telescope eyes scrutinize me before he gives a quick nod.
“Excellent! Gwen Darling, I declare you a Lost Kid. You will all regard her with the same dignity as you would any other Lost Kid. Anyone who treats her otherwise will have to report to me, and I assure you the Plungers have an endless amount of drains to snake. I’m sure they’d be thrilled with an extra hand or two,” Pete says.
A hush blankets the gathering of boys, but no one challenges Pete.
He points at Mikey. “And he’s a Lost Boy, too. No questions asked.”
A melodious cheer erupts from the crowd. Bella claps with an expression of boredom on her face. “Huzzah,” she says with sarcasm.
Mikey smiles a muddy grin, still dirty from his earthy disguise. Justice studies my brother with a pinched expression but says nothing. An East Asian boy Mikey’s age raises his hand and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Pete! Hey, Pete! Right here!” the boy shouts.
The crowd parts as the young boy steps forward.
Pete rolls his eyes. “Yes, Gabs?”
“Does she like to tell stories? I mean like real stories. Not the stories you tell because they’re way too short, and I don’t think you really like telling stories anyway. Stories like my mum used to tell about warriors and battles and even fire-breathing dragons that roar so loud it shakes the ground like an earthquake. That’s really where earthquakes come from, you know. It’s dragons who are really, really, really mad. The kind of mad your mum gets because you drew on the walls when you know you shouldn’t. And the dragon mums, they’re mad because someone stole their dragon eggs and the mum dragons are trying to find their babies. Sometimes they dive into mountains and make volcanoes. That’s not really lava, you know. It’s dragon spit that will burn you up and then you’ll know better not to touch the dragon spit because … well, I guess you won’t because then you’d be all burned up. Anyway … does she tell stories?”
“And that is why we call him Gabs,” Pete says through the side of his mouth.
The boy peers at me with obsidian-colored eyes hidden beneath overgrown, jet-black hair. He waits for my response, an eager, wide-eyed expression spanning his face. Immediately, I like Gabs, and from the crooked smile on Mikey’s face, I can tell he likes him, too.
“Well, I don’t know about that. I …” My gaze catches the hint of disappointment in Gabs. When I glance back at Mikey, he’s fidgeting with the arm of his teddy bear. Because he was only five when the war started, hardly old enough for primary school, I realize he doesn’t know how to make friends. He pulls his bear in tighter before he speaks.
“She tells great stories,” Mikey says shyly, but a frown forms. “Well, she used to when she was just my sister and not my mum.”
Confused, I glance down at Mikey. “Mikey, I’m not your …”
Gabs wraps his arms around my waist. “Oh! You’re a mother? Will you be my mother, too? I’ve missed my own mum so much.”
I look at Pete, surprised. He gives me a lopsided smile and shrugs.
Mikey tugs at my shirt. “Are you really his mother now, too? That would make him my brother. I’ve always wanted a brother.”
Gabs peers at me and I search for words, but they jumble with my conflicted thoughts. Overwhelmed, I look to Pete for help. He approaches, wiggling an eyebrow at me. Wrapping both arms around my neck, he presses his warm face against mine.
“I could use a mum as well,” he says, planting a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Eww, gross!” I say as I wipe the remnants of his slobbery kiss off with the sleeve of my coat. The warmth of his lips on my face brings a rush of heat to my cheeks. I jab an elbow into his ribs, giving him a disgusted look, and try not to let him see the blush I feel growing hot on my skin.
Pete chuckles. “Well, there you have it. I think this calls for a celebration. Gabs, tell Stock to pull the brew and pop from storage. Take Mikey
“Excellent! Gwen Darling, I declare you a Lost Kid. You will all regard her with the same dignity as you would any other Lost Kid. Anyone who treats her otherwise will have to report to me, and I assure you the Plungers have an endless amount of drains to snake. I’m sure they’d be thrilled with an extra hand or two,” Pete says.
A hush blankets the gathering of boys, but no one challenges Pete.
He points at Mikey. “And he’s a Lost Boy, too. No questions asked.”
A melodious cheer erupts from the crowd. Bella claps with an expression of boredom on her face. “Huzzah,” she says with sarcasm.
Mikey smiles a muddy grin, still dirty from his earthy disguise. Justice studies my brother with a pinched expression but says nothing. An East Asian boy Mikey’s age raises his hand and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Pete! Hey, Pete! Right here!” the boy shouts.
The crowd parts as the young boy steps forward.
Pete rolls his eyes. “Yes, Gabs?”
“Does she like to tell stories? I mean like real stories. Not the stories you tell because they’re way too short, and I don’t think you really like telling stories anyway. Stories like my mum used to tell about warriors and battles and even fire-breathing dragons that roar so loud it shakes the ground like an earthquake. That’s really where earthquakes come from, you know. It’s dragons who are really, really, really mad. The kind of mad your mum gets because you drew on the walls when you know you shouldn’t. And the dragon mums, they’re mad because someone stole their dragon eggs and the mum dragons are trying to find their babies. Sometimes they dive into mountains and make volcanoes. That’s not really lava, you know. It’s dragon spit that will burn you up and then you’ll know better not to touch the dragon spit because … well, I guess you won’t because then you’d be all burned up. Anyway … does she tell stories?”
“And that is why we call him Gabs,” Pete says through the side of his mouth.
The boy peers at me with obsidian-colored eyes hidden beneath overgrown, jet-black hair. He waits for my response, an eager, wide-eyed expression spanning his face. Immediately, I like Gabs, and from the crooked smile on Mikey’s face, I can tell he likes him, too.
“Well, I don’t know about that. I …” My gaze catches the hint of disappointment in Gabs. When I glance back at Mikey, he’s fidgeting with the arm of his teddy bear. Because he was only five when the war started, hardly old enough for primary school, I realize he doesn’t know how to make friends. He pulls his bear in tighter before he speaks.
“She tells great stories,” Mikey says shyly, but a frown forms. “Well, she used to when she was just my sister and not my mum.”
Confused, I glance down at Mikey. “Mikey, I’m not your …”
Gabs wraps his arms around my waist. “Oh! You’re a mother? Will you be my mother, too? I’ve missed my own mum so much.”
I look at Pete, surprised. He gives me a lopsided smile and shrugs.
Mikey tugs at my shirt. “Are you really his mother now, too? That would make him my brother. I’ve always wanted a brother.”
Gabs peers at me and I search for words, but they jumble with my conflicted thoughts. Overwhelmed, I look to Pete for help. He approaches, wiggling an eyebrow at me. Wrapping both arms around my neck, he presses his warm face against mine.
“I could use a mum as well,” he says, planting a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Eww, gross!” I say as I wipe the remnants of his slobbery kiss off with the sleeve of my coat. The warmth of his lips on my face brings a rush of heat to my cheeks. I jab an elbow into his ribs, giving him a disgusted look, and try not to let him see the blush I feel growing hot on my skin.
Pete chuckles. “Well, there you have it. I think this calls for a celebration. Gabs, tell Stock to pull the brew and pop from storage. Take Mikey
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