The Quiet Game (Pushed Aside Book 1) Page 2

  With an uneasy feeling in my gut, I sit between two of the boys. I chose the spot with the most room in between on purpose. Now I can see all three boys and all of them eyeing me curiously for a minute. They look to be a few years older than me, maybe sixteen or seventeen. The one with the flashlight looks amused. The one who told me to come over looks to be excited, and the third one just seems to be bored.

  “What are you doing out so late… all by yourself?” Flashlight boy asks.

  I just shrug instead of answering. I don’t want to waste my words. I want to look at him, read him, and test him before I use any words, but I can’t help staring at the hot dog he is holding.

  “You want this? Are you hungry?” He asks, holding up his stick.

  All I can do is nod my head.

  A wicked smile spread over his face. “What are you willing to do for this?”

  Baseball cap guy lets out an agreeable, “yeah, what do we get in return?”

  Of course, I have nothing to offer them so I shrug apologetically.

  “I know something you could do for me,” he says with a taunting smile. “Come here and hold my beer.” They both start laughing while the third boy continues to look unimpressed and bored. He doesn’t even look at me anymore. Instead, he is watching his hot dog roast in the fire.

  On shaky legs, I get up and stand before the boy who holds out his beer to me. I take it and stand next to him unsure what to do. I don’t have a good feeling about any of this. The way the two boys are looking at me right now gives me the creeps.

  “You know what, actually I’m done with that beer, so why don’t you go ahead and finish it for me. We shouldn’t waste it, don’t you agree?”

  “We don’t like wasting things,” the other chuckles.

  I look at the beer can in my hand. It’s less than half full but I am not sure if it would get me drunk or not. I definitely don’t want to be drunk. Baseball cap boy grabs my hand that holds the can and guides it to my mouth.

  “Come on, don’t be shy,” he snickers.

  I take a deep breath and a small sip of the beer. I want to stop drinking as soon as the fuzzy, bitter liquid hits my tongue but the boy holds the can tight, tipping it so I would not have a choice but to drink it all. I finish what's left in the can. The two boys that made me drink alcohol are full on laughing now while I stand there wishing I had never left my room. My head starts spinning, my stomach feels funny and warm.

  “What’s your name little girl?” Flashlight boy asks.

  “Eliza.” One, I count in my head. My name comes out so quietly I can barely hear it myself.

  “Speak up,” he orders and it almost sounds like there is a threat behind it.

  “Eliza.” Two, this time I manage to speak loud enough for them to hear.

  “Come here,” the other boy demands with an unusual urgency. I look up to see that it's the boy who looked bored just a minute ago. Now he’s looking at me in anticipation. My legs move before my mind makes the decision to go to him. Maybe I just want to get away from the creep who just made me drink my first beer, or maybe it's something else that draws me to him, but before I can think about it too much I’m standing in front of him. I’m small and he is tall. Even though he is sitting and I’m standing our faces are not that far apart.

  “Here, eat,” he says and hands me his hot dog.

  I grab it and take a greedy bite before he can change his mind. He looks at me with his dark blue eyes and an expression I’m unable to read. I close my eyes when the flavor explodes upon my tongue hitting my taste buds. I don’t know when I’m going to get something to eat next so I slow down my chewing to savor this.

  Suddenly I feel something touching my forehead. My eyes fly open and I realize that it’s the boy's fingers brushing a strand of hair away from my face. He is so gentle it almost tickles. His eyes bleeding into mine intensely. It’s not until his hand falls away and I suck in an audible breath that I notice I’d stopped breathing for a few seconds. His expression softens and changes into something that almost looks like relief.

  “You shouldn’t be out here so late. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” He gets up and starts walking in the direction I came from.

  “Come on dude, she was our entertainment,” one of the guys complained.

  “Party-Pooper,” added the other.

  Like a lost puppy, I follow the boy with the dark blue eyes, because there is no way I’m staying with the two guys left hanging around the campfire. They’re still looking at me like I’m some kind of toy they’re about to take apart for fun. He walks much faster than me so I have to almost run to keep up.

  “What building is your apartment?”

  “Five,” I mumble and count three in my head.

  He peeks back at me and notices how I’m struggling to keep up and slows down dramatically. We walked in silence for the short walk to my building. When I stop in front of my window I look up and realize the flaw in my little escape plan. I was able to climb out the window but I’m too short and too weak to pull myself up.

  “Eliza?” I turn to face the boy who just walked me home. There is something about the way he says my name…as if I’ve heard him say it before. And there is something about the way he looks at me as well, as if I’ve seen his eyes watching me before. I’m almost certain I’ve never seen this boy before, but I can’t shake this familiar feeling.

  “Do they ever hurt you?” He asks as he looks at me like he is studying me.

  I give him a questionable look and he elaborates his question.

  “Your foster parents… the ones you are with now, do they ever hurt you?”

  I blink, trying to figure out why he is asking and how does he even know I’m a foster kid. I shake my head, not wanting to use up my last two words.

  It's true, they’ve never hurt me. That’s why I don’t tell anybody when they spend all the money on alcohol and I don’t get to eat on the weekends. On average, they are drunk six days a week, but thankfully they are what people consider “happy drunks”.

  “That's good. So, they just forget to feed you?”

  I shrug. “Sometimes.” Four.

  He slowly nods and I can sense an understanding within him. As if he knows exactly what I am talking about…almost like he’s been through the same.

  “You need a lift?” He asks and tilts his head up to my window.

  I nod and he grabs the half eaten hotdog from my hand. Before I can protest he sits it on the corner of my windowsill, interlaces his fingers and holds them out to me. I step on his hands with my right foot to push myself up. Propping my arms up on the windowsill, I swing my leg in, careful not to kick my precious hot dog off. I’m almost inside when I lose my balance for a second and start falling backwards. The boy quickly grabs my foot with one hand, my lower back with the other, pushing me back up.

  Once I’m in my room I turn back to look down at the boy.

  “Don’t come out here by yourself anymore,” he warns.

  I nod instead of giving him an okay. He stares at me for a few more seconds before turning around and heading back the same direction he came.

  He only takes a step before I rush out the last word for the day.

  “Thanks!” Five.

  He stops for a second but never turns around again.

  I take my leftover food and close the window. While I’m eating I wonder again how he knew I was living with a foster family. Is it that obvious? My clothes are old and worn, definitely hand me downs or thrift store purchases. I roamed around hungry and by myself at night. I guess it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to assume I’m a foster child.

  I finish my hot dog before curling up in my bed with a full stomach. The last thing I see before drifting off to sleep is the boy with the kind dark blue eyes and I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

  The next morning, I wake up with a little headache. Maybe from the cheap beer, I drank last night. I’m thirteen and I just woke up hungover. If I had a mother, I’m sure she would be s
o proud.

  I head to the bathroom and almost miss it when I walk by my window. I stop and inspect the small package on my windowsill. I push the window up and grab it. It's a plastic tray, one you can buy at a grocery store bakery. I flip open the lid and almost jump with joy. Inside are four large chocolate chip muffins.

  This must be a dream.

  I don’t believe that this is real until I take the first bite and the fresh, sweetened goodness fills my belly. I look out the window, searching for whoever brought me these. I scan the entire area but don’t see a single soul. As always… I’m alone.

  3

  Jaxon

  The place is dirty and smells like someone recently died in here, which is a good possibility. Hunter and I walk through the hallway that leads to two small bedrooms. We look at each other and I can read in his face that he is thinking the same thing that is running through my mind. This place is a dump. It’s perfect for what we need. I turn back to the landlord who looks like he hasn’t taken a shower in three weeks. He is leaning against the doorframe of the cockroach-infested kitchen.

  “We will take it,” I say a little more enthusiastic that I should be.

  “I’m gonna need one month’s rent in advance,” he says like he doesn’t think we would be able to pay. I retrieve the stack of money from my back pocket and start counting the five, ten and twenty-dollar bills until I reach $300. I hand it to him and he takes it just to recount it once more. When he is done he stuffs the wad of cash into his pocket and tosses a key at me before turning around and walking out.

  “Rent is due on the first, kiddos.”

  Hunter closes the door and turns around to look at me.

  “Well, we did it. Two teenage kids just got themselves off the street and into this upscale apartment, in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town.”

  “Dude, you got a cockroach crawling up your leg,” I say dryly.

  “Shit!” He jumps around a little, wiping the bug off his jeans in the process. “I’m going to have to call room service about that later. In the meantime, can we discuss how we going to keep paying rent in this fine establishment?”

  The money we just gave the landlord, with hair so greasy he could keep a car engine running like a well-oiled machine with it, was from some odd jobs we’ve been doing for the last few weeks. Our goal was to get a place to stay and we haven’t really thought about anything beyond that.

  “I guess we keep doing what we have been doing. Taking any work that we can get and hope we can scratch enough money together for the rent.”

  Hunter nods but looks at me like he was already thinking about something else. I wait for him to spit it out as he keeps nodding slowly. Finally, he breaks his silence.

  “Well, I was actually talking to Colt and he saw you beat up that guy the other day who tried to steal our food. He said that he has some way for us to make some real money.”

  I look at him with equal parts annoyance and intrigue. I hate when he beats around the bush like that and I have to extract all the information from him bit by bit. I am also intrigued because I know Colt and he did score us some good paying jobs before. Some guy gave us a hundred bucks just to deliver an envelope.

  “So, you going to tell me what this job is or do I have to drag it out of you?” I push him.

  “Well, it’s not really a job.”

  I am getting more annoyed by the second.

  “Hunter, out with it already.”

  “Ok, ok, it’s a fight. One of us would be fighting some other guy until someone is knocked out. People pay good money to see that, but Colt said the biggest money is made from bets. Apparently, he fought a guy two weeks ago and won. Made two grand in one night”

  Two thousand dollars sounds good… better than good, it sounds amazing. We wouldn’t have to worry about rent and food…Eliza pops into my head. I could buy food for her too. I still can’t believe I found her. If I hadn’t felt her tiny scar on her forehead I wouldn’t have believed it in a million years.

  I thought about telling her last night who I was, but I didn’t see the point. She doesn’t remember me anyway. Instead of telling her a sob story that wouldn’t change anything, I brought her some muffins this morning. If I could keep making money I could keep bringing her food so she doesn’t have to be hungry anymore. She already looked way too damn skinny.

  I’m only sixteen but I’m tall for my age and I can definitely handle myself in a fight. The only problem is…I don’t know anything about boxing or whatever they do at this fighting gig.

  “What kind of fight is it? Like boxing or MMA? I don’t really know anything about the rules,” I say honestly.

  Hunter swats another roach crawling up the doorframe next to us as he leisurely tells me, “that’s the best part about these kinds of fights, no prior experience necessary. You don’t need to know any rules because there are no rules.”

  The metal door locks in place behind me and the crowd around us roars in excitement. This place reeks of sweat, blood, and alcohol. I turn and look at the guy in front of me. We are about the same size but he is older than me and has experience fighting. He steps forward and throws the first punch, hitting me on the side of my head, making it throb in pain. I put my hands up closer to my face and move back a little. He comes at me again. This time landing two punches in a row. The crowd is cheering the other guy on. People all around are screaming at him to take me out. I move to the side, twist around, and hit him twice, I make contact but not enough to cause any damage. He reciprocates with a right hook into my stomach knocking the breath out of me. When I bend over a bit to attempt to catch my breath he jabs me a few times in the back of the head. I stagger to the side, almost falling over but I’m able to catch myself on the metal bars and pull myself up. The crowd is going wild now. The noise is making my ears hurt, the sweat running down my face is burning my eyes and the smells surrounding me are making my stomach churn.

  I face him again, take a step towards him and throw a right hook myself, he dodges it and grabs me by the neck, throwing me against the side of the cage. I look into the crowd. Colt and Hunter are standing a few feet away looking alarmed. Everybody else is laughing, cheering, and yelling at us. It the middle of the crowd I see a blond-haired girl staring at me with her big blue eyes. She somehow reminds me of Eliza and I can’t help but wonder if she would ever be in a place like this. I hope not.

  The guy strengthens his grip on my neck, pulling me back to reality.

  I have to stay focused.

  He pulls back my head and slams my face into the siding of the metal cage. I try to push myself off but his grip is too strong and he is pinning me down with his body weight. When he pulls my head back once more, I brace myself for another face slam. The crowd reached a new level of wild… insane would be a more accurate term. Even the girl that made me think of Eliza is shouting now.

  That’s when I feel the blood trickling down my forehead. The picture of a little girl sitting in my tiny room, with blood running down her face, enters my mind. That’s when it hits me…all at once. Anger, sadness, loss, helplessness, and fear all flooding me at the same time. Lighting a spark inside of me to get my head in the game and fight. With a surge of strength, I didn’t know I had, I push him off my back. I turn back to face my rival. He is wearing a smug smile, proud of his victory. I’m not sure what he sees, but when he looks into my eyes, his smirk fades and turns into something different. Fear.

  I can’t smell anything anymore, I stop hearing the crowd and all I see surrounding me is darkness. All thoughts disappear from my mind and I operate on pure instinct. My body and mind have gone numb. My fists are hitting my opponent with staggering accuracy and great force. He gets in a few punches in between, but I don’t feel them, neither do they slow me down. I keep punching him…punching him over and over again until he goes down to the ground. I kneel on top of him, my leg pushed into his chest. Once I have him immobilized, I hit him some more. I smash my fist in his face until I can feel the bones b
eneath my knuckles crack. I hit him until he stops moving under me completely, his face is covered in so much blood that I can barely make out his features.

  For one moment longer, I am left in complete silence. I feel like I’m alone in an empty room and then in a blink of an eye I snap out of it. All of my senses return to me in one large tidal wave.

  The crowd begins to roar around me, someone pulls me to my feet and holds up my arms. I glance down at the guy I just beat to a pulp, I think I should feel sorry, but I don’t. I’m too overpowered by the energy of the crowd, the rush of winning, the power, the control. It awakens something primal in me and now that I experienced this, I know I have to do it again.

  4

  Eliza

  Three Years Later

  People think that I’m weird or stupid because I don’t talk to anyone. My caseworker told me that this is the reason I don’t get adopted. It’s not that I can’t talk, I just choose not to. I do say a word here and there when I need to, but I never go over five words a day. It started when a student at middle school mocked me and asked if I had reached my five-word daily quota yet. Now it’s a game I like to play in my head… a challenge of sorts. I don’t know why it has become so important to me, but it has. Maybe it’s because I don’t have control over anything else in my life. They can push me from house to house, make me live with a new family every year, decide what school I go to. Unlike the average parent, foster parents always have the choice to send me away. All they have to do is make a phone call and I’m off to another home.