Page 73 of Chalk Outline

“Less than fifteen minutes, which means you’ve already tried eight times; you have two more tries, but after this one, it will lock you out for sixty minutes if you get it wrong. Thrilling, isn’t it?”

“Can you help?” I give him a sidelong glance. “You’re a con man.”

“Artist,” he corrects. “It takes skill to be that good.”

“That’s why you’re always getting locked up?” I smirk at that because it’s somewhat amusing, and I wish I could use my sense of humor more often.

No one here deserves it, and I prefer to show them my sulky side so they don’t mess with me.

“You’re being a smartass right now.” He’s content, I can tell, even when he tries to hide his smile. He doesn’t know me, and that’s a shame, but he sees how great I am without him. “You should stay in the tents for a few nights. Don’t go to the trailers.”

It’s probably chaos around there.

“Why don’t you and Mom live together anymore?” I remember the first year he stopped coming back. I was nine. Mom was wasted on the couch when he left. When I asked, he said he had to go on a business trip.

A sigh pushes past his lips. “It’s complicated.”

“Try me,” I insist.

“Love is not enough when it comes to addiction.” He rubs his palm against his clean-shaven face. “We made many mistakes together and many on our own. At some point, we had to come to a decision.”

“Am I included in your decisions?”

“You are the decision,” he clarifies with a determined tone. “Your mom chose to stay here with you, and I had to leave.”

“Why? This place is a shit hole.”

“Watch your mouth,” he warns. “It’s better than the alternative. A life on the streets is not a life. You are such a handsome boy. You know so many things I didn’t know about at your age. I have a feeling you will be someone important someday. Do better than me when you get there.”

“Do you think this is better?” I lash out. “I have nothing here. I’m a nobody.”

“Many people start with nothing, just like you and me, and make something of themselves. When opportunity knocks on your door, grab it with both hands. You have nothing to lose.”

“I really have nothing.”

“Give me the phone,” he orders, extending his hands toward me. “Why is your lip busted?” he finally acknowledges that.

I look away and hand him the phone. “The clowns. They get violent when they drink, and they always think I’m their punching bag.”

“Next time, get out of here on their day off. Go around the city like normal kids your age.”

“I can’t,” my eyes narrow at him.

“Why is that?”

“Mom forbade me, she said if child services or the cops find me, they will take me away.” I’m not trading this hell for another.

“She isn’t wrong.” He lowers his gaze to the phone screen as it flashes brightly. “As long as you stay out of trouble, there’sa park down the street where you can eat ice cream and read your comics.”

I study him carefully, examining the sharp curves of his facial muscles, his sparkling blue eyes that look slightly darker than mine, and the small scar above his eye that I have never seen before. We look almost identical, but not quite. I have mom’s eyes.

He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill. “Take it. That’s what I have on me right now.”

“Dad, you said you would take me,” I say, grabbing it anyway because I’m desperate.

“I will.” He types something, and the screen unlocks immediately. “Magic.” He slides the phone into my hand and then stands up.

I stare, dumbfounded. “How did you know the password? I didn’t even tell you what the numbers are.”