It was three o'clock in the afternoon and the dismissal bell had just sounded all over the school's campus. August was doing what he always did at this time, which was running, as fast as his fourteen-year-old legs could carry him.
Even though August was afraid of the kids who chased after him every afternoon, taunting him and calling him names, it almost felt like a game. Most of the time he was able to get away pretty easily. He was a fast runner and really good at finding places to hide. But there were occasions when they caught up to him, and then it was no longer a game.
"Hey Big Red! Hey Carrot Top, whatcha runnin' for?"
If they were going to insult him, he wished they'd come up with something original. But these were kids who thought calling him "Big Red" was clever because he was so small and scrawny. They wouldn't know original if it hit them in the face.
"Hey Bozo the Clown, why don't you stop and tell us another one of your fairy tales?"
If only these kids knew what fairy tales really were.
But August never told any real fairy tales. Those were secret, and the stories this world knew were twisted so far from the truth they were barely recognizable. Seriously, a nose that grows when he lies?
The stories August told were ones he made up when he was bored, which was often. August lived in the orphanage across the street from the school, just like many of the kids who attended there. He was one of the few in the orphanage who didn't cause trouble or act out, so the staff didn't pay much attention to him and he had a lot of time to himself. He'd started making up the stories to entertain Emma, but once August had made the mistake of writing down one of his stories for class, and his teacher was so impressed she made him read it out loud, and practically demanded a new story every day. August loved telling the stories but the consequence was that the other kids were jealous and mean, and Emma was his only friend.
August didn't see Emma often anymore; it had been nearly a year since she'd gotten a foster family, and her foster parents had her in a school across town, where they lived, and would only let Emma be with August one day a week, on Saturdays. They wouldn't have let her see him at all (apparently it was "strange" for a fourteen year old boy to be such close friends with a seven year old girl), but Emma had thrown such a tantrum and threatened to run away that they'd conceded the one day. August just felt lucky that she hadn't found a home with someone who lived far away. It was his job to protect her and he couldn't do that if she lived somewhere he couldn't reach.
That afternoon, however, it was Emma's turn to do the protecting. The bullies caught up with August, and they shoved him down to the ground and started punching. August put his arms over his head to shield it. He'd learned from experience how to guard himself.
"Hey! Buttfaces! Why don't you leave him alone?"
The punching stopped and August slowly lowered his arms. His attackers were all turned around, looking at Emma, who was standing several feet behind them, holding a baseball bat.
Emma was only seven years old, and tiny, but she was fierce and intimidating. The main thing she had learned in this land was how to be tough.
Before Emma was placed with her foster family, she had been at this orphanage with August, so the kids knew her. Most of them cowered away from her when they realized who she was, but one of the lunkheads hadn't been there long and didn't take the hint.
"Aw, is the widdle girl gonna hit us wif the bat?" The boy's name was Larry and though he was in August's class, he was twice his size and towered over Emma.
"If you don't back off, I will, birdbrain." She raised the bat even higher.
The moron just laughed and went to grab for the bat but Emma was quicker and she smashed it against his kneecap.
Larry howled with pain and the other children began to scatter in every direction.
"Yeah that's right, run, you cowards!" Emma yelled after them. She went over to August and helped him off the ground, and they walked away, leaving Larry still howling in pain.
"Where did you get the bat?" August asked.
Emma was still holding it in her hand. "I was near the school's storage shed when I saw them chasing you. I broke in and got it."
"You broke in? Emma, that's not…"
But Emma interrupted him. "Hey, I saved you from being pounded. You don't get to whine about how I did it." It was a conversation they'd had many times. Emma was constantly breaking into places or stealing things. August scolded her, but Emma told him it was never anything valuable. She just liked being able to see if she could do it. And August always made her put back the things she stole. He wondered if she still would if he weren't around.
"Wait a minute, what are you even doing here? Why aren't you at your school?"
"I skipped out."
August sighed. "Emma, you can't keep doing that. Someone's going to catch you riding the bus around town. And your foster parents…"
Suddenly Emma stopped. Tears formed in her eyes and she began to sob, covering her face with her hands.
"What's wrong? Did something happen?" August was baffled. Emma never cried.
At first Emma didn't answer. Finally she choked out, "They're sending me away!"
"What do you mean? Away where? What are you talking about?"
Emma continued to sob. "I heard Bob and Jillian talking to the social services lady last night. They haven't wanted me for a while. They said they had too many kids to take care of and now she's found somewhere else for me to go. She's coming to get me next week!"
August was shocked but still hopeful. "Well maybe this new family will still be close by. Maybe we'll still get to see each other."
Emma shook her head. "They said it's four hours away!"
Devastated, August hugged her close. "It's okay, Emma. We'll figure this out. It's okay." But of course August had no idea how it would be okay.
The day Emma left, August was there, even though the parents had told him to leave. The woman from social services hauled her off, kicking and screaming. "I don't want to go! I don't want to go! I'll stay at the orphanage! August, help!" But Emma couldn't stay at the orphanage; it was full. There was no way around it and Emma had to leave.
As the car drove away, Emma was still crying and beating on the window. He couldn't hear her, but he could tell she was yelling "August!" over and over.
The whole family was standing out in the yard and Bob, Emma's foster father, walked over to him. "I don't get it, kid. Why's she so attached to you?"
August just looked at him and said "We're part of the same story" and walked away. That day he started making plans to run away from the orphanage. He'd made a promise to his father and he was going to keep it.