Page 5 of The Locker Room
good at words, mostly because he was never expected to use them.
“No one cares,” he said, and then he felt stupid. There had to be a
better way to say that, but he couldn"t think. And then, in the middle of
the almost shocked silence, his stomach grumbled. Loudly.
The woman looked at him with a half smile on her face, like she
understood what it was like to be young and growing, and then
something in his own expression made hers change.
“He"s welcome, Chris. But we need a name first, okay?”
“Xander,” he mumbled, so desperate for whatever that smell was
that he probably would have done any matter of terrible, illegal,
disgusting things, just to have a bite. The sweat and adrenaline and joy of
the game had faded, and all that was left was pewter-gray nausea and
dancing spots in his vision that came from being young, growing, and
literally starving to death.
“Xander,” the woman said softly, “I"m Christian"s mom, Andi.
C"mon with us, and we"ll feed you, okay?”
Xander nodded, and lured by the smell of chicken and by Chris"s
triumphant smile, tucked his basketball under his arm and followed the
two of them as they walked home.
The suburb where Xander lived was a curious mix of older houses
and apartment buildings, the kind where you moved in without having to
give first and last month"s rent. Xander lived in an apartment house
about a block away from the high school, which was mainly why he
went to school—it was close, and he got a free lunch, because he had
filled out the paperwork and forged his mother"s signature at the
beginning of the year.
Chris lived in one of the older houses, the kind with the two stories
and the big yard with, from the sound of it, a dog in the back. As Xander
followed Chris and Andi through the door (and even now, Xander was
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