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“Yeah, but the dampness in the air is chilly,” I add, “and the cocoa is really tough to beat. No offense, but I’m pretty sure Milo is just using our new acquaintance with you just to get cocoa. Which, to be honest, I don’t blame him for. It’sthatgood.”
Layla snorts a laugh. “Well, alright then, I guess we can go get some cocoa. Doesn’t seem like I’ll see much more of the grounds until the fog lifts, anyway.”
* * *
Layla
* * *
Spending the afternoon with Milo and Landon is… nice. Even though they’re both really cute and I’m not used to having nice boys from good families look at me that way, there’s something about them that feels like home. It’s tough to put my finger on, precisely. There’s a sense of safety around them.Trust, my inner voice says. They’re both complete individuals, but somehow they both remind me of Derrek.
My heart still squeezes whenever I think about Derrek. Yes, he is a much older guy who treated me with all the interest of a kid sister, but it’s probably safe to admit I had quite the crush on him. He was bigger, smarter, fiercely protective, and I pretty much worshipped the ground he walked on.
He seemed to be respected by most of the people who might cause a group of street kids trouble. Local gang leaders would visit, even the pimps, and on occasion, even street cops. They talked with Derrek and sometimes brought him a gift—then left.
Derrek took in any street kid, but everyone had to contribute, so he taught us street skills.
I’d learned how to pilfer small things at the foster home—when the fridge and pantry are always padlocked, you figure out how to get food or you starve. Derrek taught me how to pick the right target, the one who would always have a wad of cash: a shiny, nondescript vehicle. Expensive-looking suit, flashy watch. I learned quick, and I survived.
Street life wasn’t easy, but Derrek at least made sure we never fell victim to predators or drugs. His one rule was no drugs and no tricks. Petty theft was our bracket, and we stayed in that boundary. Anyone who stepped outside the line was no longer in Derrek’s protection and had to leave immediately.
We never saw them again.
Derrek found me barely a day after I ran away from the foster house. I was with him for almost three years before the attack. I trusted him implicitly, and he always looked out for me.
Which is why it hurt that he never visited me in the hospital.
I called the hospital they originally took me to, where I stayed for three days before Uncle Dom moved me to Mount Sinai. Providence St. Joseph was not an exclusive place, and the ambulance would have told him where they were taking me—he’s the one who called them, after all—so he knew where I was for those three days at least. But the head nurse assured me I had no visitors for the first two days I was there until my uncle showed up with an army of attorneys and his own doctor in tow.
During my time in the apartment with Roxanne, she forbade me from returning to North Hollywood, and the compulsion to obey her was strong. I didn’t want to end up on the street again, now that I had a chance at a good life.
So I never went back.
It took me a long time to puzzle the connection out. I sat in my room and mulled over why these two guys I had just met felt so familiar.
And I finally concluded that something about them—something nebulous and difficult to grasp—reminds me of Derrek, and that is why.
We enjoyed our cocoa—Milo wasn’t kidding, it’s the best I’ve ever had, made with real melted chocolate—and he flirted with the older woman until she forked over some cookies in a secret stash I didn’t know about. Then she shooed us out of the kitchen so she could make dinner.
How weird is it they know more about my home than I do?
Milo admitted his father has worked here since before he was born, so he’s practically grown up on the grounds. Something tells me that knowledge might be useful to me later.
After their cocoa, the guys took their leave with promises to show me around Smoky Falls U on Monday. I returned to the sanctuary of my room to mull over the jumbled thoughts and emotions of the day.
In fact, so much happened today I completely forget it’s my birthday until Roxanne knocks softly at the door and comes in beaming.
“Happy birthday again, Layla! Has the heavy mantle of adulthood settled on your shoulders?”
“Ha, not exactly,” I snort. “I don’t think it’s quite sunken in yet.”
“Well, all things in due time. Do you want to change before dinner?”
I glance down at my jeans and sweater combo. Everything is clean and neat enough. My parents were never ones to get fancy, and then I was living on the street. Even a year later I’m not used to having endless options for wardrobe, but Roxanne has tried to impress on me the variations of clothes for different formalities of occasions. “Is this not appropriate for dinner tonight?” I ask tentatively.
Roxanne beams, and my chest warms in response to her approval.
“Well, since it’s your first ‘real’ dinner here and your birthday, I think your uncle has something slightly more formal in mind. Perhaps a dress? There’s a row of cocktail dresses on the left side of your closet in the back. Any of them would work.”
