Again I felt the need to leap from the bushes to be with someone I loved. Tim was white faced and had two airplane tickets in his hand. He strode up the walkway and ratta-tap-tapped on the door. I swung open to reveal my mother's current boyfriend, Bob.
"Waddaya want?"
"Lina and Dom…?"
"Hospital and dead."
He backed off the doorstep. I could see the look in his eyes: I'm too late.
Bob slammed the door and the sound echoed through the empty street. Tim turned his back on the door and put his face in his hands. I wanted so badly to jump out and give him a hug, to tell him what funny thing Dom had done lately.
It would be better for everyone if I just disappeared…
And I did. I slipped into the woods. I disappeared from the trail, disappeared behind jutting roots as I fell. Every time I picked myself up and kept going.
I refused to think. If I thought too deeply than I would break down in tears. Thinking was the worst torture in the world I could think of at the moment.
Eventually I emerged from the Pennsylvania woods and ran right into a boy with ice cream. He looked small and had curly blond hair. He had faint, transparent whiskers on his chin and a few pimples as well. Okay, so he looked like a short teenager.
"HEY!" he protested, wiping up his shirt. "That was enchilada flavored!" Then he took a good look at me. I was kind of scared to know how I looked. Ratty nightshirt, messy red hair with leaves sticking out every which way, wild eyes, bruises all over, and a broken hand. I winced. Thinking about my hand being hurt made it hurt even worse.
When he saw my hand he chucked his enchilada ice cream over his shoulder. It hit a boy with white blond hair and emerald eyes. He looked about my age with pale skin so much that it almost appeared translucent.
"What happened to your hand?"
I started crying. I didn't want to give anything about myself away, so I used the language my mother used to make me speak; before Dad came back a second time. She also made me speak it when she was dating Tim.
(*)"Ayúdame a mi madre golpeaba a mi hermano es mi dolor y todo el mundo piensa que estoy muerto!"
"What?"
The blond haired boy stepped in. He eyed me suspiciously. I could already tell that I didn't like him.
"¿Acabas de hablar niña española?" He said, and it was my turn to eye him with a glare full of suspicion.
"¡Sí! ¿Habla usted mi idioma?"
"Yo soy un hijo de Apolo. Hablo todos los idiomas que existe. También sé que usted es un mestizo, así, como yo. Y también sé que el español no es su lengua materna. Sí, poco semidiós?"
"What are you talking about?" I said, breaking the little innocent foreign girl cover.
"Okay, now that we're done with that strange little conversation, in which you reached an… I don't know… Agreement? Anyway, girl, what happened to your hand?"
"Umm… I don't know…" I said. I wanted to start over with these people. Since everyone thought I was dead back home, I had to restart.
"Would you like ME to tell you what the little girl said?" He asked the curly haired boy. The curly haired boy got caught in my accusing glare directed at the "son of Apollo".
"Bradley, the girl distinctly said in fluent Spanish; 'Help me my-"
"Shut up!" I screamed at him. He kind of looked guilty for a second but erased it off his face with an eraser that brought residue of a mocking face.
"Drew, calm down the little girl. What happened? Anyway, she needs ambrosia. Like now." Drew just stood there with two lines of glares focused on him. "Drew." The boy "Bradley" said in a menacing tone.
"Fine." Drew reached into his bag and pulled out a plastic baggie stuffed with what looked like crushed pan-cookie. He removed a square of it and handed it to me. Bradley grabbed the square and split it in half. He handed one half to me. I cautiously took a bite. It looked like a cookie, but it tasted like the delicious olives that Tim said his sister grew. I swallowed the last bite mournfully.
"Can I… Can I have some more?" I asked, and he shook his head.
"Eating too much ambrosia can literally burn you up from the inside." Bradley picked a chunk of enchilada ice cream from his curls. "On that happy note, I think there's a wall mart around here." He looked me up and down distastefully. "Let's get you some new clothes."
As we started heading across the strip mall, I murmured to Drew, "Is he gay?"
"What makes you say that?"
"He seems to know about clothes…."
""
"Okay, definitely NOT gay." I grumbled. He picked out a pair of plaid pants, brown high-heel flip-flops and a turtleneck brown sweater for me. I felt like an idiot middle schooler; the ones who wore PJs everywhere. Drew was trying not to laugh. I stuck my tongue out at him. He just broke own in un-boyish giggles.
My hand was scarily healed. The swelling was so insignificant my hand was barely red! And the bruises? Mostly gone. The cuts achieved from several years of child abuse were completely gone. So were most of my scars.
Bradley also bought me a brush, and I combed out my hair. We snuck into a locker room and all of us took a shower.
I looked like a normal eight-year-old girl.
Except for the fact that I already knew that I wasn't.
""
Their convo:
(*)"Help me my mother beat me my brother is hurt and everyone thinks I am dead!"
"Did you just speak Spanish little girl?"
"Yes! Do you speak my language?"
"I am a son of Apollo. I speak every language that exists. I also know that you are a half blood as well, just like me. And I also know that Spanish is not your native language. Yes, little demigod?"
