Mira
I turn in time to see the biggest girl in my junior high school grab my backpack and swing it in a wide loop—with me attached.
I lose my balance and land hard on the ground.
“What do you want, Britney?” I say, annoyed, my knee throbbing where it hit the concrete.
Britney’s bangs are cut short and blunt across her forehead, giving her the caveman look when she glares. “Isn’t your mom a hooker? I heard she sold you to the Sallees.”
Her lisp is so heavy it takes me a second to figure out who she’s referring to. And then my face heats at the crude reference to the family I live with.
Kids give Britney a wide berth, including the three girls on either side of her, but I’m not like other kids.
I lunge and shove her. Only I’m small for my age, so she barely budges.
Britney catches my shoulders with her long octopus arms, the other girls laughing behind her. “Do you let their son Lewis kiss you? Eww, Mira. Are you going to be a hooker like your mom?”
I hate it when kids spread rumors about my mom.
I swing out my leg and try to nail Britney in the shin, but I miss.
“Who will you live with once Lewis doesn’t want you anymore?”
For some reason, that sentence isn’t jumbled by her speech. It comes out loud and clear.
The fight drains from my body and my arms drop to my sides.
I’m used to being picked on for my size, for where I came from, for the stories about my mom. None of it matters. But Britney said the one thing that does.
Lewis and his family told me they’d take care of me, but everyone leaves eventually.
Britney shoves my shoulders, sending me flying off balance.
My palms slam onto the pavement, and I stare at the grainy surface, the heat from the cement coating my skin.
My brain races a million miles an hour, and goes nowhere. Where would I go if the Sallees didn’t want me anymore?
I don’t know how long I kneel on all fours, but the sound of feet skittering catches my attention. I brush dark strands of hair off my face and look up…into pale blue eyes glowing with concern.
“You okay?”
The boy standing over me has high cheekbones and slightly hollow cheeks. He is tall, but skinny. I like his face. He has kind eyes.
He glances past me, sending an angry glare over my shoulder. “Leave her alone from now on,” he calls.
I look around to see that the mean girls have taken off and are halfway across the empty parking lot.
The boy gives me a quick survey, then grabs my backpack. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
I sit on my butt and pull my knees to my chin, brushing gravel and dirt from my hands. “I’m riding the bus.”
He swings my backpack over the shoulder that’s not occupied by his large pack. “I’ll walk you there.”
For all his height, the two backpacks look like they might knock him over, but they don’t. He’s strong.
We make the trip in silence, and I wonder if he will leave me once we get to the bus stop. I want him to stay. Which is weird. Aside from the Sallees, who took me in when I was three, I’m not comfortable around people.
“I’m Tyler,” he says, as we approach the pickup spot. His gaze flickers to me, but he doesn’t stare.
I mumble my name and Tyler hangs out with me until the long yellow bus pulls up.
The driver opens the pivoting door and Tyler hands me my backpack. His mouth presses together in a serious look I’ve only seen adults use. “You okay?”
I nod and climb the steps to the aisle between the seats. I watch Tyler through the windows as the driver pulls away. He walks in the opposite direction, staring ahead, his wiry arm bent where he shoved his hand into his jeans pocket.
I sit in the rear of the bus and hug my backpack to my chest, a smile on my face.
I should be upset that the girls picked on me—but I’m not. If they hadn’t, Tyler might not have shown up.
And I like Tyler.