“Whose room is that?” he asked, even though Amy was tugging at his arm to get him to follow. “Is that where your parents sleep?”
“No,” Amy said, rolling her eyes. “That’s Caesar’s room. He never comes out. Mom and Dad sleep downstairs.”
“Oh,” he said as if disinterested, but he strained to hear what song was playing, even as they entered Amy’s room and sat on the plush carpet.
“Here it is!” she declared.
The plastic three-story monument was just as princess-powered as their surroundings. Jason tried to imagine living in a real home with so much eye-bleeding pink everywhere and decided it would drive anyone insane. Perhaps that was why all the dolls wore such manic grins. He listened patiently as Amy gave him a tour of the different Dreamhouse rooms and then showed off the accompanying car and horse stable. Afterwards she presented him with the dolls they would be playing with.
“This one is me,” she said, holding up the blondest, “and this one is you.”
Jason was handed a doll with black hair sculpted in plastic. Nothing like him in real life. He couldn’t imagine wearing the Hawaiian shirt and white shorts either. Despite all of this, he pretended to be impressed. “Looks just like me!” he declared.
“This one is Caesar,” Amy continued. Caesar’s doll had slick-backed hair—synthetic fibers this time— and a tiny pair of sunglasses on his forehead. Jason accepted possession of the doll, feeling oddly intrigued. “And this one is Carrie. They’re a couple.”
“Caesar and Carrie?” Jason asked.
“Mm-hm.” As if to demonstrate, Amy thunked Carrie’s doll-head against Caesar’s in one of the most brain rattling kisses ever.
Jason glanced back toward the hallway, imagining Carrie sneaking down it at night to Caesar’s room. Was that who she was talking to on the phone? Was the music in Caesar’s room being played so loud to drown out his responses?
“And you and I are a couple,” Amy said, smacking her doll into his with a smooching sound.
“Oh!” Jason breathed a sigh of relief. “Caesar and Carrie aren’t
really
a couple.”
“No!” Amy giggled. “They’re only dolls!”
“I forgot,” Jason said, acting silly for her benefit.
“Well, they
do
look real,” Amy said, excusing his confusion. “I always make sure my dolls have someone. Mom says I’m a natural matchmaker.”
“And have you found that special someone yet?”
Amy raised her eyebrows as she fiddled with her doll’s hair. “There’s a boy at school, but I don’t like him anymore because he won’t marry me.”
“He won’t?”
“Nope. I asked him last week.”
“Aren’t you a little young to settle down?”
“Settle down?” Amy asked.
“To get married.”
“Oh. I’m not too young.” Amy said this in all seriousness. “I thought about it carefully. Weren’t you lonely before you came to live with us?”
Jason swallowed. Lonely was one way of describing it. Sometimes when out shopping or whatever, he’d see people who seemed to have so much more than him. More friends, more family, and when it came to romance, more love.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I was lonely.”
Amy glanced over at him. “Me too. I don’t want to feel lonely ever again. Do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Getting married means you never have to be. That’s why I’m ready. Hey, should we have a wedding for Caesar and Carrie?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Jason said, half-distracted. “The dolls look tired. I think we should put them to bed.”
“Oh, you’re right!” Amy said, shoving her doll into the elevator.
“I’ll be there in a second,” Jason said. “I have to brush my teeth.”
He stood his doll in the bathroom, moving it around vaguely, when really he was lost in thought. He remembered one lonely night. The worst, in fact.
Foster home number nineteen
. Jason had been in bed, unwilling to sleep. He was waiting until the clock said three in the morning, when he was sure everyone would not only be asleep, but deeply so. When that time came, Jason had crept down the hall, opened the door to Shawn’s room, and carefully approached his bed. He only wanted to see Shawn sleeping, wondering if he did so shirtless, or if he lay on his back or maybe curled up into a ball. Jason had spent countless nights trying to imagine something so simple, his curiosity slowly driving him mad. So he had given in, deciding to see for himself. As it turned out, Shawn wore a muscle shirt and slept lying on his side. The curtain-filtered street light outside allowed Jason to see this, along with the buzzed red hair he always wanted to run the palm of his hand along. Shawn seemed like a deep sleeper. Surely one little caress wouldn’t wake him.
He was right. Touching Shawn’s hair didn’t cause a reaction, but when Jason brushed the tips of his fingers along that freckled arm… Whatever deluded hope he had been running on expired the moment Shawn flinched and swung out of bed. Confusion turned to a look of such anger that Jason stumbled backward until he was up against the wall. He mumbled incoherently, desperate to find an excuse. When Shawn raised his hands and clenched his fists, Jason gave up and ran from the room.
At the breakfast table the next morning, Shawn glared but didn’t seem intent on telling their foster parents what had happened. Regardless, Jason set fire to the shower curtain that day. Not one of his most creative stunts, but enough to ensure he was sent back to the group home. And away from Shawn.
“You’re supposed to make me a midnight snack!” Amy complained.
“Sorry!” Jason said, snapping back to the present. “How about pancakes and ice cream?”
Amy licked her lips and rubbed her belly as Jason made his doll prance around the kitchen, knocking tiny plastic plates and pans around.
“Now you’ve woken up Carrie!” Amy said. “
And
Caesar. You know how grumpy they get.”
“I don’t care,” Jason said. “I’ll make them pancakes and ice cream too. Then they’ll forgive me.”
“They
love
pancakes!” Amy enthused. “Almost as much as they love each other.”
“Oh no! We’re out of ice cream!” Jason cried, his doll trembling with fear in front of the refrigerator. “We have ice cubes. That’s close enough, right? We can mix them with hand lotion to make our own ice cream. They’ll never know the difference!”
He noticed then, that the music in the hallway had grown louder. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure in the doorway, one wearing a cyan T-shirt the same color as the one Caesar had—
Jason hopped to his feet, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. Caesar looked him over, face puzzled. Did the other guy even recognize him? Maybe his arrival here hadn’t registered in Caesar’s world. Jason felt like introducing himself, but instead he said, “I was just playing.”
“With dolls,” Caesar responded.
Jason nodded, deciding maybe he could make this into something funny. “Yeah. Can’t get enough of them. Don’t tell your parents, but I’m a dollaholic.”
Caesar raised his right eyebrow.
Okay, so maybe it was a little early for the weirdo banter. Jason grasped for something to say and came up empty. Behind him, Amy continued playing unabashed. “Oh, Caesar,” she was saying. “I love you, Caesar. Kiss me. Kiss me!”
Caesar’s left eyebrow joined the other, his attention darting between the two of them.
“You’re very popular with the ladies,” Jason explained. “Or at least, your doll is. He’s quite the little player.”
Salvation came in the form of a smile. “What’s your name?”
“Jason.”
“Jason,” Caesar repeated, as if trying it on for size. “Well, Jason, next time you want to toy with my life, be sure to let me know first. I like to decide who I kiss.” Then he nodded at the dolls that Amy was still smacking together. “Or headbutt.”
Then he disappeared down the hall, the music becoming muted again a few seconds later. Jason considered the way those amber eyes had shone when Caesar smiled. He felt lightheaded.
Maybe it was time to set fire to the shower curtain again.
When Jason woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was check his bedroom door. This was important. He’d shut it before going to sleep, noticing it had no lock in the knob. Now it was open again. He raised his head, surveying the room. His guitar was still in the corner. Nothing seemed to have been touched. If this was some form of initiation… But no, more likely this meant—
“Oh, good! You’re awake!”
Mrs. Hubbard stood in the doorway, a pair of slacks draped over one arm. She held up a white dress shirt for him to see. “Always best to make a good impression on your first day of school. You’d better get ready now. There’s a schedule for the bathroom, and you only have twenty minutes left.”
“It’s Friday,” Jason said, hoping this would excuse him from starting at a new school. Couldn’t it wait until Monday?
“Friday is a school day,” Mrs. Hubbard said, gliding into the room and hanging the clothes on the back of the chair. “Hurry along now. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
Jason resisted a sigh and rolled out of bed. He was heading to the door when Mrs. Hubbard spoke again.
“The green toiletries belong to you. Everything is color-coded. If you need a towel, washcloth, toothbrush, or anything else, choose green.”
With his back turned to her, Jason could safely roll his eyes, which he did.
The bathroom, thankfully, did have a lock. He felt tremendous relief at having some guaranteed privacy. Until his allotted bathroom time came to an end, at least. He leaned against the bathroom counter, hands splayed on the cold marble, and stared at himself in the mirror while willing himself to wake up. His mouth was naturally downturned at the edges, just like his mother’s had been, which often led to inquiries of why he was sad when he wasn’t. He also had her button nose, although he thought it looked cuter on her, especially the way it crinkled just before she laughed. Tangles of naturally rumpled brown hair made his eyes difficult to see, but he knew they were a bluish-gray like his mother’s.
Jason wondered sometimes what he had inherited from the father he’d never known. The chin that jutted out involuntarily when he felt uncomfortable? The broad shoulders? The build that wasn’t quite thin, but resisted putting on muscle? He tried to remember what the photos of his father had looked like, but couldn’t, so he turned his attention to other matters.
Glancing around the bathroom, he took note of the color-coded towels and such. The pink items no doubt belonged to Amy, the orange to Carrie and the blue to Peter. Maybe. That left green for him, and for Caesar? Jason spun around, searching for the missing fifth color. When he couldn’t find it, he shrugged, stripped off the T-shirt and pajama bottoms he’d slept in, and stepped into the shower.
When he was finished and had returned to his room, he put on the clothes that had been left out for him, wishing he could slip into a comfortable old shirt and jeans. Maybe schools in this part of Houston had a dress code. But when he reported downstairs for breakfast, he was no longer sure. He noticed Caesar first, dressed in a loose black T-shirt and artificially aged jeans. Next to him, Carrie was rocking a red blouse, so definitely no code. Only Peter wore an equally dopey dress shirt and slacks.
“Good morning!” Mr. Hubbard said, gesturing for him to sit.
Jason nodded in greeting, then focused on pouring and eating a bowl of cereal. Breakfast passed the same way dinner had last night. Mr. Hubbard tried to force conversation out of them, but only had success with Peter, who liked to talk. Amy did too, but she and Mrs. Hubbard were elsewhere.
“And how did you sleep?” Mr. Hubbard asked. From the way he beamed, he acted like this had been Jason’s first night in a real bed and not out on the streets.
Jason’s mouth twitched, eager to sting Mr. Hubbard with words, but he’d made a promise. “I slept great,” he answered.
“First night in your new home,” Mr. Hubbard pressed.
“Yes. It was wonderful. I’m so lucky.”
Satisfied, Mr. Hubbard turned his attention to his oldest daughter, freeing Jason to glance across the table. Much like at dinner last night, Caesar’s entire attention was on his phone, fingers moving in a flash as he texted. Jason wondered how one person could have so much to say. Was Caesar’s head full of countless thoughts he couldn’t hammer out quickly enough? Jason wished, just for one hour, to be on the receiving end of those texts, if only to see what they said. Of course that would require him to have a phone, which he didn’t.
By the time Amy and Mrs. Hubbard appeared from upstairs, the other kids had risen from the table and were getting ready to leave.
“You’ll give Jason a ride, won’t you, Caesar?” Mr. Hubbard said. “And Carrie, you show him around the school. Make sure he gets a nice warm welcome.”
Carrie and Caesar exchanged glances, then smiles. “Of course,” they said in unison.
“And this is for you,” Mrs. Hubbard said, holding out a new backpack. “It has everything you’ll need in it.”
Jason eyed it with unease. “Thanks, but I already have one upstairs.”
Mrs. Hubbard shook her head. “That old thing? I’ll throw it out. Here. We want you to have a good start.”
Jason wanted something familiar around, even if it was just a ratty old backpack, but he thanked her and took the new one.
“Ready?” Peter asked him. “Come on, we’ll wait out front.”
Jason followed him out the front door, surprised when Peter kept walking past the cars in the driveway and headed for the sidewalk.
“Wait. Aren’t we supposed to get a ride?”
Peter turned, but kept walking backward. “There is no ride. They put on a sweet and innocent act around Mom and Dad, but trust me, they won’t give you the time of day. Carrie’s a snob, and Caesar…” Peter shook his head and turned forward again.
Jason paused and thought about heading back to the driveway to see for himself, but two things stopped him. Mostly it felt good to be away from the house. Every step he took was liberating. And Peter liked to talk, which made him an easy source of information.
“We can take the bus,” Peter was saying. “Or we can walk. It’s not far. Sometimes walking makes me late, but who cares?”