A List of Cages(30)

Adam grins over at me as if we’re in on a joke, and I smile back.





WHEN MY ALARM goes off at six on Monday morning, I see the twenty-dollar bill beneath my shell. Through slices of pain, I walk to my attached bathroom, whimpering as every movement pulls the cuts on my legs. Tears sting my eyes, reminding me how much I embarrassed myself last night. Russell never gets mad at me for crying, but it’s still humiliating.

I use the toilet, then consider showering, but everything hurts too much. For a moment I stand in front of the floor-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, looking at the horizontal red lines from my collarbone to my waist. He’s never done that before, never the front. It makes sleep impossible. I can’t lie on my stomach. I can’t lie on my back. But I have to, and it hurts.

I turn around to see the long red stripes from my shoulders down the back of my legs. The legs that are pale and skinny, and according to Adam and Charlie, strangely hairless. I know Russell is just worried about my health, but I don’t want to shave anymore, not if no other boy does it.

I feel another surge of regret knowing he’s gone to work and I’m home. I hate that I keep doing stupid things. I hate it when he’s mad at me. I hate that the proof of how he feels is still all over me.

I turn around to face the mirror again and look into my eyes. When I was in the third grade we had to do a genealogy assignment, and my mother told me that no one in our family had eyes like mine. The only person I knew from Mom’s side of the family was her sister, Russell’s wife, but she died when I was five, so I barely remember her. My mom never spoke to any of her other relatives. I knew something had happened, some falling-out with her parents, but she never wanted to talk about it, and at the time I wasn’t curious enough to ask.

My father didn’t have any brothers or sisters. His parents were old by the time they had him. He said they called him their miracle because they didn’t think they could have children. I don’t remember either of his parents, since they both died when I was still a baby.

It hits me all of a sudden—my parents lost their parents. But they always seemed so happy. Was it real? I can picture them looking at each other, smiling right into each other’s eyes. Hers were bright blue. His were faded green. Mine are both, and sometimes when I look in the mirror, I can see both of them looking back at me.





“HAVE YOU HEARD from Julian?” Dr. Whitlock asks the second I get to her office on Wednesday.

“No. But he doesn’t have a phone or a computer, so I never hear from Julian.”

“He’s out again today.” She frowns, obviously worried. I don’t tell her he’s probably just skipping. I mean, is she forgetting the first weeks of school when he dodged her? “This is the third day in a row. I’ve called home, but I haven’t heard back from anyone.”

I guess three days is weird, even for him. “I could go by his house.”

She perks up. “Would you? That would be very helpful.”

“I can go now if you want.” Anything’s better than sitting in this office doing nothing. I can tell she’s about to say no, so I add hastily, “I’ve got lunch next period, so I won’t be late to class or anything.”

“All right. You can go”—her eyes shoot from side to side, and she whispers like her office is bugged—“but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“No problem, Dr. Whitlock.” Everyone worries too much.




I ignore the doorbell. It’s always a UPS man or a salesman, never anyone I want to see. When it rings again, faster and more insistent, I slowly climb out of bed, wincing. I take careful steps to the front door, then peek through the fish-eye.

“What are you doing here?” I ask when I open the door.

“Manners, Julian,” Adam scolds, sweeping right past me. “Nice house.” Then he squints at me. “What’s wrong with you?”

I retreat a little, afraid he might try to touch my shoulder. “Nothing.”

“You look like hell.”

The pain has dulled to something bearable, but I’m congested and my head aches. This happens a lot after a punishment. Just as the marks begin to fade, I get sick.

“It’s just a cold. Or maybe the flu.”

“You go to the doctor?”

“No.”

“Well, what have you been eating?”

“Uh…peanut butter and jelly.”

He shakes his head as if disappointed, then scans the house again. “Is your uncle really anti-technology?”

“Why?”

“No computer. No TV. What do you do here all day when you’re sick?”

“Nothing.”

“That sucks,” he says sympathetically.

He starts jogging through the house the same way he does through the courtyard at school. I’m terrified he’s going to break something, or that Russell will be home at any minute. Russell might be gone for two days or he might come home right now.

“Where’s your room?”

“It’s the last one on the hall. But I—”

He starts jogging in the opposite direction and stops in front of the china cabinet. “What is all this?”

“No one can touch that!”