Amazed, I watched him for a minute. His reddish hair matched his glowing nose. He had been sniffling for some time, the rawness was obvious. Skinnier than me, he had the look of an underfed puppy.
Something in my chest—something curious and sympathetic—forced me to walk over to him. My shoes on the gravel alerted the kid to my presence.
His head shot up, charcoal-black eyes fixing on me with fear, then accusation. “What are you looking at?” he snapped.
Pulling up short, I searched for any cuts or bruises on his glaring face. I couldn't see any. “Why are you crying?”
“I'm not crying.” Rubbing his eyes furiously, he gripped the swing's chains and hunched lower. He was trying to vanish. I knew what that was like.
For the first time since Daniel's funeral, I felt myself being pulled towards someone. Ignoring how he flinched, I walked until I was sitting on the swing beside him. “I'm Jacob. Nice to meet you.”
His frown said he wasn't sure about that. Silence hung between us, his coltish legs digging his sneakers into the gravel. He didn't look at me when he mumbled. “Kite. I'm Kite.”
“Kite?” I asked, trying to make him look my way by sheer force of my stare. It wasn't working. “Does that mean you can fly?”
Jerking his head around, he gaped at me. “What are you talking about?”
The smile on my face felt strange. It had been so long. “You know, kites can soar in the air. Didn't you ever see one?”
“I know what a kite is,” he said, wiping absently at the dampness on his shirt sleeve. “Don't make fun of my name.”
“I'm not. I think it's cool.”
Kite didn't blink. He watched me, trying to decide if I was serious. The tension in his face started to melt. “Thanks,” he said under his breath.
We sat there, swinging gently and kicking the dirt. The chains were brown from years of rain, the playground so pathetic I imagined few people came here. So why had Kite? And why had he been crying like that?
“Sometimes,” he said, almost to himself. “I like to pretend I can fly.” He glanced at me, his eyebrows knotting tightly. “I know that's stupid. You don't have to say it.”
A flicker of compassion ratcheted around in my chest. “I wouldn't. Not ever.”
The side of his lip went up. It was a frail smile, I wanted to nurture it, to see him feel better. He was reminding me of Daniel, even if that made no sense.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Nine, my birthday was back in May.”
He's six months older than me, I realized in shock. Kite had the fragile look of a scared animal. By default, he just felt younger. “Me too,” I said softly. “Nine, I mean.”
Kite nodded, like my age solved everything and we could now become friends. “I haven't seen you around here before.”
“I'm staying with my grandma. I used to live an hour off that way.” I pointed, trying to picture my warm home. My head swelled with laughter and smiles from two people who couldn't do either of those things anymore. “Where do you live?”
Peering off to the right, his scrawny neck tightened. “That way. With my uncle.”
Kite said the word uncle like it was a rotten piece of food he wanted to get out of his mouth. “What about your mom and dad?” I asked, curiosity making me blunt.
He leveled his stare, daring me to mock him. There was a lot of frustration in Kite, I could feel it in waves. “I don't know. Guess they didn't want me.”
Burrs inched into my guts. Leaning over, my voice flooded with empathy. “Mine are gone, too. Both of them.” And Daniel. I couldn't say that last part out loud.
Kite's eyebrows floated up. He was smiling nervously. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was happy that I was alone, that I could understand what he was feeling. We were similar, that must have been a first for him.
It was for me.
His smile split wide open. “Do you want to—”
“Kite!”
The shout startled us both. Across the concrete, an older man was stomping our way. It was dark, but I could see the rage in his face... and the terror in Kite's. I didn't even ask.
I knew this had to be his uncle.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” He was nearly on top of us.
I shot a wary look at Kite, wondering what we should do.
He was crumbling into the swing, a ball of skinny arms and legs. “Sorry, Uncle Nick,” he whimpered. “I was just... just...”
The man slowed down, seeing me for the first time. I wondered what he would have done if I hadn't been there. “Who are you?” he asked.
Pushing off the swing, I got ready to run. There was a wickedness in this man's stare that unsettled me like nothing else. I couldn't put words to it, not then—I was too innocent in those days. “I'm Kite's friend.” I didn't dare say my own name. I had the paranoid idea it'd give him some kind of power.
I'd never felt so scared, and he hadn't even lifted a hand towards me. There was a vibe here. A cloying, disgustingly slick hunger in how this scarecrow-man watched me.
“Uncle Nick,” Kite said loudly.