“‘Gang’?” He snorted derisively. “Bunch of hos. Roxy was too good for them and they knew it.”
“Doesn’t mean they were happy about it.”
“It wasn’t like that. This is Roxy! She wasn’t joining some gang. She was trying to get help for her sister. For Lola.”
I waited, wanting him to do the talking. He was drumming his fingers against his jeans again, a relentless tap, tap, tap.
“Lola had started hanging out with some of the girls, like, the middle school gangsters.” Shrug. “Not a surprise.” Another shrug. “She was always getting in trouble. Roxy’s job was to get her back out. But this was bigger. Schools, prisons, neighborhoods. Gangs rule them all. Gotta join. Gotta belong. Everyone wants to be part of a family.” The boy hummed notes I didn’t understand. “Except for Roxy and me. We’re loners. Always have been, always will be. Tougher life, but if you’re a big enough loser, they leave you alone.”
“You and Roxy are outsiders?”
“Sure. You gonna hang out with me, be my friend?”
He looked up then. Big brown eyes framed in thick lashes. He had puppy-dog eyes, I thought, but there was something different about his gaze. He was trying to meet mine, but remained just off. Not drugs. Asperger’s, maybe. Some kind of syndrome, high functioning, but enough to keep him forever separate. He was right—a tougher life in high school.
“Was Lola into drugs?”
“She joined the gang for them.”
“She was using?”
“She told Roxy she needed them. But no needle tracks. Roxy checked. She thought maybe Lola was dealing.”
“Lola was dealing drugs? What kind of drugs?”
More humming. “She wanted to be part of the scene. Belonging. Better than being alone. She learned that the hard way. Plus, you know, money, power. Rise up the food chain. She was pretty. Might as well use it.”
“What do you mean?” The kid’s jangling was contagious. I found myself bobbing along, as if to keep up.
“Mother Del’s. I warned them day one. Never get caught alone.”
“Who is Mother Del?”
“Foster mom.” Grimace. “Don’t get sent there.”
“Wait, you were in the same foster care as Lola and Roxanna?” D.D. had mentioned that Juanita Baez believed something had happened to Lola and Roxy during their time in foster placement. I hadn’t realized, however, that Mike Davis had been part of that time, as well.
“Yep. Mother Del’s. Farmer and the dell, farmer and the dell.” The kid hummed again, then stopped just as abruptly. “But they got out. Real mom cleaned up her act, took them away. Who knew it could happen?” He shrugged. “They left. Didn’t see them again for years.”
“They left? But you stayed at Mother Del’s? Are you still living there?”
“Since I was five.”
“And the foster home is here in Brighton?”
“Farmer in the dell, farmer in the dell, farmer in the dell,” he droned.
“I’m confused. If the foster home is here in Brighton, and Juanita lives in Brighton, where did the girls go after they returned to their mom? Wouldn’t you have still been in school together? Seen each other there?”
“Roxy’s mom works at St. Elizabeth’s. That is Brighton. Foster home is Brighton. But Brighton is expensive, so Mother Del has many kids, especially babies. Lots of money in babies. But Roxy’s mom is a real mom, not foster care. State doesn’t pay for her kids. So she moved out to the burbs. Cheaper rent.” Mike nodded sagely, rocked back on his heels. “Stable housing being one of the conditions for a child’s return.”
I thought I was getting it. Brighton was too expensive for a single mom with three kids, so while Juanita had worked in Brighton, she’d moved outside the city, most likely commuting to keep her costs down. As Mike had said, the family court would’ve attached a number of conditions to her regaining custody of her children, and stable living conditions would’ve been one of them. “So when Juanita got Roxy and Lola back, they moved . . .”
The boy shrugged. “Out.”
“Okay, but they ended up returning to Brighton,” I filled in. “How come?”
“Charlie the contractor. He has a house in Brighton, fixing it up. He met Roxy’s mom in the ER. Cut himself on the job. She stitched him up. Then moved in with him. His house is closer to her job. Free stable housing. Conditions met.”
I nodded. “So Lola and Roxy had left the area, then returned. But not you,” I added quietly. “You had to stay at Mother Del’s.”
He blinked his eyes rapidly, didn’t say a word.
“When did you meet again?”
“Last year.”
“Roxanna showed up at the high school?”
“Right before Christmas.”
“She remember you?”
Mike stopped bouncing, stared at me. “She will never forget me.”
“What about the other kids from the foster home?” I asked slowly, starting to get some ideas. “She encounter them, too?”
“Anya, Roberto,” he said promptly, resuming his jangle. “Never get caught alone at Mother Del’s.”
“What did Roberto and Anya do, Michael?”
“Anything they could get away with.”
“Did they hurt you? Roxy? Lola?”
“We put Ex-lax in their food,” he said. “Ipecac syrup. Anything we could get away with.”
“You incapacitated them? To keep yourselves safe?”
Less talking, more jangling.
“Did you ever tell Mother Del about the things they were doing? Tell anyone?”
Mike’s eyes widened. Vigorous head shake.
“Okay. So when Roxy returned to Brighton, she saw you again, but also this Anya and Roberto.”
“Yes.”
“Did she recognize them? Did they recognize her?”
“Yes. Never get caught alone.”
“They tried to pick up where they left off? What—bullying and torturing Roxanna?”
“Never get caught alone,” he intoned again.
I thought I understood. And I wished Sarah had met Roxanna sooner. Because Sarah’s first instincts had been correct: Roxy had been terrified and she’d needed help. Her mother’s happily-ever-after with the contractor guy had apparently returned her and her sister to a slice of living hell. Which, being kids, they’d told no one about. I got that. Sometimes, adults didn’t speak up either.
“What about Lola?” I asked now. “She’s three years younger, meaning she was at a different school. Were there kids from Mother Del’s at middle school, as well?”
“Everyone has friends, especially mean kids who have mean friends. Roxanna is my friend. We’re outsider friends. But for Lola, family and friends, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted to feel safe everywhere.”
“Is that why she joined the gang? She thought belonging with a group like that would protect her from kids like Anya and Roberto?”
“She didn’t understand,” Mike said.
“Didn’t understand what?”
“Roxy told her she would protect her. That was Roxy’s job. Lola got into trouble. Roxanna kept her safe.”
“Roxy didn’t like the gang. Was she afraid for her sister?”
“She was afraid for all of us.”
“Because of being back in Brighton? Seeing kids from the foster home again?”
“Never get caught alone.”
“What about you, Mike? When Roxy and Lola left, you were all alone.”
“I kept Roxy safe. I tried to keep Roxy safe.”
“Ex-lax, ipecac syrup,” I filled in quietly. “What about a gun, Mike? Did you give Roxanna a gun? Or help her buy one?”
He didn’t speak, but at his side, his fingers slowed their drumming. A tell, I thought. A sign he was lying, or about to lie. But he didn’t speak. Just stared around me.
Such a bright, sunny day. So many giggling little kids, such a happy park.
I wished I could tell this boy I knew how he felt, about his outsider friend, about his outsider life. That he wasn’t the only one who felt the sun on his face but not in his heart.
“Do you know where Roxanna is now?” I asked him.
He shook his head, but I wasn’t convinced.
“Do you still live at Mother Del’s?”
“Two more years,” he said. Which meant while he might know where Roxy was, no way was she staying with him back at the scene of evil foster care. So where, then?