I have no idea where I’m going to sleep.
Maybe I can knock on the door of a church.
Nah. They’re not too fond of boys who like boys.
Perhaps I could lie.
But God might tell them I’m a liar.
I’ll only ask them if I get desperate.
Gonna need to find a job, of course.
That might be tricky.
I have no ID card, and no bank account.
No work experience aside from gardening.
And no address.
Not even a pillow.
Everything I have to my name is inside this stupid bag.
Half a jar of stolen peanut butter and a map of the stars.
the seventh chapter
AMOS
I’m rinsing an empty jar of peanut butter when my phone buzzes on the kitchen counter.
It’s late afternoon, the day after the launch party.
The city outside has settled into that strange in-between hour where traffic thickens and creates a steady hum from the street below.
My shirt has been tossed over the arm of the couch.
A sketchbook lies open next to it.
I’ve been working on a new design.
Drying my hands, I scroll to read my messages.
Unknown sender.
That rules out work immediately.
I never gave this number to clients.
Only people I know personally.
Staring at the notification for a moment, my pulse quickens.
Could it be…?
I open the text.
