home.
As she closed her bedroom door, she realized another weird thing about the domestic invader. He was so laid-back he seemed to be coming to the plate without a bat. It could mean one of two things. Either he was sneaky-clever, or he was gay. For the moment, she was leaning toward sneaky-clever, because, she had to admit, his crack about being a recovering eater
was
witty.
Back downstairs, while Penny ate her cheeseburger and Morning sipped his Blood Lite, she asked him about his life. He told her about his years at the St. Giles Group Home, and the countless trial months heâd had with foster families that never panned out. He told her about his favorite nun at St. Giles, Sister Flora, and how she joked about installing a revolving door to accommodate his comings and goings.
It was the kind of getting-to-know-him talk that Morning had hoped would set the stage for him CDing into one of the Six Forms and showing Penny he wasnât some goth kid with fang envy. He was the real deal. But her daughter had complicated things. As much as he wanted to blow Portia away for being so bitchy, Birnam had stressed how important it was for his first CD to be nonthreatening, to keep the freak-out factor to a minimum. If he came out now, and Penny couldnât keep it a secret, there was no telling what Portia might do. If a teenage boy sleeping in the guest room grossed her out, her reaction to a vampire doing the same would probably involve carving one of her bedposts into a stake. And the last way he wanted to end his first day back in Lifer-land was with a dart in his heart.
After dinner, Penny left Morning in the living room to watch TV, and then retreated to her office off the living room. He examined their DVD collection: romantic comedies, old seasons of
Greyâs Anatomy,
along with a strange mix of foreign films and offbeat documentaries. He was amazed they didnât have one superhero blockbuster. No
Batman,
no
Spider-Man,
no
X-Men,
nothing. Obviously, they were culturally deprived. He turned on the TV and channel surfed until he found the animated movie tribute to
Watchmen, The Incredibles
.
        Â
After studying for her AP English test, Portia spent the next hour cruising the Web for short student films and video essays. She still hadnât found a topic, a theme, or even a glimmer of inspiration for the ten-minute video essay she had to make as part of her application to NYU Film School and the other top-notch film schools that
had
to accept her. She had just started her junior year at LaGuardia High School of Music and Art and Performing Arts, so she still had time. But making an audition film thatâs drop-dead genius can take a lifetime. She only had a year.
When the sound of a jacked-up action sequence from
The Incredibles
blared from downstairs, she remembered the weird guy who had a thing for a drink that looked like a Pepto-Bismolâbeet juice smoothie. The guy who would soon be sleeping in the next room. The guy who was going to subject her to strange and disgusting noises in the middle of the night. The guy who had inspired her to check the lock on her door three times.
Not finding anything inspirational on docsthatrock. com, Portia Googled âMorning McCobb.â Maybe if she discovered he was an escaped felon, called 911, and had him in handcuffs before she brushed her teeth, she could save herself and her mother from being splattered across the front page of
The Post.
The latest victims of the Magenta Milk Killer.
She got one hit. It was from the website for
The Lower East Side Voice
. She clicked on it. A newspaper article filled the screen. The date was from the mid-nineties. There was a picture of a transit cop holding a skinny toddler. The toddler was reaching up and trying to take off the copâs hat. She read the caption below the photo. âOfficer Newsome and Morning McCobb.â The articleâs headline bannered, âRescue on the
As she closed her bedroom door, she realized another weird thing about the domestic invader. He was so laid-back he seemed to be coming to the plate without a bat. It could mean one of two things. Either he was sneaky-clever, or he was gay. For the moment, she was leaning toward sneaky-clever, because, she had to admit, his crack about being a recovering eater
was
witty.
Back downstairs, while Penny ate her cheeseburger and Morning sipped his Blood Lite, she asked him about his life. He told her about his years at the St. Giles Group Home, and the countless trial months heâd had with foster families that never panned out. He told her about his favorite nun at St. Giles, Sister Flora, and how she joked about installing a revolving door to accommodate his comings and goings.
It was the kind of getting-to-know-him talk that Morning had hoped would set the stage for him CDing into one of the Six Forms and showing Penny he wasnât some goth kid with fang envy. He was the real deal. But her daughter had complicated things. As much as he wanted to blow Portia away for being so bitchy, Birnam had stressed how important it was for his first CD to be nonthreatening, to keep the freak-out factor to a minimum. If he came out now, and Penny couldnât keep it a secret, there was no telling what Portia might do. If a teenage boy sleeping in the guest room grossed her out, her reaction to a vampire doing the same would probably involve carving one of her bedposts into a stake. And the last way he wanted to end his first day back in Lifer-land was with a dart in his heart.
After dinner, Penny left Morning in the living room to watch TV, and then retreated to her office off the living room. He examined their DVD collection: romantic comedies, old seasons of
Greyâs Anatomy,
along with a strange mix of foreign films and offbeat documentaries. He was amazed they didnât have one superhero blockbuster. No
Batman,
no
Spider-Man,
no
X-Men,
nothing. Obviously, they were culturally deprived. He turned on the TV and channel surfed until he found the animated movie tribute to
Watchmen, The Incredibles
.
        Â
After studying for her AP English test, Portia spent the next hour cruising the Web for short student films and video essays. She still hadnât found a topic, a theme, or even a glimmer of inspiration for the ten-minute video essay she had to make as part of her application to NYU Film School and the other top-notch film schools that
had
to accept her. She had just started her junior year at LaGuardia High School of Music and Art and Performing Arts, so she still had time. But making an audition film thatâs drop-dead genius can take a lifetime. She only had a year.
When the sound of a jacked-up action sequence from
The Incredibles
blared from downstairs, she remembered the weird guy who had a thing for a drink that looked like a Pepto-Bismolâbeet juice smoothie. The guy who would soon be sleeping in the next room. The guy who was going to subject her to strange and disgusting noises in the middle of the night. The guy who had inspired her to check the lock on her door three times.
Not finding anything inspirational on docsthatrock. com, Portia Googled âMorning McCobb.â Maybe if she discovered he was an escaped felon, called 911, and had him in handcuffs before she brushed her teeth, she could save herself and her mother from being splattered across the front page of
The Post.
The latest victims of the Magenta Milk Killer.
She got one hit. It was from the website for
The Lower East Side Voice
. She clicked on it. A newspaper article filled the screen. The date was from the mid-nineties. There was a picture of a transit cop holding a skinny toddler. The toddler was reaching up and trying to take off the copâs hat. She read the caption below the photo. âOfficer Newsome and Morning McCobb.â The articleâs headline bannered, âRescue on the
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