Page 3 of Wild Blades

Running, I move fast toward the top of the stairs.If they see me, should I call her Miranda like I have to sometimes?Because she would call me more names if anyone found out she had a ten-year-old son. “I mean, I don’t look old enough, do I, Wade?”

She does, though, look old enough, that is. She’s very beautiful. My friends talk about her, call her a MILF… Mom I’d Like to F––insert the naughty word I shouldn’t say.

If only they knew she’s not so pretty on the inside. It’s the parts my friends don’t get to see. Unlike me. I know all the parts of her. Her heart is ugly. If it were good, she would hug and kiss me, and tell me she loved me.Wouldn’t she?

In front of my friends, and their parents, she gives off perfect mom vibes, when in reality, her heart is black; scorched and torn around the edges like a piece of paper that’s caught fire.

I run, trying to get away so I’m not seen. Head down, I watch my feet as they move faster down the first set of stairs and across the mid-landing, away from the man I now sense behind me.

“Wade.” His deep voice booms through the tall stairway, causing me to stop in my tracks and spin around.

My heart flutters in my chest like a scared butterfly caught in a jelly jar.

Then he does something crazy.

He follows me and stands opposite me on the landing.

My mom is going to bereallyupset now.

“How do you know my name?” I can’t believe he knows it.Does Mom talk about me to him?

As if he’s seeing me for the first time. Which he is, but he’s really looking, examining me like he’s a doctor. His eyes crinkle around the edges as he cracks a smile. “Your mom told me.”

He’s got a friendly face and a huge mouth full of white straight teeth.

Ezra’s mom is a dentist. I like it when she tells me how shiny my teeth look. I always make sure I brush them before Igo around there just to hear her tell me that. It makes me feel special.

I wish my teeth were as shiny as the man’s. They look like they are sparkling.

Seeming nervous, my mom appears at the top of the stairs and bounces her gaze back and forth between the two of us. Remaining silent, she fumbles to tie the bow of her silk dress around her waist.

Feeling brave, I say, “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

Yup, just dived face-first into the deep end of trouble. I’ll face the wrath of my mother’s sharp tongue when he leaves.

She tells me I’m too inquisitive. Acurious mind will get you into troubleis what she says when I ask questions. Which is strange because my teacher, Miss. Sinclair told the class last weekcuriosity increases creativity. I like Miss. Sinclair.

The strange man—yet not so strange, because I see him every week—takes a step closer. We stand toe to toe, which forces my neck back to look up at him. He’s as tall as a tree.

Even when he drops down to his knees, he’s still very tall. Face to face, we stare at each other. Checking one another out.

“I do know your name. It’s a very cool name you have, Wade. I like it.”

I like my name too; he distracts me with his niceness and doesn’t give me his name.

How annoying.

“You have the same color eyes as me.” I point to them.

The man tucks his lips between his teeth with a small nod. “Lots of people have the same eye color.”

I shake my head in denial. “Miss. Sinclair says they are unique and that she’s never seen anyone with eyes like mine before. She called them cerulean. You have cerulean eyes too.” They do look like mine. He’s stupid if he can’t see that.

I’m beginning to realize adults are a bit silly sometimes.

He snorts as if I amused him. I think he’s mocking me. I don’t like it.

“You are very smart, Wade.”

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