It’s three p.m. and my lips flatten as I leave the school gates. I’m not in a hurry to get home. There’s no food there, and I’m starving. We’ve been without power for two days now and what little food we did have has begun to spoil. My foster carers are late paying the electric bill. Again. A cold, dark, hungry night stretches ahead of me. It’s about as exciting as my history class this afternoon on the impact of migrants on Australian society.
The topic had been a waste of time. What does the impact matter? These people are human beings who need somewhere to live, and our country has the space. The end.
Besides, I know how they feel. Not having a home or a sense of belonging to someone or something is like being adrift at sea with no safe harbour to set down anchor. For a small moment in time, Mackenzie Valentine had been my safe harbour. I had belonged to her.
But like all good things, my time there came to an end. Jenna found me a foster home here in Melbourne. It’s a nine-hour drive from Sydney, but there are few people willing to take in a fifteen-year-old boy. I had little choice but to move.
Mac wanted me to stay, and I wanted it too. More than anything. The Valentines are the definition of real family. They have a deep, underlying bond of love, loyalty, and protection. They don’t believe family is important, they believe it’s everything. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?
But I didn’t ask them if I could stay. My father had taught me respect and living under their roof while my hands and mouth were all over their daughter wouldn’t have been right. Though now I’m wishing I stayed. Screw respect. Living here fucking sucks.
“Wait up, Romero!”
I half turn as I dawdle down the path outside the gates of school. Luke Fox is jogging to catch up, so I pause. He’s in the same grade as me. We struck up a friendship based on a mutual love of cars, but he and his older brother, Leander, are in a local gang. I’m not one to get caught up in gossip mongering, but if the rumours are true, the Fox brothers are into the kind of shit I don’t need to get caught up in. I barely have a roof over my head as it is.
“Hey, Fox.”
He grins as he catches up, his eyes bright and blond hair mussed and sweaty from our afternoon practice of school football. Luke is a big guy for his age, but I’m bigger, and in football size is just about everything. That afternoon we’d played a scrimmage on opposing teams. Mine won. Mostly because whenever I had the ball, he was the only one willing to tackle me for it, and I had the ball a lot.
“Wanna go do something cool with me?”
“What, right now?” My stomach growls, reminding me that a body this size needs more fuel than it’s getting. I begin to walk again and he follows alongside me.
“Yes, now. It’s my birthday. Lee’s taking me to get my first tattoo and then we’re going out for burgers.”
Goddamn. Burgers? I want to weep. “I didn’t know it was your birthday. Sweet sixteen, huh?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Come with us.”
I swallow the bitter taste of envy. “I can’t today.”
A car rumbles to the kerb beside us and blares its horn. We stop and watch as the window comes down, revealing Leander. His hair is a shade darker than Luke’s and hangs in his eyes. Black RayBans cover his eyes, and he’s wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off. He looks like he’s stepped straight from the set of The Outsiders.
“Lee!” Luke hollers, his excitement barely restrained as he steps toward the car. Leander grabs a packet of cigarettes from the dashboard and taps one out before sticking it between his lips. He lights it and draws deeply.
I begin walking backward, my eyes shifting to Luke. “Happy birthday, mate.”
“Wait,” he orders and looks to his brother. “Romero is coming with us.” I begin to protest, still moving away from them when he adds the words, “Lee can pay.”
“Yeah, no worries,” Leander replies and rests his arm across the open car window. “Get in.”
Shit. I can’t expect Luke’s brother to buy me food. I’m not a charity case. I jab a thumb behind me. “You know, I should get going. I—”
Leander exhales a plume of smoke out the window and growls, “Get in, you fuckers. I got shit to do before we go get this tatt, and I’m running late as it is.”
Luke holds the back passenger door open and raises his brows at me, his voice taking on a whiney tone. “Come on, Romero.”
“Yeah, come on, Romero.” Leander grins. The lit cigarette dangles from his lips. “Little Fox needs a big strong man to hold his hand while he gets the needle.”
Luke scowls. “Get stuffed, Lee.”
Lee laughs. So do I. And then I realise I’m being stupid. The Fox brothers aren’t so bad and I’m hungry as fuck. What can going to get a burger with a friend from school hurt? With a careless shrug, I walk toward the car. “I didn’t realise you were such a baby, Fox. Maybe I should show you how it’s done.”
Luke’s dark brown eyes light up. “You could get a tattoo with me.”
My heart gives a pang of longing. I’ve always wanted one. When I get a job, my first paycheque is going on ink. “Maybe next time,” I tell him, shifting across the seat to make room. “Besides, you have to be eighteen for that, don’t you?”
“Pffft,” he says as I slide inside the car. “Lee is my official guardian. He can sign something that says I’m allowed. He can sign you one too.”
Luke jumps in the back beside me. He shuts the car door and climbs through the middle to sit in the front passenger seat.
“But he’s not my guardian,” I point out.
“It doesn’t really matter,” Leander says. “I know the owner.” He accelerates wildly, pulling out on to the street. “And it’s Little Fox’s birthday. If he wants you to get a tattoo with him, then I’ll pay for it.”
Disappointment flattens my lips. “I won’t have the cash to pay you back anytime soon.”
“It’s cool.” Leander lifts the sunglasses from his eyes and meets my gaze through the rear vision mirror. “You can owe me one.”
After peeling off my shirt, I take my seat on the chair. The owner of Ink My Life tattoo studio hands me the red folder I was looking through earlier.
“Point the image out for me, mate.”
I’ve already told him the number of the image. One six eight. Those three digits identify the first tattoo of my life. My heart pounds as I flip through the plastic-sleeved pages. When I reach the tiara halfway through the book, I tap my finger against it. The artwork isn’t girly in the least. It’s dark and filled with shadows of grey. The tips aren’t edged with jewels but instead bear sharp points, some of them dripping with blood. “This one.”
His expression is dubious. “You sure?”
Nothing represents Mackenzie Valentine better than this. It’s perfect. A faint smile edges the corners of my mouth. “Sure as fuck.”