their entire Happy Meal, do they? So you throw out the garbage and eat what’s left.”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look at him.
“I’ve seen you do it,” he said. “It’s pretty freaking brilliant. I just thought you’d maybe want … something fresh to eat sometime.”
He was still holding out that bill.
She reached for it. Stopped. Looked up into those eerie eyes. “For this, I will
not
give blow job.”
The pretty boy laughed his surprise, but then stopped. “Oh, my God, you’re serious,” he said as he sat down in the chair across from her and lowered his voice. “You’re like, twelve. Are you …? Have you
really
…?”
“I’m sixteen,” she told him, giving up her pretense of not being able to speak English well. After so many years, her accent was barely noticeable, too.
“You look twelve.”
Neesha shrugged. “I’m short.”
“I’m Ben,” the boy said. “And I don’t want a blow job.” He caught himself, smiled. “That’s not really true. I
do
want one, who doesn’t? But … not from you. Trust me.”
It didn’t make sense, and she
didn’t
trust him. “Then why do you give me money?”
“Because … you look like you need it more than I do. I’ve seen you here for about a week now, and you’re always wearing the same thing.” He looked down at his own clothes. “Of course, I’m one to talk. But I’m doing it as a statement. You’re not.”
He pushed the money across the table toward her and withdrew his hand.
Neesha found herself looking down at it. Wanting to take it.
Wondering what was the catch.
There was always a catch.
“When did you run away?” he asked, and she looked up at him, worried.
Ben smiled, which made him look like an angel, come down from heaven. “It’s not really that obvious. I mean, I know because I pay attention. But you really
should
get different clothes. Maybe just a few other shirts. The Salvation Army sells stuff for two bucks a bag. Do you know where that is?”
She shook her head, and he told her, but the address was meaningless. She knew only a few streets and not by their official names but by their landmarks. She’d learned to speak English by watching hour upon hour of TV back when she was a prisoner, after they’d taken away her books and papers and pencils. She’d learned from watching and listening, but she hadn’t learned to read it. Not yet, anyway. Not well enough to handle street signs.
“If you go there,” he told her, “you just have to be careful. Sometimes cops hang out, looking for runaways. Make sure you tell the ladies behind the counter that you’re looking for clothes for your sister’s birthday. And that you’re the same size. That you’re twins. That way they won’t flag you or ask too many questions.”
She pushed the bill back toward him. “I can’t,” she said. And she couldn’t—take his money, or his advice. As much as she would’ve loved to have a whole bagful of clean, fresh clothes, she couldn’t do it.
She started to stand up so she could walk away.
But he stood up, too, far more gracefully. He pushed his chair in and backed off.
“I’d run away, too, if I could,” he told her. “My stepfather is a son of a bitch, and my mother’s invisible. School’s a nightmare, and …” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. In a few months I’m moving to San Diego, to live with my brother and sister. Either that or … I don’t know, maybe I’ll be dead. One way or another, it’ll be an improvement. See you around.”
And with that, he walked away without looking back, leaving that five-dollar bill on the table.
So Neesha picked it up, and put it in her pocket.
CHAPTER
FOUR
L ANDSTUHL , G ERMANY
T WO WEEKS LATER
M ONDAY, 4 M AY 2009
I love living in Germany, don’t you?” the Army nurse asked Izzy as they sat at the corner of the bar.
In truth, Izzy fricking hated fricking Germany. It was where his soon-to-be ex-wife Eden had run after her baby
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t look at him.
“I’ve seen you do it,” he said. “It’s pretty freaking brilliant. I just thought you’d maybe want … something fresh to eat sometime.”
He was still holding out that bill.
She reached for it. Stopped. Looked up into those eerie eyes. “For this, I will
not
give blow job.”
The pretty boy laughed his surprise, but then stopped. “Oh, my God, you’re serious,” he said as he sat down in the chair across from her and lowered his voice. “You’re like, twelve. Are you …? Have you
really
…?”
“I’m sixteen,” she told him, giving up her pretense of not being able to speak English well. After so many years, her accent was barely noticeable, too.
“You look twelve.”
Neesha shrugged. “I’m short.”
“I’m Ben,” the boy said. “And I don’t want a blow job.” He caught himself, smiled. “That’s not really true. I
do
want one, who doesn’t? But … not from you. Trust me.”
It didn’t make sense, and she
didn’t
trust him. “Then why do you give me money?”
“Because … you look like you need it more than I do. I’ve seen you here for about a week now, and you’re always wearing the same thing.” He looked down at his own clothes. “Of course, I’m one to talk. But I’m doing it as a statement. You’re not.”
He pushed the money across the table toward her and withdrew his hand.
Neesha found herself looking down at it. Wanting to take it.
Wondering what was the catch.
There was always a catch.
“When did you run away?” he asked, and she looked up at him, worried.
Ben smiled, which made him look like an angel, come down from heaven. “It’s not really that obvious. I mean, I know because I pay attention. But you really
should
get different clothes. Maybe just a few other shirts. The Salvation Army sells stuff for two bucks a bag. Do you know where that is?”
She shook her head, and he told her, but the address was meaningless. She knew only a few streets and not by their official names but by their landmarks. She’d learned to speak English by watching hour upon hour of TV back when she was a prisoner, after they’d taken away her books and papers and pencils. She’d learned from watching and listening, but she hadn’t learned to read it. Not yet, anyway. Not well enough to handle street signs.
“If you go there,” he told her, “you just have to be careful. Sometimes cops hang out, looking for runaways. Make sure you tell the ladies behind the counter that you’re looking for clothes for your sister’s birthday. And that you’re the same size. That you’re twins. That way they won’t flag you or ask too many questions.”
She pushed the bill back toward him. “I can’t,” she said. And she couldn’t—take his money, or his advice. As much as she would’ve loved to have a whole bagful of clean, fresh clothes, she couldn’t do it.
She started to stand up so she could walk away.
But he stood up, too, far more gracefully. He pushed his chair in and backed off.
“I’d run away, too, if I could,” he told her. “My stepfather is a son of a bitch, and my mother’s invisible. School’s a nightmare, and …” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. In a few months I’m moving to San Diego, to live with my brother and sister. Either that or … I don’t know, maybe I’ll be dead. One way or another, it’ll be an improvement. See you around.”
And with that, he walked away without looking back, leaving that five-dollar bill on the table.
So Neesha picked it up, and put it in her pocket.
CHAPTER
FOUR
L ANDSTUHL , G ERMANY
T WO WEEKS LATER
M ONDAY, 4 M AY 2009
I love living in Germany, don’t you?” the Army nurse asked Izzy as they sat at the corner of the bar.
In truth, Izzy fricking hated fricking Germany. It was where his soon-to-be ex-wife Eden had run after her baby
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