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1
ARLO
Breathe.
I hold my favorite stuffy in my hand as I stand in front of the Little Bunny Club. Oh Moses, I can't believe I'm here. I run my tongue over my braces and try not to die.
How embarrassing. My first time at a munch, and I'm stuck in my stupid adult braces.
My tummy somersaults as my eyes flit around the gathering. I spot the exit, and debate leaving. No one would know if I left and took the bus home. They don't know who I am, and anyway, I'll be mortified when they see my braces.
"Deep breath, Arlo." I rub my nose and hug my stuffy even harder. "You can do it. Be brave."
I pull out my smartphone and look at my teeth in the camera app. The color of my elastic ties cheers me up a bit. I got alien green because I'm obsessed with aliens.
Yeah.
I'm a total dweeb.
I believe in extraterrestrial life, and I'm waiting for the day the aliens take over our world and blast my high school bullies to smithereens. Kids teased me because I liked aliens and carried two alien stuffies to AP English, but I forced myself to ignore their vitriol.
"Stupid Arlo, he's such a little kid. He still believes in aliens. If he used his energy to find a part-time job, he wouldn't have crooked teeth."
They'll have no defense when aliens come to New York.
I peek into the Little Bunny Club's playroom. My heart skips when I see the boys having fun with their Daddies. My cheeks flush as I spot the toys. Racecars. Dollies. Blocks. A package of jumbo crayons sits next to a boy in a pink tutu and causes me to melt. Holy Uranus! I could drawsooomany pretty aliens with those crayons.
My eyes travel to a beanbag chair on the far side of the room. I nearly drop my phone when I see it's a spaceship. I want to squeal and bounce up and down.
Okay, so maybe itwasthe right decision to come to this club tonight. I can draw all night and then cuddle up with my dream Daddy on the spaceship beanbag. I can pretend the Daddy's my spaceman or my big astronaut protector.
"You're stupid." I turn my eyes away from the toys, staring at my feet. "What Daddy would ever want you? You're dirt poor and… there's the whole situation with the chronic condition."
I let out a sigh. This is the real reason I haven't found a Daddy. It's not poverty. It's not the fact that I maxed out my credit cards paying for braces. It's the dumb medical condition I discovered I had when I was a sophomore at River High.
It started when I was fifteen. I'd come home from school, notebooks under my arm, and race to my bedroom. My throat would burn, and I'd clear my throat and drink extra water, but it wouldn't help.
I looked up my symptoms on the Internet, and found that it's a chronic condition called laryngopharyngeal reflux that means that my esophagus doesn't close properly. I can't speak for over ten minutes without my throat burning.
I've tried everything to help my throat. Straw exercises, correcting my posture, working on my breathing. Nothing helped except the over-the-counter medication I bought at the local pharmacy.
Most guys call me stupid for not going to the doctor for an official diagnosis, but I have my reasons.Realreasons. Once, my mother went to the hospital for depression, and the doctors put her on medication that debilitated her for months. Every time she tried to quit the meds, she had excruciating headaches, and the doctors didn't take her condition seriously. They called her a pill pusher who only wanted barbiturates. Health insurance is also expensive, and I can't afford an independent policy now that my boss at the candy store fired me last week.
This is why Daddies don't speak to me. When a man learns about my condition, he leaves. He scoffs at me for refusing to see a doctor or being too scared to open up about my problems. He tells me I'm an idiot and that he wants a smarter boy.
Dragging my eyes up from my feet, I take one more look at the playroom. Warmth bubbles up within me as I see the Littles drawing pretty pictures with the crayons and talking with each other. Their Daddies hug them and kiss their cheeks, cooing in their ears that they're the sweetest boys in the world.
I hold my alien stuffy, Mr. Green, and force out a breath.
Be strong. This is what you want. A Daddy to play with you and keep you safe.
I go over all the reasons a Daddy will change my life. He'll pamper me when I have a bad day. He'll kiss me and take my virginity. A Daddy will take me to the doctor, hold me close, and stay with me during my first real medical exam. I haven't had a physical since I was twelve, and there could be more things wrong with me than my condition. A Daddy will reassure me about my health anxiety, and maybe take me to a psychologist to work through my problems.
And then, after we finish going to the doctors, where they'll probably prick me with needles and take my blood pressure, or perhaps even refer me to a specialist so I can get actual feedback on my condition, my Daddy will take me to bed and make love to me the entire night. My dream Daddy won't care that I'm only twenty-one, that I have adult braces, or that I barely have enough money to buy food every day. He'll cherish me and love me for who I am, and I'll be his perfect boy. I'll give him a big kiss every morning and bury him in hugs every night. When we take bubble baths together and play make-believe with Mr. Green, I'll make him feel like the best man in the world for rescuing me.
Isn't that what all Daddies want? A boy who loves them and treats them right?
"This is it." I wipe tears from my eyes, secure my grip on Mr. Green, and step into the playroom. My tummy twists into knots, but I force myself to be brave. "You won't get another chance. You must find your Daddy tonight."
I force a smile on my face and walk forward.
But I've barely entered the playroom when I trip on a racecar and fall flat on my face.
