A List of Cages(58)

“I’m eighteen.” She sniffs, obviously not impressed. “Julian doesn’t need a guardian. I just talked to my mom, and she’s going to contact the judge. She used to be his foster mom, and I’m eighteen, so we can make decisions about—”

“Hold on, hold on, take a breath.”

I do, preparing my rebuttal if she tries to kick me out.

“I haven’t met Julian, but I have no intention of keeping him away from his friends. That wouldn’t do him any good.”

I mumble, “Thank you,” then sit back down, feeling oddly weak.

Delores finds another metal chair. “They used to do that.” Her voice is gentle but filled with deep strength, like someone who’s seen it all.

“Hmmm?” I’m trying to pay attention. I know I need to seem responsible in front of this lady, but I’m jittery and tired.

“They kept people out. Banned fathers from delivery rooms, family from hospital rooms. They don’t do that so much anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because people heal a whole lot faster when they’re with someone who loves them.”

My eyes start to water, and I feel a brief twinge of panic. Jesus, am I about to—? Yes, I’m crying again. And this time a woman I’ve just met is pressing my face into one of her purple padded shoulders.

I don’t pull away.


Around five, Emerald arrives carrying a jade planter with a tall exotic flower I don’t recognize. She looks perfect, of course, her hair twisted and coiled like she just stopped by on her way to prom.

She halts at the sight of Julian exactly the way my mom did this morning, staring at him without moving or speaking. I pry the plant from her trembling hands and set it on the dresser in the corner. I nod toward the hallway and she follows me. Out here is another mural, this one of an elaborate underwater sea party with smiling mermaids, sharks, dolphins, and fish.

“I didn’t think he would look like that,” she whispers. I nod. She doesn’t have to explain what she means. “Matt drove me. He’s with Camila downstairs. They wanted to come up, but they didn’t know if it was okay.”

I cross my arms and lean against the wall, next to the happiest octopus I’ve ever seen. “It’s not. Not yet.”

“You look tired,” she says. “You should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

She flinches, her blue eyes looking confused and hurt, but I don’t apologize. Her hair is perfect, and something about that bothers me.

“Adam…”

“I should get back inside.”

She squeezes my hand. I don’t squeeze back.





THE SECOND DAY in the hospital passes a lot like the first. Julian sleeps. I pace, sit, and eat crappy companion meals sent from the cafeteria. There are long stretches of nothing, interrupted by visits from Delores and Mom, plus friends who venture no farther than the hall. Now the room’s scattered with flowers, floating balloons, and stuffed animals.

I’m sitting in the metal chair by Julian’s bed when he wakes up so suddenly, I jump. He claws the air, then tries to yank the tubes from his nose.

“No, leave them,” I say, pulling down his hands.

He goes still and blinks like he’s awoken from a nightmare. “Adam?” This is the first time I’ve heard him speak since I carried him into the hospital…was that only a day and a half ago?

“Yeah?” I hold him till I’m sure he’s done flailing, and I hook my foot into my chair to drag it forward. “Are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question. The bones in his wrists are grotesque knobs. Liquid sugar runs through a bag and down a tube into his hand, spreading out into his veins. Machines pump oxygen into his lungs and measure his pulse and blood pressure.

Instead of answering, he whispers, “Is school out?” His tone’s dull, voice scratchy like he has a throat infection.

“I don’t know. I didn’t go today.” I glance over at the clock.

“For…” He looks down at the round white stickers pasted to his chest, then fiddles with the tubes at his nose. I’m about to tell him to stop when his arm thuds to his side like it’s too heavy to lift. “For the summer.”

“For the summer? No…we still have a couple weeks left.”

He looks so confused and alarmed that I expect the heart rate monitors to start beeping wildly like they do in movies. “It’s next year?”

I don’t understand what he means. It’s nonsense, like leaving the trunk open for the stars. “Next year?”

“I missed next year. I missed summer.”

“No. It’s still this year. We haven’t had summer break yet.”

He sinks a little and closes his eyes. “That’s good. I always miss it.” Then his eyes spring back open, looking wild and panicked again, while mine flit to the monitors. “But I must have. I was there for so long. I counted. But I couldn’t count anymore. I was in a shell, then the shell disappeared and I didn’t know where I was. I knew you’d be gone. Everyone would be gone.”

“Inside a…? You were in a trunk, Julian.”

“A shell. I was all alone in a shell.”

My fear and worry are ramping up and I think about getting a nurse, but I can’t leave him. I don’t want to upset him by getting upset myself, so I try to keep my voice calm. “It was a trunk.”