Lucian’s brown eyes flicker to the car, and he asks with surprise, “You brought your child?”
Mother nods and then calls, “Remi, come here, sweetie.”
I do as she says, running my hand through my hair as I slowly approach the couple who watch me. Something weird crosses their gazes before they are blank again.
Rebecca smiles brightly at me, and somehow this smile alone warms me from the inside, when she says, “Hi, Remi.”
“Hi.” I push the word out, avoiding looking at Lucian, who still stares at me while his wife fires more questions my way.
“How old are you?”
“Five.”
“Five?” Rebecca’s brows furrow in confusion. “In the application, you said your son is four.”
My parents laugh nervously as Mom grabs me by the shoulders, digging her nails in so hard I still the cry of pain slipping past my lips. “He’s four. He just doesn’t know his numbers very well yet.”
I will pay for this slip; this much I know. Father will just order my mother to whoop my ass with the belt, and God knows when I will eat.
Tears form in my eyes, but I don’t let them out, too afraid of what kind of consequences it might have for me.
For some reason, my age is always a huge problem. They hide that I’m five as if this knowledge will hurt them.
The couple’s eyes linger on my shoulders, and Mom starts rubbing the injured flesh, playing the good mother, not that they’re buying the act.
Lucian turns to his wife, and they start to have a conversation in a language I don’t understand and my parents either since their heads just ping pong between them, awaiting the verdict.
The Cortez couple keep glancing at me while showing complete distaste to my parents and then back at me as if they are contemplating whether to take on my parents just for my sake.
But that’s a stupid thing to think.
Why would anyone do anything for me, especially such a couple as rich as them, when even my parents don’t?
Finally Lucian speaks in English again. “Let’s talk inside. You’re hired, but no one signs a contract here without me approving it first.”
How strange. Don’t they have special people for that?
Unless something happened in the past? That would explain the guards and how you have to have permission to drive a car inside.
Rebecca gently nudges me around, pointing to the other side of the garden. “Why don’t you go and meet the boys while you wait for your parents, honey? It’s too hot to sit in the car.”
Fear sinks into me at this. I want to protest but don’t dare in the current circumstances. So with a heavy heart, I walk the path to where she pointed while dreading meeting the boys.
All my experiences in the past proved to be disastrous. The kids like to pick on me, and whenever I tried to make a friend, they all laughed and always refused.
One of them even called me white trash and said his parents taught them to stay away from the likes of us, whatever that meant.
The loud voices snap me out of my memories, and I raise my head to look ahead, seeing three boys running around the garden and giggling loudly. Music plays from a radio several feet away on a spread-out blanket that also has a big basket.
I watch the three boys, so different from the other kids I’ve seen so far in my life.
A boy with a pirate patch on his head extends his hand with a wooden sword, tilting his head back, and yells, “Prepare for attack!” while racing to the blond-haired boy who is so pretty it’s hard not to stare at him.
I didn’t know boys could be this pretty!
The boy giggles, a pencil dropping from his ear while he runs away and yells over his shoulder, “Help! Guards!”
My brows furrow.