1
Brayden
Age - 12
My parents tell me, I am getting a brother for my birthday.
"A boy around your age." My mother says gently. "You'll finally have someone to play with."
Play?
I don't play but I nod at her anyway. It is way easier nodding than explaining that I don't need someone to play with.
My birthday cake is ice cream with blue frosting that says, 'Happy Birthday Brayden'. My father lights the blue numbered candles and tells me to make a wish not knowing that I already have.
When there's a knock on the door the next morning, I'm sitting on the couch in the living room with my notebook. I like to sit here because it faces the hallway. I can see everything from the hallway.
My mother smooths down her skirt before opening the door.
There's a lady that stands outside the door with a clipboard in hand. Beside her is not a boy.
It's a girl.
She looks really small. Dark curls pulled into a messy bun. She has freckles on her nose. A big genuine pink smile on her face. She doesn't look real. She looks like one of those toy dolls you see at the store. She's gripping her backpack straps tightly in both hands.
My mother has a weird look on her face. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, stepping halfway outside and lowering her voice. "We were told it would be a boy."
The lady gives a tight fake smile. "Apologies. There was a mix-up in the system. This placement became urgent."
My father appears behind my mother, "We requested a boy," he says while staring down at the little girl.
The girl smile shifts but she doesn't cry. She looks past the adults and into the house.
She looks at me.
I don't look away.
The lady with the clipboard looks at the girl. "Again apologies. If this doesn't work out, we can reassess next week, but she really needs somewhere safe to stay for now."
My mother hesitates only a second longer before stepping aside. "Of course. Come in."
The girl walks in carefully, like she's scared the floor might disappear.
She smells weird. I can't pinpoint the smell.
She walks to where I'm sitting and stops. "Hi," she says.
Her voice is steady.
Unreal.
For a second I thought I was imagining her.
I don't answer her.
I never answer.
The lady crouches beside her. "This is Brayden," she says, looking at me. "Brayden, this is Stephanie."
I press my pen harder into the paper.
Stephanie.
The lady keeps talking, explaining me. "Brayden doesn't speak out loud. He understands everything we're saying but he prefers to write to have a conversation."
I don't prefer to write.
I just prefer not to speak.
There's a difference.
Stephanie steps closer. "Hi, Brayden." She repeats, like she's expecting an answer this time.
I turn to a blank page in my notebook.
I write:
Hello.
Her face lights up like I've done something impressive.
"Wow, that's cool," she says. "You write really neat."
I didn't know that mattered.
My mother watches us carefully while my father stands stiff near the doorway.
Stephanie looks around the living room.
"Will you show me around?" She asks.
I shake my head side to side once.
She smile's anyway, "You can show me later."
Later.
She's acting like I didn't just shake my head, telling her no.
The adults move into the kitchen speaking in low voices.
Stephanie stays in the living room with me.
She drops her backpack by the couch and sits right next to me like she belongs there.
"I'm nine," she says. "I like drawing and reading and I don't like carrots. Do you like carrots?"
I stare at her.
She doesn't seem uncomfortable like the kids at school do.
I write:
No.
She grins. "Good. It's gross."
She leans closer, if that's even possible.
"You don't talk at all?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"Wow, I love talking." She says quickly. "People tell me I talk too much. I can talk enough for the both of us."
She says it like it's a promise.
I don't like that in that moment I feel something shift inside of me when she says it.
Something warm.
Something irritating.
Something that urges me to itch.
Something new.
An hour later the lady with the clipboard starts gathering her paperwork, getting ready to leave.
The lady kneels in front of Stephanie. "I'll check in next week, sweetie." She says gently. "If you need anything, you tell Mrs. and Mr. Wolf to call me."
Stephanie nods.
My parents walk the lady out and closes the front door.
The house feels different immediately.
Quieter.
Fuller.
Whole.
My mother turns to Stephanie, "Would you like to see your room?"
Stephanie nods with a big smile on her face. "Come show me," she says looking at me.
I hesitate.
Then I follow her.
Stephanie
Age - 9
The house smells clean like soap and something sweet.
It doesn't smell like the last one did.
That's good.
Brayden doesn't write much but he looks at me like he's trying to figure me out.
Most kids either stare in disgust or don't even look at all.
Brayden doesn't blink much either. Unless he's blinking when I'm blinking, which would be really cool.
His room is across from mine.
When his mommy opens the door to my room, I see a bed with blue sheets and a small desk by the window.
"It's temporary," his mommy says. "But we can design it, however you would like for now."
Temporary.
I hate that word.
I step inside the room anyway.
"It's perfect," I tell her.
I turn around and Brayden is standing in the doorway.
He doesn't come in. He just watches.
"You can come in," I tell him. He doesn't move.
So, I walk up to him and grab his hand leading him into the room.
"You're tall," I say looking up at his big brown eyes.
He frowns slightly.
"How old are you?"
He turns to a page in his notebook and starts to write. He slowly turns the notebook to me and I read:
I turned 12 yesterday.
"Oh," I hug him quickly. "Happy late birthday Brayden."
He nods once.
"Can you show me around now?"
He hesitates then he walks down the hall.
I follow.
He shows me the bathroom. His parents room. The kitchen. The backyard.
The backyard has a big, long tree in the corner.
"Can we climb it?" I ask pointing at the tree.
He stares at the tree for a while then nods.
"Yay!" I say out loud. "Tomorrow."
He doesn't argue.
He doesn't tell me no.
That's different.
The boys in the last house didn't want to do anything with me.
At dinner, he doesn't bring his notebook.
His parents ask me questions.
School. Favorite color. Allergies.
I answer all their questions.
Brayden watches. Not in a mean way but just like observing me.
When I drop my spoon, he picks it up before I can.
When I reach for the salt, he slides it closer. He doesn't look at me while doing it.
After dinner, I sit on the living room floor.
"Do you guys have board games?" I ask.
His mommy smiles, "Brayden has a few in his room."
Brayden leaves then comes back with a boardgame and his notebook.
He sets it down.
I pat the carpet. "Sit."
He does.
We play for almost an hour.
He doesn't write in the notebook at all. But every time I make a move, I feel his eyes on me like he's observing me.
When I win, I jump up and down over and over again.
"Oh yeah, oh yeah. I'm good at this." I start my happy dance.
He finally grabs his notebook and starts to write.
I read:
Beginner's luck.
I laugh and I hug him.
"You're funny."
He makes a weird face like no one has ever said that to him before.
That night, I can't sleep right away. New houses always feel strange. I stare at the ceiling. I already miss this place. I know I am not staying long. I really want to stay. My eyes start to get watery.
There's a soft knock at my door.
It opens slightly.
Brayden stands there. He holds out a piece of paper.
I sit up. He walks over and hands it to me. It says:
If you need anything, knock twice on my door.
I look up at him. A tear slips.
"Are you sure?"
He nods.
"Okay." I say softly.
He doesn't leave right away.
He just stands there. Watching. Always watching.
"Goodnight," I tell him.
He nods again and closes the door quietly.
Brayden
I stand in the hallway after her door shuts. I can hear her moving around inside.
Her footsteps are light. She talks to herself a little.
I didn't want a sister.
I didn't want anyone.
But she doesn't look at me like everyone else does. Like there is something wrong with me.
She didn't whisper or yell at me.
She didn't ask what was wrong with me.
she just sat down and told me what we were going to do.
and I did it with her.
I walk back to my room. Sit at my desk and open my notebook to a blank page.
I write her name carefully at the top of the clean page.
Stephanie.
Then I write it again and again. Each time I write her name. I press my pen deeper into the page. Like I'm trying to carve her name instead of writing it.
Soon there isn't any more space on the page. I write her name smaller to fit into the small margins. When every inch is filled. The corners. The edges. Even the space between the lines on the page don't exist but it still isn't enough.
I turn to the next clear page. I write:
9 years old. Purple backpack. Favorite color - Purple. No Allergies. Doesn't like carrots. Loves talking. Happy when she wins. Looks away when nervous.
I pause. Then add one more line:
Doesn't know yet.
I close the notebook.
Thanks for reading!
