I opened my mouth, ready to give an answer, before I realized I didn’t have one. Wait a second, why the hell had Mom come here? How had I never really asked more about it? I mean, Mom just always said she grew up in a broken home and she never wanted to talk about it. She always said her life started when I was born. It was sweet, even if I’d always suspected it was a cop-out.
Other than that, all I knew was that she and Mama H had become best friends while Mom was pregnant with me. Mama H had helped her find work—work cleaning Rafe’s family house.
I was bitter about it but at the same time, those years were some of the best of my life. Because I’d had Rafe.
I was five years old and was supposed to be coloring in the laundry room while Mom went and washed the upstairs toilets. But I’d gotten bored. I didn’t like being cooped up. Hated it, in fact. But our neighbor Miss Reyes hadn’t been able to watch me that day—and I was glad to escape the old lady. She smelled funny and only wanted to watch Spanish soap operas all day.
I’d been excited to come with my mom. Until I realized it meant sitting in a laundry room all day being quiet as a mouse because there was a mean dragon lady who yelled at Mommy if either of us made too much noise. I’d only been there two times before.
Yes, the laundry room did smell nice, and it was fun when Mommy let me help her fold the clothes. She said I was the bestest helper and she promised that later she’d teach me how to fold the fluffy towels.
But she wasn’t coming back downstairs, and I was bored.
I knew it was naughty, but I was a very quiet mouse, and I was hungry. Mice snuck around to get food without anyone noticing, right? So, I wasn’t technically breaking the rules, because Mommy had told me to be like a mouse.
It seemed like foolproof logic at the time.
So, eveeeeeeeeeeer so slowly, I pushed the door to the laundry room open, wincing when it squeaked, and then, quick as I could, in just my socks so I would barely make a sound, I pranced down the little hallway to where the kitchen was.
I remembered because Mommy had let me be in there with her while she cooked dinner for the dragon lady and her family one time. Only because no one was home and she was making cookies for the dragon lady’s kids, and Mommy knew how much I loved making cookies.
I knew my way to the kitchen, and I scurried on my little mouse feet. I’d climbed onto the counter and was just reaching up into the cabinet where I knew the graham crackers were stored—the name-brand kind and not the kind Mommy had at home that tasted a little like cardboard. No, these were the good kind where you could almost taste the honey. I’d just reached my little hand in the box, just like a mouse, when—
“Who’re you?” a voice demanded.
I spun around on the counter so fast I almost fell. I was terrified and my heart beat so fast. Oh no! The dragon lady was going to catch me! Mama would be so mad!
But then I saw it was just a little boy.
He wasn’t any bigger than me, so I stuck my tongue out at him. “What do you care? I’m nobody.” And then I shoved a handful of graham cracker animals into my mouth.
“Hey!” he said. “Those are mine!”
I frowned, my hand already back in the box. “Yours?” I asked, mouth full of crumbs.
He puffed out his chest. “Yeah, they’re mine. I live here. You’re the thief. You better tell me who you are or I’ll call the cops on you.”
Oh no! Mommy would really be mad if this stupid boy called the cops on me. I hadn’t meant to steal, I was just hungry. And Mommy had let me eat a few of the crackers when we’d made cookies and—
I jumped down from the counter and hurled myself at the little boy. “Take it back! Take it back. You better not call anybody or I’ll— I’ll—”
“Get off me!” he screeched, wrestling underneath me but unable to throw me off. I wasn’t an idiot. If I let him go, he’d go tell on me.
Then again, his screeching and caterwauling were starting to get mighty loud.
“Stop it!” I hissed, trying to cover his mouth with my hand. “Shut up. Stop crying!”
That stopped him. He looked offended like I’d just hit him. “I’m not crying. Boys don’t cry.”
Well, I knew that wasn’t true. There was a boy in the apartment building who cried all the time. I always heard him through the walls. And there was that other boy, stupid Matthew, who’d been mean to me, and then I’d hit him, and he’d cried.