlery. A plate had been prepared for Chance and was waiting on the kitchen table.
“I have to concentrate on this one,” Angie said. “At least on weekdays, supper’s pretty casual around here. I’ll take a look at your homework after Louise is asleep. You’re welcome to sit here with me or to join Mark.” She gestured with her chin toward the other room.
Chance picked up his plate and knife and fork and walked through the den door. There he stopped dead and waited for a clue. Mark was sitting at the far end of the couch. His plate was balanced on his knees, but he was caught up in what he was watching and didn’t notice the food in his lap or the boy in the doorway.
A few footsteps into the room, though, and Chance had Mark’s attention. His eyes were chilly and blue and unblinking. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I, ah, do you mind if I eat here too?”
“Hey, eat where you want, kid. But if you’re looking for a friendly eating companion, you came to the wrong place. I’ve gotta tell you something right off. If I wanted a brother, it would be a real one, not some stray. So just keep your distance. Got it?”
Chance stood and stared for long seconds after Mark had taken another bite and turned back to the TV. Then he walked out of the den by the other door into the front hall and up the stairs to his bedroom. He let his plate clatter onto his desk and sat on the bed, jaw clenched. Yes, he got it.
The words, a real one, not some stray, echoed through Chance’s head as clear as if Mark was right there in his room taunting him. Finally Chance got up, took his dinner plate, knife, fork and food, and tipped it into the wastepaper basket on top of the pencil fragments and cookie crumbs. Then he picked up the card with the fishing men and boys. He looked at it, but the words blurred. Chance was pretty sure that the word family was on there, and he knew that was a lie. Bit by bit, he tore the card into tiny pieces, letting each shred of paper flutter into the basket on top of his dinner on top of the cookie crumbs. When he was done, he dropped the plate on top of the whole mess, feeling only a slight twinge when it broke in two. Then he pulled back the covers on his bed, wrapped his arms around his pillow and curled up as small as he could.
When Doug came in later, Chance pretended to be asleep. Doug tucked the covers around his shoulders and whispered, “I don’t know exactly what happened with Mark. I talked to him, but if you ever need to talk to me about trouble with him or with kids at school, I’m right here.” It seemed like ages before Doug slipped out the door again.
In the morning, when Chance woke up, the wastepaper basket, plate, knife, fork and all, was gone. Well, Doug acted nice, but what father was going to side with some stray against his own kid? Chance had learned long ago that you don’t tell on the “real” kids.
From then on, whenever Mark was in the room, something in Chance froze. He became still. Careful.
Once again, his greatest fear had been confirmed. Chance did not belong anywhere, with anyone. No matter how friendly Doug and Angie were, Mark’s words drowned out their kindness:
If I wanted a brother, it would be a real one, not some stray.