Chapter Four

Don’t worry, though, he’ll be as good as new. Boys his age bounce.―Harper Lee

Oakland, California 2006

Damon’s mouth watered as he watched Dumbass crack his teeth into the apple again, smacking loudly as he sat on the couch in his tank top, curling his dumbbell and watching his biceps flex.

Danny Dumbass. That’s what he and his twin brother had taken to calling him privately.

This one had turned out to be probably the worst foster ever. It wasn’t the beatings. They’d had worse than the odd cuff to the head or random punch on the shoulder doled out by Dumbass. The shoulder punches really hurt, and you never knew when they were coming. Still, they weren’t the belt or a lit cigarette. And they weren’t every night, so you didn’t spend all day worrying about them.

But this food thing was turning into a problem.

At home they got ramen noodles for dinner every night while Dumbass wolfed down steaks, burgers, and pizza right in front of them. Once in a while, they could sneak his leftovers out of the garbage, but usually Ramen was it.

“Eatin’ better with that foster money,” Jesse said under his breath one night.

That comment earned him an immediate knuckle punch to the arm, but later he said it was worth it. The real problem was Dumbass hadn’t filled out the free lunch forms for school. Damon had finally gone to the principal’s office and taken care of it, forging Dumbass’ signature, but they wouldn’t take effect for another three days.

Sitting there, hearing the sound of the crisp apple, watching the juice run down the big man’s chin, Damon dreaded asking and already knew the answer. “Sir, do you think it would be possible for Jesse and me, to, uh, get some breakfast this morning?”

“Don’t they give you food at school?”

“Well, sir…”

“Y’all better get off to school. I ain’t taking you today,” he said, staring at his biceps as he continued his curls. “Got to work on my guns.”

Damon went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then to get Jesse for their walk to school. Every time they left the house, no matter how hungry or sore, their spirits lifted.

On their walks to school, the twins passed a bake shop, its fancy cakes and frosted cookies stacked in the window. They always stopped to stare and inhale the sugary aroma.

“If I had a hundred dollars, I would buy a different cookie every day,” said Damon. It had become a game they played every day when they walked by.

“I would build a house out of cookies, so when I wanted one, I’d just break off a part of a wall or a chair,” Jesse said, grinning into the window.

“Don’t worry,” Damon told his twin, as they walked on, “I got an idea for after school. Yesterday on the way home, I seen this waitress outside Vinnie’s, throwing away damn near whole pizzas in the dumpster.”

“Yeah, pizza sounds good.”

“Mean time,” said Damon casually, glancing sideways at Jesse with a gleam in his eye, “how this grab you?” He produced a shiny red apple from the pocket of his hoodie.

“Way to go, D!” yelled Jesse. “Old Dumbass won’t be chomping on this one.”

“No sir, he won’t,” Damon chimed in, taking the first bite, then handing it to his brother. “No sir, he will not,” he repeated softly, savoring the victory.