The velvety night sky is illuminated by flashing blue lights. Leon is curled up in the bushes across from me, trembling.
There may have been some tears, but I'm going to let that one slide since he's only twelve.
How do you calm a kid down on his first foot chase with the police?
Answer: You don't. You just keep moving and pray he doesn't crack under the pressure.
When the officer closest to us turns away, I wave my hand through the air to grab Leon's attention. Once I'm sure he's looking at me, I bring a finger up to my lips, signaling for him to stay quiet. He nods in understanding, fear dancing in his dark brown eyes.
After another cop passes by, I stay crouched down while retreating from my hiding spot behind the dumpster and take a sharp right into an alley littered with trash.
Checking behind me, I make sure Leon is on my heels. It seems unnecessary since I can't even take a shit without this kid banging on the door to see what I'm doing, but it's my responsibility to make sure he doesn't get busted.
We creep through the vacant alley, and I peek around the left corner once we get to the other end, making sure the coast is clear.
When I'm decently comfortable with the distance between the cops and us, I let Leon know we have to make a run for it. He's panicking, but he nods again with widened eyes.
I hold up one steady finger, then two. He anxiously waits for the third to pop up, shifting his foot to prepare himself. When it finally does, we take off down 18th Street like our lives depend on it.
It feels as if my toes are barely kissing the ground while Leon's soles slap against the road loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.
My hand wraps tightly around his wrist so I can pull him along faster. I didn't account for his short legs possibly slowing us down. He stumbles over himself the entire way home, but we make it there without a scratch.
Collapsing on the sidewalk in front of the tattered chain-link fence that wraps around the tiny front yard of our house, we burst into laughter while simultaneously breathing sighs of relief. I can't help but feel a sense of pride swelling in my chest.
"That was…I don't ever wanna do that again!" Leon spits out between heavy breaths.
"Shut the fuck up. You know you'll be begging to come with me next time."
He grimaces in my direction and starts to pout, crossing his arms against his chest. The grin he's biting back tells me he knows that I'm right.
For some reason, this kid is desperate to follow in my muddied footsteps. I may have given him a taste of the life tonight, but I don't plan on making a habit out of it.
"Come on, let's get you inside before Wade kicks both our asses."
Leon lets out a nervous sigh that I can wholeheartedly relate to. Neither one of us wants to go in. Wade has the emotional control of a toddler and tends to fly off the handle when we're out past dark.
Sadly, he's probably the best foster parent I've had during my years in the system. Quick to resort to anger, but he lets you push back and is surprisingly easy to calm down.
The problem with Leon is that he's too scared to push. And too little. I swear he's a lot smaller than me when I was his age.
"Don't worry about it. I got you," I try to reassure him while gently slapping the back of his shoulder.
We tiptoe inside and quietly ease the door shut behind us. It's a pointless precautionary measure considering we both know Wade is awake and lurking nearby.
The sound of heavy boots stomping against the floor has us both freezing in place while the empty glass on the kitchen table vibrates. He flies around the corner, into the kitchen, screaming from the get-go.
"Where the hell have you been? How many times do we have to tell you to be home before dark?!"
Leon wastes no time diving behind me while I wave Wade off like he's being irrational.
"Chill, man. We're back. Nobody's dead. You'll still get your checks at the end of the month."
"You little shit," he roars, barreling toward us.
I straighten my posture and become the solid wall that separates him and Leon.
"Don't fucking touch him," I snap through clenched teeth.
Wade searches my eyes intently, maybe debating if it's worth the physical altercation tonight.
He's never put his hands on any of the kids here, but it's different with me. We've only thrown punches twice in the four years I've lived here - situations I've admittedly started - and neither one of us could claim a victory.
He's not someone I like to fuck with anymore, and I know he never expected to put his hands on me in the first place. I doubt he would have hit back if it weren't for the need to defend himself against me in my earlier years of acclimating to this place.
"You need to grow the fuck up. You can't drag Leon into your shit. Taylor was worried sick about you guys!" He aggressively ruffles his hair and huffs.
Taylor - our foster mom - works double shifts at the ratty diner down the street. Even though she's rarely home, she blows up the landline every few hours to make sure we're all still alive.
I nod at Wade, letting him know I understand where he's coming from. I think he's an asshole, but deep down, I know he cares about what happens to us. I think.
I only lived here a week before I ended up in a holding cell. A scrap of paper with the house number on it that Taylor stuffed in my jeans was the only possession I had. I called the house and explained everything that had happened to Wade.
In ten minutes flat, he was storming the place like a hurricane. I was bailed out and back in my bed within the hour, no trial date scheduled. Usually, the booking process takes all night, but he somehow managed to fuck up their whole system.
They didn't even have enough time to contact the juvenile center. And I never forget it, which is another reason why I don't get the urge to knock his teeth out every time he comes at me like this.
When Wade backs down, Leon puffs his chest out like he singlehandedly stopped a war from breaking out.
"Get your ass upstairs," I chuckle.
He zooms up to his room, yelling, "Night, Wade!" before disappearing.
We hear him trip up the stairs. Twice. Causing the unsettling tension to lift as we share a laugh over Leon's lack of coordination. The kid has two left feet.
While Wade is shaking his head in comical disbelief, he offers me a cup of coffee. Which means he wants to talk.
I hesitantly oblige, my way of apologizing for breaking the rules yet again. Plus, I'm still riding the high of a successful night of petty theft.
The fifty bucks we lifted from a Nissan Sentra burns a hole in my pocket. I promised Leon a cut for his role as lookout, but now I'm debating if I should recant due to incompetence. He completely failed to spot the old lady watching us like a hawk, dialing the cops.
Wade hands me a cup, and we both take a seat in the rickety chairs at the table.
"You're gonna age out of the system in a couple months."
"I know," I respond, casually nodding my head. I know where this is going.
"Know what you're gonna do?"
"Not really. I mean, I'll find my own place, obviously."
There's a long silence before he speaks again.
"You can stay here if you want. Until you get on your feet."
Okay, maybe I don't know where this is going.
"Careful, Wade. It's starting to sound like you're gonna miss having me around."
He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, trying to blow off my comment.
"Ringer, come on. You have to start taking some of this shit seriously."
Yeah, my junkie mother actually named me Ringer, no joke. I don't want to talk about it.
"You know you don't get paid for me once I age out, right? Having me here isn't gonna do you any favors."
"Stop," he demands. "Do you plan on dropping out when you turn eighteen? Are you gonna pick up another job? What do you wanna do?"
If I had known this conversation was going to take a turn for the serious, I would have escaped to my room instead of agreeing to this bullshit.
"I mean, are you and Taylor cool with me staying here until I graduate?" I stare down into the cup when I speak, feeling weird about asking for favors.
"You want to graduate?" His eyes light up, catching me off guard.
I didn't expect someone to look…proud of me, I guess? The last person to look at me like that was my dad. But I was ten years old and just succeeded in picking the lock to someone's back door for the first time.
"Yeah, I'd like to. I know my grades are shit right now, but I'm still passing so far."
"Kid, it doesn't matter if you have to bribe the teachers for grades, long as you end up graduating."
I smirk at his suggestion. You have to have money to bribe someone, which we're a little short on, but I hear him loud and clear. He doesn't care how I do it, just wants to see it happen.
"You're an idiot if you think I'm getting you a ticket to watch me walk that stage."
He dips two fingers in his coffee and flicks it at my face, the hot liquid splattering across my nose. I use the back of my sleeve to wipe it off.
"Alright then, it's settled. You're staying," he announces with a quick nod before leaving the room.
The silence perforates my eardrums, making it nearly impossible to think straight. I've been dead set on escaping this place, so why the hell did I just ask to stay?