Pieces of Me by Darlene Ryan Page A

his arm. “Look, Maddie, I don’t want to see those kids with a dad who…” He shook his head and didn’t finish. “But taking them away and putting them in foster care? That’s sending them to hell.”
    I turned away, scraping my shoe on the ground.
    â€œLet’s go back to the car,” Q said.
    We walked the rest of the way to the Honda, which was parked about three quarters of the way down the row of trailers, tucked in between a big RV and a much smaller Volkswagen van. I got in the passenger side, leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. Q took the pizza box out of my hands and set it on the dashboard.
    â€œI hate not being able to do anything,” I said.
    â€œSo someday you’ll become a doctor, and you will be able to do something.”
    â€œThat’s too far away.”
    I could hear Q moving in the driver’s seat, probably trying to get his long legs into a comfortable position. “Dylan knows he can trust you,” he said finally. “That’s something.”
    I thought about all the adults in my life. My mother. The guidance counselor who’d shaken her head when I’d said I wanted to be a doctor. Evan. Maybe Q was right. Maybe Dylan’s knowing he could count on me was something. I opened my eyes.
    Q was sitting cross-legged on the seat watching me. “You all right?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    He gave the pizza box a poke. “You want a slice? It’s cold and probably stuck to the cardboard. Yummy!” He did the spazzy eyebrow thing.
    That made me laugh, even though I didn’t feel like it. “Okay,” I said.
    Q opened the mashed-in lid of the box and got a piece of pizza for each of us. The cheese was chewy, kind of like a pencil eraser, and the crust was soggy. “Yummy,” I said to Q, mimicking his eyebrow thing. That got me a smile.
    After we ate, Q collected the garbage. “You’re a good person too, Q,” I said quietly.
    He stopped but didn’t say anything, I reached out and caught his hand. He gave it a quick squeeze, the way I’d done with Dylan, and then he got out of the car.

six
    When I woke up, I could hear Q moving in the backseat.
    â€œHey, I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”
    I pushed my hair back out of my eyes and sat up. “Nah, my arm’s all weird.” I stuck out my right arm, rolling it from the shoulder until it made a loud snap.
    Q shuddered.
    One of my blankets had slipped to the floor. I opened the car door and got out, stretching my arms over my head. Q climbed out of the backseat. “If you make that noise again, I’ll puke,” he warned.
    â€œYou’re such a wussy boy,” I teased.
    â€œI’m not a wussy boy,” he said. “With those shoulders, you should be in a freak show.”
    â€œHow do you know I wasn’t?”
    He laughed. “You win. I got nothing.” Then his face got serious. “We’ll have to go to Tim’s to get cleaned up. They don’t open the mall until eleven.”
    â€œI’ll buy you a breakfast sandwich,” I said. He started to object, but I held up a hand. “It’s my bottle money, and besides, you got the pizza last night.”
    I put my hair back in a braid, pulled on my jacket and dug the sleep crud out of my eyes. Q locked the car and we started for Tim’s. I couldn’t help looking down the row of RVS for the old blue van. There was no activity around it.
    â€œHe’s okay,” Q said.
    I nodded and hoped he was right.
    It was quiet at Tim’s. I got washed up, changing into my second-to-last clean shirt. Then Q and I sat at a table by the window and had our coffee and sandwiches.
    â€œHey, Maddie, I got something I gotta do this morning,” he said.
    â€œDid that guy lend you his truck?” I asked.
    Q pulled a piece of bacon out of his sandwich and ate it. “No. All that stuff