Chapter 3

Vivian got a boyfriend.

I didn't like him.

Whenever he came over, the rain smell on Vivian faded, replaced by something more frightening—like rusted metal, sharp as a blade. He had a long, twisted worm tattooed down his arm, and when he laughed, his mouth stretched wide and showed off yellow teeth.

The first time he saw me, he pinched my cheek and told Vivian, "This is the little bastard? He really does look stupid."

He'd snatch the crackers Vivian gave me right out of my hands and crunch through them in front of my face while my stomach growled, laughing at me the whole time.

Once, he burned the back of my hand with a thin stick that glowed red at the tip. It hurt like a wasp sting. I yanked my hand back, tears welling up. My mother had told me not to cry, so I forced myself to hold it in, staring at the small black mark on my skin. Seeing that I hadn't cried only seemed to make him angrier.

"Look at this idiot, acting tough." He grabbed my notebook full of crooked yellow suns and laughed even louder, waving it at me. "What's the point of drawing this crap? Can you eat it? An idiot's an idiot."

He threw the notebook on the floor and ground his heel into it.

Vivian just sat on the couch nearby, watching, cold and silent. She didn't say a word—as if it wasn't my hand that had been burned, wasn't my suns being crushed underfoot, just some table, some chair.

After that, whenever the man who smelled like rusted blades showed up, I'd rush to hide in the farthest corner of the storage room, burying my face in the little blanket my mother had left me, breathing in what was left of her scent, hoping he couldn't smell me out, couldn't find me. I was afraid of him the way I was afraid of the big yellow dog on the corner that bit people.

My most treasured possession was the music box my mother had left me—a wooden box painted with a single star. Turn the little handle on the side, and it played "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." My mother had told me she was a star in the sky now, and that if I ever missed her, all I had to do was listen.

Every night, after I finished drawing my sun, I'd hide under the blanket with my head tucked all the way in and listen in secret. The music was so quiet, it felt like a secret just between me and her.

One night, I listened until I fell asleep. In the middle of the night, my door slammed open. Vivian burst in, her eyes red, glaring at me like a rabbit gone half-mad.

"Who told you you could play that? Who told you?"

She snatched the music box out of my arms. I was too scared to speak, and I reached out to grab it back. She looked furious—more furious than I'd ever seen her—and she flung her arm out. The wooden box sailed across the room and shattered against the wall into a hundred splintered pieces.

The music stopped, all at once.

The whole world went quiet.

Vivian froze too. She stared down at the broken pieces on the floor, and for a second, she looked more devastated than I felt. She sank down slowly and covered her face with her hands.

I didn't cry. My mother had told me not to.

I climbed off the bed and picked up every last piece, one by one, and put them in my pocket. That way, they wouldn't be cold anymore. They wouldn't be alone.