Thanks, Everyone

When I lost everything, I didn’t think about where I would go, I just went. In the back of my throbbing head, I knew that my friends would keep me safe. My friends were the one grace I had been granted, and I clung to that blessing.

I think the reason we all met one fateful day might have been because we all were pushed away from others. The stars were never in our favor, yet, fate brought us together in a single act of kindness that day.

I had been looking for a quiet place to eat and do homework. Usually, I would just sit with Jake’s group, but today I wasn’t in the mood to be ignored. Mr. Attica always left the door open at lunch, so I went there. The teacher was sound asleep, so I didn’t have to suffer through questions of why I had come. I sat at a desk near the back of the classroom, it was nestled nicely in a corner, next to a ‘Being Drug Free is Gnarly, Brah!‘ poster that hadn’t been replaced in three and a half decades. I think that is around how long Mr. Attica has been teaching here.

Two people came in. I later learned they usually went to lunch with different groups and classrooms, not really sticking anywhere. I knew how that felt. When I first saw them, however, I simply assumed they were coming in to do a retake quiz or something. They would have to wait for Mr. Attica, which might be a while. The old but dedicated teacher looked dead. When they sat in the front row, I realized they were staying. One of them had reddish blonde hair that reached their shoulders, a bracelet sat on their wrist that had blue beads. They wore a Twenty One Pilots sweater and light wash pants. The other had dark hair in a braid and wore a ‘make art not war’ shirt. Normal people, I assumed.

I almost missed Smith when he first entered the class, he was quiet and payed little mind to the others in the room. Selecting a spot near the outer wall, he began opening his lunch. His look was polished but still casual, there were no brands or flashy colors, but I did see a stud in his upper ear. Another normal person.

Turning back to my homework, I began again on quadratics. The third problem was tricky, and I was contemplating looking up the answer when the door flew open one last time. The person entering was in no way quiet or casual. A girl wearing a pink Vans sweater stumbled to a desk in the center of the room, her eyes matching the hue of her outfit. Blonde locks obscured my view of her, as I was behind her. Shuddering breaths came from the newcomer, and my heart broke when I heard a barely audible sniff. 

A battle began in my head as I questioned whether or not to approach her. Eventually, I made my decision and bravely came over. Slowly, I sat in the seat next to her and waited.

Smile, I reminded myself. Wait for her, she’ll talk when she’s ready.

Her sweater was well kept, and was the sort of thing that was trendy. A tiny bit of mascara was smudged, indicating two things: she was wearing makeup, and she had been crying. A minute passed, and she looked up at me.

“Why are you here?” She asked, her voice was slightly hostile, but hope dulled the sharp remark.

Softly, I looked into her eyes and answered. “You look like you need a friend.” She seemed a little caught off guard, so I waited.

“Why do you care?” She said, voice cracking slightly at the word care. 

“It’s what I wish people would do for me. Are you okay?” I was cautious, not wanting to overstep my boundaries. She shook her head no, so I probed again. “Do you want to talk about it?” I had done this a few times, having younger sibling who went through tough times, and they almost never opened up. It surprised me a little when she shrugged and told me.

Her voice was a little shaky as she spoke. “My foster parent told me that the couple who wanted to see me declined when they found out I was already 14.” She hugged herself. “This isn’t the first time either. No one wants a teen girl, they want a baby they can raise and spoil and teach.” She cried a little, and I waited, smiling softly to show her it was okay. Patience was always key.

“Do you know what it feels like, to have no one want you? To be turned away for something you can’t change?” She looked me in the eye with a pained expression. I nodded.

“How do you know?” She questioned, doubting my sincerity.

“I spent 9 years in the foster system before I got adopted. That was two years ago.” I hoped I was doing the right thing. “I know what it’s like to be rejected.”

I never noticed the person sitting in the back of the room, I only saw them when they got up and came over to the girl. Their hair was jet black and meticulously straight. The person sat on her other side.

“We know being a foster teen can suck, but we have to stick together.” They said.

She was comforted by our words, but was still upset. Hesitantly, I opened my arms to offer her a hug, and she accepted it. Not many girls would take a hug from a strange guy like me, so she must have been really upset. The person with jet black hair came over and hugged her too. One by one, everyone in the room minus the snoozing teacher at his desk, joined in a group hug. Everyone had experience with family troubles and it brought us together. These were not the ordinary people I assumed, we were stronger because of our circumstances.

We all became friends after that day. The girl was Angie, a foster kid with an amazing singing talent. Tate was the guy with black hair, he was also a foster kid, having been turned down for adoption multiple times for his anorexia. He started a webcomic a few months after we met, and it’s been a surprisingly large bit of income for him. Alex and Iris were cousins, the former had been kicked out by their parents for being genderfluid, they could also make a mean cake. The latter lived with an always busy single father and was good enough at math to take Harvard courses. Smith, the one with the stud in his ear, his parents were in the middle of a big divorce. Smith was good at knife making, and worked in his uncle's shop.

As for me? My name was Shilo, and my adopted dad was a gambler, I had to work so my alcoholic mom could eat. What was my talent? Well, my friends said I can make anyone feel at ease. I also like my journalism class, so we’ll see.

These people were something more than friends, they’ve helped each other through the roughest times. I hadn’t even told them about my struggles with my parents, since it didn’t matter when I had friends like them.

The start of the next year was pretty rough for everyone, with extra homework adding to the usual stressors. We only ever got to hang out at lunch anymore. By the time November rolled around, stress had started eating us alive.

When I came to Mr. Attica’s room one lunch, I saw Smith sitting with his hair strangely disheveled. He looked tired. Looking around, everyone was completely drained. Iris was the last to come in. She took one look at us and sighed. Something needed to be done. I was thinking over how I could lighten the mood, when Iris called me over into the hall to talk. I shrugged and followed.

“The others look so tired, I’m especially worried for Alex.” She said right off the bat.

Taken aback, I agreed. “That’s just what I was thinking, but what can we do?”

Iris thought aloud. “I don’t know, but we have to try. Alex is real stressed, and I can’t imagine living alone along with all that work. At least we have thanksgiving break soon.”

I groaned. “Crap, I just realized something.” I said. “Alex won’t have Thanksgiving this year, it’s their first year out of the house!”

Her eyes went wide in horror before a smile crept onto her face. “Wait! We can kill two birds with one stone here!”

I didn’t get it, so she explained. “We can throw Alex a thanksgiving! They’ll love it! And, the others will love it too!”

“It sounds like something they do on a kids TV show, besides, I can’t cook. Actually, nobody but Alex can cook more than Cup O Noodles.” I deadpanned.

Iris rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t need to be a cheesy, formal thanksgiving. Just make it a potluck. Everybody can bring party food.”

I gave her a doubting look and she groaned. “Just...trust me on this, alright?” I hesitated before relenting.

 My approval was all that was needed to put the smile back on her face. “Let’s do It next Monday, during break. Alex mentioned they got the day off Monday, so we can go to his place then. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him we just want to hang out.” She said. Without waiting for a response, she went back to the room.

“Hey, is everyone, and Alex, okay with crashing the cook’s place next Monday?” She asked, using Alex’s nickname. Everyone nodded, but Alex raised an eyebrow.

“How come we’re going to my place? It’s a dump and you know it.” They questioned.

“Obviously because my dad is going to have a fit if we always go to my house.” Iris said matter-of-factly.

And so it was settled. I didn’t hear about the occasion again until Iris texted everyone to bring party food. There was nothing to do but buy some party pinwheels from the store and head to the cook’s place the next morning.

The first task proved much harder than I had anticipated.

I came in the door to our family’s apartment in search of my tips, the only money I was sometimes permitted to keep. When I looked around I saw my adoptive mother, just opening her cabinet. Behind the wooden door was held numerous empty bottles of various hard liquors. 

The woman looked at me sourly. “How much do you have in tips?” She demanded. The look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. If I wasn’t careful I’d end up with a scratch or something worse.

I blinked before answering. “Seven dollars.” That was the truth.

“Go out and get me some of that stuff Harvey has.” She said.

I furrowed my brow. At this point she never asked for things, she told me to give her what she wanted. That wasn’t what bothered me, however. It was the marks on her neck and arm. I was usually coolheaded, but the way she didn’t even bother the marks of her infidelity and lust disgusted me.

“That stuff is twenty dollars if I negotiate with Harvey.” I said. “He’ll never go for seven bucks.”

She gave me a look, I was in dangerous territory, but I felt for once I should push it, show her I wasn’t her puppet.

“Only way you’ll be getting that stuff is if you negotiate with the goods he actually wants.” I said bravely.

There was a beat.

Pain materialized in my forehead. The sound of breaking glass made my ears ring, blocking out the detailed descriptions of my biological parent’s incompetence no doubt being spat my way. There was an odd moment between the crystal bottle hitting my head and the adrenaline rushing, where the pain seemed to dance in and out of focus.

Once said adrenaline came rushing in, I didn’t hesitate to wipe shards of glass from my face and retort.

“Honestly, why don’t you go get your own booze? With the way you sleep around, you’re no better than my prostitute mother! Stop asking me to do your dirty work like a dog!” I was seething, and quite literally seeing red. The tang of blood hit my nose before it registered what was dripping from my forehead. The woman who had adopted me two years ago was gone. She was replaced by a widow of her own humanity. This widow was preparing to launch another bottle at me.

The adrenaline that had kept me from fear was quickly draining. I was not a brave person, not like the heroes in fantasies and westerns. I didn’t laugh in the face of danger, I was scared of it. However, if there was one thing I could do, it was fake it. I took a deep breath, standing straighter. Taking a page out of my favorite fantasy films, I wiped the blood that had dripped into my mouth. I smirked as best I could, and prayed that I would know what to say.

It came to me, so I said it without hesitation. “You think you can bully me into slaving away for you? W-well, you’re not my mom! You might call yourself my mother, but you will never be family to me! You’re just another bully! Your husband knows it, that’s why he’s in Vegas! You’re nothing but a bully.” My voice shook, but it felt good to tell her what I felt for the past year.

I began to regret my decision when the second bottle came flying my way. I ducked.

“Get out!” She screamed. “Don’t come back you ungrateful boy!” A third—and much more solid—bottle accompanied her words, knocking me over and thudding against my skull. I took no time to recover, bolting for the door and not slowing until I reached Alex’s house.

If asked to recall what happened on my way to their apartment, I wouldn’t be able to tell, for all I remembered was letting instinct take over while I went over what had just happened in my throbbing head.

They had a very small apartment in the south part of town. They worked one job to eat, and one job to pay rent. Alex never let us pitch in, but they would allow us to give them our old clothes and such. The room was pretty bare, but Alex had saved for weeks and had gotten kitchen supplies.

They were currently sewing my forehead closed with a needle and thread borrowed from next door. The process was agonizing, but I was in too much shock to say anything about it. Beside us on the bed were several bits of glass that were previously lodged in my forehead. When I had come in, Alex hadn’t even asked what happened, just let me in and looked for medical supplies. Most of the cuts weren’t deep, but one cut near to my skull and had to be stitched together. The smell of rubbing alcohol filled the room.

When the stitching was finished and I let out a breath, Alex finally switched from focused determination to concern.

“So, do you want to tell me why you ran into my apartment covered in blood at eight pm?” They asked.

I shrugged, wondering how I would explain my predicament, since they didn’t know about my parents. “I—uh, well, I got kicked out, I think.”

Alex looked me dead in the eye, and I nodded in confirmation that I wasn’t kidding. Their green eyes were an anchor in the haze I was feeling.

That night I told them everything about my adopted parents, I cried a little, but not much. I had nothing. 

And yet,

When I woke up that morning in a makeshift bed on the floor, with Alex making breakfast for us both, I had the strange feeling I had all I needed.

I helped them in any way I could, feeling bad for crashing at their place. Alex insisted it was fine, but I still looked for any way to help out.

Eventually, there was a rap on the door, and the rest of our friends came in. Right, I had forgotten the potluck, and I had brought no food.

“What are you doing here, Shilo?” Iris asked.

Alex answered for me.”He came a little early. What’s all this food?”

Grateful to be spared giving an explanation, I watched Iris tell Alex about their little feast.

The girl gave a look to me. “I had a feeling Shilo would forget his food, so I brought enough to cover both of us.” I blushed at this.

Sitting there, surrounded by those who knew me and loved me, and who I loved myself, I felt peace. When we dug into our cheap feast, joking with one another, I found no longing for the home I had lost. I only felt love for the home and family I had found.

(Disclaimer: I have no experience with many of these situations so I apologize for any inaccuracies or misrepresentations)