The Lost Boy

the block. I had never talked to a girl before, but Paul loaned me his best shirt and coached me on what to say. At that time in my life I was barely looking at myself in the mirror, let alone having the confidence to talk to a girl. After combing my hair, hearing more coaching and having no more excuses, I let Paul kick me out of his house, and I strolled down Duinsmoore. As I turned the corner, I felt like a normal person. I lived in a perfect neighborhood, my foster parents let me do as I wished, I didn’t have to work and most important, my life was centered around the best friends in the entire world.
    Minutes later I rapped on the front door and waited. My hands shook, and I felt lightheaded, as sweat seemed to escape from every pore of my body. I was actually excited to be a little frightened. This was a good scare. I began to rub my hands when the door opened. I thought my mouth would fall to the floor. I felt tingly all over as I stared into the face of the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Without the girl knowing, I regained my composure as she began to talk. The more she spoke, the better I felt about myself. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to make the girl laugh. I was enjoying myself -right up until the moment when the girl’s mother pushed her aside.
    It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I looked up at a woman who looked more like the lady from
The Brady Bunch
than someone’s mother. The woman quickly jabbed a finger in front of my face. “You’re that little … that little
F-child,
aren’t you?” she sneered, with a tight smirk on her face.
    I was too stunned to speak.
    “Have you no respect for elders? Answer me, boy!”
    “Ma’am?” I said, shaking my head.
    “Listen to me, ” the woman raved, “I know all about you and … those motorcycles, making all that reverberating noise and the willful destruction of private property. How did
the association
ever approve of …
your kind
of people residing in
our
neighborhood. I know all about
your kind.
You’re a filthy little hooligan! Just look at your attire – you reek of street trash. I don’t know what you children do to become …
fostered children, “
she said, covering her mouth as if she had just spoken a swear word, “but I’m sure
you
did something hideous, didn’t you?” The woman’s face turned so red that I thought she was going to explode. “Don’t you dare approach
my household
or converse with
my children,
ever!”
    I stood mesmerized by the woman’s perfectly manicured red fingernail in my face.
    “And just a piece of advice, ” the woman went on. “Don’t waste your time trying.
You
don’t have what it takes to make it.
I
know! Believe me,
I’m
actually doing you a favor!” She smiled as she tossed her hair to the other side of her face. “You’ll see!
I’m
a very open-minded person who knows a thing or two. So the sooner you learn that you’re only an
F-child,
the better off you’ll be! So stick with your own kind!”
    Before I could respond, the front door slammed shut with such a fury that I felt a rush of air hit my face. I stood by the door dumbstruck. I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if I were an inch tall. I gazed at the sleeves of Paul’s red-and-black flannel shirt. They were a little short, but I thought the shirt looked nice. I ran my hand through my oily hair.
I guess I could use a bath,
I muttered to myself. I knew that on the outside I was a walking geek, but on the inside I felt better about myself than ever before. I tried so hard to do things that normal kids took for granted. I just wanted to fit in. I wanted to be like a normal kid.
    Minutes later, with my head hung low, I passed Paul, who danced around me as he pestered me with questions about meeting the girl. I waved off my best friend and hid in my room for the rest of the day.
    The next afternoon, while I was tinkering with my minibike, a tall man walked up to me with a beer can in one hand and a baby stroller in the other. “So, you’re the neighborhood threat?” he said with a sly grin. I kept my head down as I felt my body temperature begin to rise. Before I could mouth off, the man breezed on by.
    About half an hour later, the man reappeared in the opposite direction. I waited for another put-down, but this time I was ready to fire off an insult. He gave me a wide smile before saying, “Good on you, boy! Get some!”
    I shook my head, thinking my ears were clogged.
Good on me? Get some? Get