CHAPTER 7

“Mom’s gone,” said the voice on the other side. “Went down for cigarettes. Come on, let me in.”

I opened the door.

Sam stood there, staring back, concern etched on his face. At 15, he looked older than his age. He’d grown early, to almost six feet, but he hadn’t filled out yet, and he was awkward and gangly. With black hair and brown eyes, his coloring was similar to mine. We definitely looked related. I could see the concern on his face. He loved me more than anything.

I let him in, quickly closing the door behind him.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just can’t deal with her tonight.”

“What happened with you two?”

“The usual. She was on me the second I walked in.”

“All she does is scream and yell at me,” I added. “I think she hates me. No—I am sure of it. Sometimes I think that she wishes she never had us.”

Sam looked sad, but I could see in his eyes that he understood. And that he felt the same way.

“At least she left,” he said.

“For now,” I said.

I dreaded her return.

“I think she had a hard day,” Sam said, trying to make peace between them, as always. “I hope they don’t fire her again.”

“Who cares? New York, Arizona, Texas…Who cares what’s next? Our moving won’t ever end.”

Sam frowned as he sat on my desk chair, and I immediately felt bad. I sometimes had a harsh tongue, spoke without thinking, and I wished I could take it back.

“How was your first day?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

He shrugged. “OK, I guess.” He toed the chair with his foot.

He looked up. “Yours?”

I shrugged. There must have been something in my expression, because he didn’t look away. He kept looking at me.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said defensively, and turned and walked towards the window.

I could feel him watching me.

“You seem…different.”

I paused, wondering if he knew, wondering if my outside appearance showed any changes. I swallowed.

“How?”

Silence.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered.

I stared out the window, watching aimlessly as a man outside the corner bodega slipped a buyer a dime bag.

“I hate this new place,” he said.

I turned and faced him.

“So do I.”

“I was even thinking about...” he lowered his head, “…taking off.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged.

I looked at him. He seemed really depressed.

“Where?” I asked.

“Maybe…track down Dad.”

“How? We have no idea where he is.”

“I could try. I could find him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know…. But I could try.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“We haven’t been able to find him our whole lives. What makes you think you will find him now? And what makes you think he wants to be found?”

He didn’t say anything. But I could see that stubborn look in his face.

“Sam. He could be dead for all we know.”

“Don’t say that!” he yelled, and his face turned bright red. “I’ve been searching for him my entire life. I need to find him. Don’t you understand? I need to know who I came from. Why he left us. I can’t live without the answers.”

“Sorry,” I said.

He calmed back down.

“But did you ever consider that, even if we found him, he may not even want to see us? After all, he left. And he’s never tried to get in touch. Maybe we’re not good enough for him. Maybe he’s moved on without us. Maybe he never really cared about us to begin with.”

“Maybe cause Mom won’t let him.”

“Or maybe cause he just doesn’t like us,” I repeated.

Sam’s frown deepened as he toed the floor again.

“And what if,” I asked, “he’s not special after all? We’re not special? What if he’s just…an ordinary guy?” It hurt me to even say it, but I had to.

“Don’t say that!” he yelled, nearly in tears. “Don’t ever say that again!”

I took a deep breath. The room became silent.

Finally, he spoke.

“I looked him up on Facebook.”

My eyes opened wide in surprise.

“You found him?”