Mark's POV
I'm interested in this kid. He's maybe fifteen with wide eyes that seem too old for him. His dark hair sticks out from his head, but from the look of him, I don't think he did it on purpose. He's pale, and his clothes seem worn and not nearly warm enough for this time of year. He doesn't seem to notice the cold, but keeps his head down as we walk, sometimes stealing glances at Angel, who is holding him on her arm.
We get back to the flat and everyone tumbles into comfortable positions, sprawled over the table, couch and floor. Moritz stands back; looking unsure and terrified until Angel pushes him lightly into a wooden chair.
Roger moves into the kitchen area and pulls out a bottle and a stack of plastic cups. He comes back, pours drinks for everyone. When he picks up a glass for Moritz, I stop him.
"Rog, wait, I donno if he can have that."
Roger pauses, looks at Moritz. "You old enough for this shit, kid?"
Moritz stares for a moment then shakes his head.
Roger shrugs. "Fuck it. You're in New York now, kid. You gotta grow up sometime."
Roger fills the glass and hands it off to Moritz, who sips the alcohol apprehensively. The room is quiet for a moment as everyone pretends not to stare and Moritz, and he pretends not to notice. Finally, Maureen breaks the silence from Joanne's lap.
"So, Moritz, right? Where are you from? How come you're here? I mean, not that we mind or anything. We're just, you know, curious." Maureen smiles brightly at him, then ads, "I like your hair," as if trying to coax him out.
The rest of us look at each other with the same thought. Was Maureen being too forward? We all wanted to know about this kid, but the quiet boy sitting in our flat seemed to hold twice his lifetime's worth of secrets.
Moritz slowly sets his cup on the floor at his feet and looks at us, taking us in, deciding what to tell.
"I'm from Germany," he began quietly. "Small town. Not important. I – I wasn't the best student, but shit, I wasn't supposed to fail or anything."
His eyes hold ours.
"The school system is harsh. They failed me. I tried so hard, and I knew I was passing, but they let me fall. It was a joke, a cruel joke.
"My father kicked me out for that. Told me I wasn't his son anymore. I wrote to one of the only people I could trust, the mother of my best friend. I asked for money to escape to America. She wouldn't help me, or couldn't help, I don't know. I begged my way onto a ship, spent the passage working. Got to New York. Met you."
Moritz finished, reached down and took a sip from his cup. His eyes are blank. Several faces in the room suddenly break out into smiles. Mimi goes over and hugs him and Angel takes his hand.
"Honey," she says, "we know what you've felt. We've been through the same thing. Stick with us, hon. We'll cover you."