I open the front door and step outside, still in my PJ’s. With my chin down, I drag my feet as I make my way to her until I am standing close, but I don't say anything. I'm afraid the words will come out funny because my heart is beating so fast.
“Hi,” she says.
I don't say anything back.
“You live in that house?” she asks.
I nod.
She doesn't stop her staggered rope-jumping as she speaks to me. “My grandma is moving into this house but I don't live with her. What's your name?”
I move my lips and hardly a whisper comes out.
“S-sam.”
“How come you’re out here with no shoes or shirt on?” she asks.
I shrug.
“My grandma said I could ride my bike as long as I wasn't alone. You have a bike?”
My heart sputters at the invite. But I know my mom would be so angry if I rode down the street on a bike again. Especially after what happened. Nevertheless, I nod to let her know I do have a bike. Really, it's Scoot's.
Her rhythmic jumping stops and I look up to see what's changed. She drops the handles to the floor. “What happened to your face?” she asks.
Now my heart sputters for a different reason. Will she laugh when I try to speak? Is she part of the group of people trying to hurt me? Is this a trap?
“I had an aaaaa-cident.”
“How?”
“C-c-c-car hit m-m-me.”
“Wow,” she says, her eyes going wide as she reaches to touch my face. I jump back. I've never had a girl touch me before, and I regret that I don't let her. I want to tell her to touch me, it's okay now, but I'm too embarrassed.
“How come you talk like that?” she asks.
The question is so straightforward, but I don't feel so bad when she asks it. It's like she wants to know about me instead of just already thinking she does.
“It's a sp-sp-sp-eech—” Right now, the word 'impediment' might as well be supercagafradgulisticespialidotious, so I change direction. “I st-st-st-uter. B-b-b-but I go to classssss-es for it.”
“Oh,” she shrugs. I wait for her to laugh, to tell me to beat it. “So, you wanna ride around?” she asks.
A friend. Could she be that person? The one I always thought was out there, who wouldn't gang up on me? And she's so pretty.
“Sam!” a panicked voice calls out from the front door of my house. “Sam!” mom says more firmly as she marches towards me. “You're not supposed to be out here.”
She's wearing a housecoat and looks sleepy.
“Sam, you need to be home resting,” she puts her hands on my shoulders.
“I'm f-f-f-ine.”
“Sam, what have I been telling you?” she whispers. Our little secret.
The girl watches our back and forth.
“Hello,” my mom says with a nervous sweetness in her voice. “He is a very sick boy and he cannot play today.”
“Oh,” the girl, whose name I don't know, responds.
My mom drags me back home, and my heart sinks watching the pretty girl in her ruffled socks disappear from my eyes.
“Mom, I want to play.”
“What have we discussed?” she snaps, pointing her finger at me. “It's not safe out there! You think that pretty little girl moving in next door was a coincidence? She is the perfect plant for a boy like you.”
“She was n-n-nice!” I protest.
“Sam, honey, girls will be nice to you to get things. They will use you to get money, or connections. You are special, but they don't understand that. Little girls are shallow and they would rather be with a boy like Scoot. He's simple, but he's like everyone else. You are complex.”
“This isn't f-f-fair!” I argue, a tear coming down my cheek. “I t-t-t-thought she liked m-m-m-m-me…” the sobbing makes my chest shiver and the stammer act up.
“Sam, you cannot fight me on this. Those people are strangers. They could be planted here by the CIA—anyone! I'm trying to protect you.”
“I want to go outside! She was nice. She was going to be my only friend!” I shout, frustration finding a way to break through the tension in my mouth and chest that holds back my words.
She looks surprised for a second and a little sad.
“That's it!” she says throwing her hands up in the air. “I am your mother and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe! I don't care what your father says. I don't care what anyone says. We can't stay here anymore. It's too easy to find you. It's too easy for you to be manipulated and lured out there.”
She grabs my hand and yanks me up the stairs and into my parent's bedroom, pulling a few suitcases out of the closet.
“Wh-wh-wh-ere?” I ask.
She tosses a large suitcase on the bed and unclips it. “To the ranch. You'll be safe there. I can home school you. We can stay there until you are old enough to protect yourself,” she says, her face covered in sweat, her eyes bouncing around like two ping pong balls.
I know this morning will be different when I open my eyes and see the newspaper on the chair that usually seats Night.