Chapter 2: Little Liar: Chapter 2

Weeks later, when I go to my first new home, they keep me in my room because I make their kids sad since I don’t talk.

I’m sent back to the big building filled with kids until another family comes for me. I’m not sure how many times this happens. How many new mommies and daddies pick up their new children and look happy and mine look terrified, but it keeps going and going. No one wants me as their son. No one ever picks me out of the group. I’m handed to families who are desperate, but it never works out for either of us.

When I turn eight, I don’t get any birthday cards or a cake like the other kids in the orphanage—I sit under the bed with a drawing of my spider and imagine a crowd of people singing happy birthday to me, and we blow out candles that I draw.

I close my eyes and make a wish.

I wish someone would choose me.

The footsteps come, and my door opens, and I wait for my leg to get pulled. It won’t. It’s what they call a trauma response to my past. It’s the nightmare I can’t pull away from. I glance up from under the bed.

The lady who’s the boss of the building glares down at me. “What are you doing?”

I try to sign like I’ve been taught, but she shakes her head and walks away from me. “It doesn’t matter. Get dressed and put all your things into a bag.”

I stand robotically, and it takes me a few moments to remember the sign for why?

“You’re going on a plane,” she says, handing me a used plastic bag. “A new family. They’ll have the same trial period as the others. Will you behave this time? This family actually chose you this time. I have faith.”

I always behave. They just don’t like that I’m not normal. They wanted to play and be friends and all that other stuff. I never knew how to—I struggled with communicating since none of them could sign. No one wanted to go through the hassle of learning either. They all just tried to make me talk, and I’m happy with the way I am. It’s peaceful and quiet, and I like it.

I was the odd one out at the other houses, and I still am.

Yes, I sign. I’ll behave.

I was excited the first time they found me a new family. Not anymore.

It takes a full day to reach where I’ll be calling home for the next few weeks. I hate flying, and the lady traveling with me doesn’t talk to me once—she doesn’t even understand sign language.

“Be on your best behavior, Malachi,” she says in an angry tone as I walk beside her with my plastic bag through the busy airport. She’s holding my hand tightly. “I don’t want to fly all the way back here to take you to another home.”

What she means is that I’ve not to be weird and scare the foster daughter. Everyone thinks I’m weird. They’re scared of me. They don’t like the way I make them all feel uncomfortable. I’ve been to five homes, and all of them, within weeks, gave me back like I was a broken toy.

We reach people who talk about me, but I keep my gaze unfocused and on the floor. I wonder how long I’ll last here? They’ll close me in the bedroom and treat me like I’m fragile—I’ll be the kid they’ll pretend to feel sorry for until I’m returned.

If they send me back, which they probably will, I’ll run away again and make sure they’ll never find me.

Because I’ll be in heaven with my parents.

I stop in my mental tracks as a little girl with long brown hair appears in front of me with the biggest smile on her face.

“Hi!” She’s grinning at me and says, “My name is Olivia. I’m seven!” She holds up seven fingers, and I mentally hold up eight.

Hi, Olivia. I’m Malachi, I want to say or sign, but I just stare at her.

“Do you think I look like a princess?”

Mentally, I nod. But physically, I step forward. I like her—she doesn’t make me uncomfortable. She’s so happy compared to everyone else. And she’s happy to meet me.

I tilt my head.

Her smile drops. “You don’t like my dress?”

Without thinking, because I want her to like me too, I lift my hands and sign, Please don’t be afraid of me.

But the confusion on her face and the look she gives her mom tells me she has no idea what I’m saying.

That’s okay. I’ll teach her.

I sign the same thing to her again because I need her to know I don’t want to scare her—I’m desperate to make sure she knows that.

“Was it scary on the plane? I always cry when it goes really fast and shoots off into the sky! Daddy always makes us go on one. He’s your daddy now too!”

I rub the back of my neck, tugging at the long strands of my hair. She seems happy—does that mean she likes her family? I want to talk to her so badly, but I don’t think I can.

She goes to look at her parents again, but I touch her wrist to get her attention and sign, Come with me.

She’s still lost, so I point at the revolving doors, and we hold hands as we run towards it—she’s giggling, her hair flowing wild, and I spot the sign for the bathroom. I’ll try to talk to her there, away from everyone.

“Where are we going?” she asks, tripping over her feet. I catch her before she falls and pull her towards the bathroom, dodging everyone as we run.

When we get inside, she tries to leave, but I stop her. I want to talk to you, I sign, pointing to myself.

Am I already scaring her? Have I already ruined this?

She’s still confused, so I point to my mouth and shake my head, because even though it’s just us, I can’t seem to talk. I point to her mouth and nod.

Her lips part. “You can’t talk?”

I shake my head. But I want to talk to her so badly, to tell her I might be strange, but I can be her friend—I’m harmless. I just… can’t.

“That’s okay! I couldn’t talk for so, so long! I can teach you.”

I pause then roll my eyes. Why can’t everyone accept me for the way I am? I don’t need to be taught how to talk.

Her eyes are so alive and colorful. She’s nice, and she’s being nice to me.

I point to her then rest my palm on my chest, coming closer to her. I want to take her hand and make her do the same sign, to tell me that I’m also hers—hers, her best friend, her new brother —but before I can, the door is knocked open, and my new foster dad is rushing in, the mom picking up Olivia.

“I told you not to be trouble!” he yells at her, and I want to stamp my foot and tell him to back off, but then he turns to me. “And you. You’re on a strike, little man. Two more, and your ass is going to another new home. You’re Malachi Vize now, and the Vizes don’t step out of line, so get used to it.”

He’s not sending me back? He’s giving me another chance? I can stay?

I look at the girl then lower my head, signing, I’m sorry.

“He’s saying he’s sorry, sweetie,” the mom says. “He communicates with sign language.”

“What’s that? I want to do it too!”

My head lifts at her words, and a little ball of excitement grows in my chest, especially when the mom tells her they’ll teach everyone in the house.

“Malachi will be comfortable in our home. He’s one of us now.”

I hold back tears, blinking a few times as they lead us out of the bathroom, the dad’s hand on my shoulder, directing me out of the airport and into a car. I think they’re rich. Their car is huge and fancy, and the house we pull up to is a mansion. My eyes widen a little at the sight, then my attention is back on the girl beside me. I can’t stop looking at her. I haven’t felt this content since I had Rex, before he was taken from me.

She won’t be taken from me. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be good. I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll be the kid they obviously needed to complete their family.

Olivia.

My new little sister. I couldn’t protect my mom or Rex, but I think I could protect her.

I will protect her.

Because she’s mine.