-Treasure.
"Look, Treasure, we really, really would like you to stay… but you're turning eighteen. And there just won't be a place for you at the orphanage anymore. Especially with new kids coming in."
Miss Monica's voice was soft, but it cracked halfway through, like even she didn't believe what she was saying. I could tell she'd rehearsed it, over and over in her head, and it still came out like that—tired and breaking.
"You know we love you," she went on, folding her hands over a folder she didn't open, "and it's really hard for me. God knows I've been pushing this meeting for so long because I couldn't just sit down and talk to you about it. I don't want you to go, Treasure."
I stared at her. My heart wasn't even beating that fast. It just felt… quiet. Still, like the air inside me had stopped moving.
"Can I work here?" I asked. "Like, as a teacher or assistant? I already take care of the little kids when the volunteers don't show up. I'm good with them. I know I am. And with the new fostering program, maybe there's space for someone like me."
She gave me this look—this kind, apologetic look, the kind people give when they're about to lie gently. Then she said, "I'm sorry, Treasure. It's time. You're also thinking about college, right? What about applying somewhere with a dorm? You'd have a place to stay. You'd get a fresh start. Doesn't that sound good?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't, not right away. My thoughts were caught in a fog, like I was trying to read words through water. Then I asked the only thing that made sense to me in that moment.
"Are you… are you going to fund me to go to college?"
Her smile was tight at the corners. "You know the government has support programs. We'll definitely help you apply. There are scholarships, funding systems. Don't worry—we're not going to leave you. Everyone here in the system, we'll always be there for you."
I nodded slowly. Or maybe I didn't. I'm not sure. I just remember the walls around us feeling too big, like they were pushing me forward before I was ready.
"Okay," I said. "So when do I leave, exactly? On my birthday?"
She shook her head. "You'll have two months after you turn eighteen. To get things in order."
Two months. That was it. My vision blurred, and I blinked too many times in a row. I didn't want to cry in front of her. I didn't want to look twelve again.
"Okay," I said. "I won't make this harder for you."
Miss Monica let out a small breath. I think she thought I was trying to make it easier for her, but I wasn't. I just didn't have the words to argue.
"I'll start looking for options," I told her, rising to my feet. The chair legs scraped against the floor. I pushed it back into place like that small act meant something. "I'll let you know when I find something. I won't be late."
She nodded, and I left the room with my shoulders stiff, my hands cold.
I stepped outside and stared at the courtyard for a long time, where the kids were all playing under the weak afternoon light. It felt like I was already gone. Like the moment I walked out of that office, I'd become part of the past.
And I kept thinking: I've never really been outside the orphanage. Not truly.
When I first came in, they labeled me a "violent child." I was four. I didn't even know what violence meant. But someone—some doctor or staff member or maybe just a guess—decided I couldn't be left with the younger kids, or near animals. I don't remember what I did. I don't even think I did anything. But I got the label, and it stuck. Like a permanent stamp. It followed me through every placement interview, every visit.
I stopped acting out, eventually. I figured it out. How to stay calm. How to be helpful. I smiled when I was supposed to. I learned how to talk to adults without sounding weird. I helped clean up after meals, helped with homework for the little ones. Still, I never got picked.
I watched other kids leave. Some through fostering, some through full adoption. I used to sit near the glass door and watch the way new parents—shiny, excited, tired-looking—walked in and left with someone else. Not me.
Once, there was a woman. She was soft-spoken, smelled like expensive perfume and leather seats. She took me for ice cream. We sat in her car for an hour, and she asked me about my favorite color, my favorite subject in school, what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told her I didn't know. She laughed and said that was okay. Then she dropped me back at the orphanage, waved, and never came back.
That happened more than once.
Eventually, I stopped expecting it. Or at least I tried to. But a part of me—a dumb, useless part—still hoped. Still thought, maybe the day before my eighteenth birthday, someone would show up and say, Hey, we have a home for you. We were just running late.
I wasn't stupid. Just… too hopeful. Naive, maybe. I didn't hate my time at the orphanage. Not all of it.
We had programs, thanks to government grants and donors. Workshops, music classes, film nights. It was never overcrowded. We each had our own bed, our own dresser. Shared wardrobes with labeled sections. No one stole from anyone. We had rules, but they made sense. For the most part, it was safe.
I didn't hate being there.
I only hated that I had to leave. That it ended like this. Not with a celebration, not with someone choosing me, not with a promise. Just… two months. A date circled on a calendar. A quiet exit.
And nowhere to land.
I left the orphanage and just started walking. No destination in mind, just this slow, dragging motion forward, like the earth was pulling me with it and I didn't have a say. My legs were moving but my head was somewhere else. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere far from here.
And if I'm being honest, there was this moment—a real moment—where I thought maybe it'd be easier if a car just swerved off the road, jumped the pavement, and ran me down. Just like that. No more thinking. No more planning. No more trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life in two months.
But the world didn't end. Cars stayed in their lanes. People kept walking past me, clutching their groceries, yelling into their phones, living like nothing was breaking.
In my head, though, everything was. It felt like all of it was crumbling—like the future had just folded in on itself and I was standing in the ruins trying to act fine.
I kept walking.
I passed the elementary school first. The playground was smaller than I remembered, the paint on the swing set chipped and dull. Then the middle school. Still gray and ugly as ever, like a cement box someone gave up trying to make friendly. And then came the sports center. The place where I learned how to land a punch without hurting myself. The building hadn't changed—same tiled roof, same rust around the edges of the gate. I stopped.
And I sighed.
I looked at the door, at the faint scuff marks where kids probably still ran in and out every afternoon. And I thought about Devon. Just like that, out of nowhere.
God, I missed him.
Even though it's been years, even though I had no idea where he was now, there were moments when I missed him so hard it twisted something in my chest.
I kept walking.
I don't know what got into me, but I found myself heading toward his old house. It was a stupid thought—maybe he'd be there, maybe by some miracle, he'd just be inside, sitting on the couch, waiting. It didn't make sense, but I couldn't stop myself.
The house was still the same. A little weathered, but familiar. It had been empty for a long time after they moved. I'd come by once or twice, back when I first started missing him, but the curtains were always drawn and the porch lights stayed off.
But now—now the lights were on.
That caught me off guard. Someone had moved in. There were shadows moving behind the windows, and then the front door opened. A woman stepped out with a small child clinging to her side, and right behind her…
Kevin. Devon's older brother.
I blinked, stunned for a second, and started walking toward him. He looked at me the way people look at ghosts—eyes squinted, trying to confirm I was real.
"Treasure?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Hi, Kevin."
And then he hugged me.
It wasn't awkward or half-hearted. It was warm. Solid. Familiar. The kind of hug that wrapped around your shoulders and made you feel, even for a second, like maybe you weren't floating in the middle of nowhere.
Kevin had always been kind. Quiet, but kind.
"You—what are you doing here?" he asked, pulling back. "You're still in Crifton?"
"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "I don't know if I'll be staying much longer, though. Still at the orphanage."
The words felt ugly in my mouth. I hated how they sounded. Like a confession. Like something to be ashamed of. So I forced a smile, the practiced kind, and added, "You know how it is."
But I don't think he bought it.
He looked at me for a long second before nodding slowly. Then he said, "Devon's here, actually."
My heart hiccupped.
"What?"
"He just went down the street to the supermarket. We were missing a bunch of stuff, so he ran out to grab it."
I stared at him. My mind was already racing.
"Devon is here?"
Kevin smiled faintly. "Yeah. He'll be back in a bit."
I don't know what took over me.
"Okay. I'll see you again, Kevin. Bye."
I spun on my heel and started running.
Not walking. Not pacing. I ran.
Like there was something waiting for me at the end of the block that I couldn't afford to miss.
When I first got to the supermarket, I scanned the parking lot like I was searching for a lost item, something delicate and valuable that might've slipped between the cracks. Just to be sure he hadn't already left, I made a slow loop around the front row of cars, eyes flicking across windshields and shadows, looking for that familiar shape. Nothing.
So I stepped inside, the automatic doors parting with a mechanical sigh, and I started backward.
Cashiers first.
I passed each one slowly, pretending to browse through the candy racks and magazines, but really just scanning faces. He wasn't there. Which meant he was somewhere deep inside, tucked into one of the hundreds of aisles under those sharp fluorescent lights.
I took them one by one, starting from the ones nearest the checkout and moving inward. The candy aisle, then the cereal, then condiments. No sign of him. I wasn't even sure what I'd say if I found him. My heart had already started doing that annoying thing where it raced ahead of me.
And then I turned into the cleaning aisle. The one with all the bright plastic bottles and sweet, fake floral scents. I spotted him near the end, holding a bottle of fabric softener up to his nose, taking a long, thoughtful sniff.
For a moment, I just froze.
There he was. Devon.
And just like that, the years between us collapsed. All the versions of him I'd kept in my head—twelve-year-old Devon with sweaty palms from training, fourteen-year-old Devon making up dumb games on the way home, the Devon I kissed and then lost—flickered through me like flashbulbs.
But this was him now. Taller. Broader. His shoulders were heavier than I remembered, like life had settled into him differently. His arms looked stronger, his face a little more sculpted, but still him. Still Devon.
And I felt like I shrunk inside my clothes. Like I had shown up in someone else's skin.
He didn't notice me right away. He was too busy sniffing his fifth or sixth bottle of softener. And then he sneezed, the kind that took over his whole body. He turned his head away, and that's when he saw me.
There was this moment—half a beat—where his eyes widened. Like his brain needed to catch up to what he was seeing.
I blinked. "Bless you."
He stared at me and then said, "You fucker."
That cracked something open in me. I smiled, stumbled forward a few steps, and threw my arms around him. He didn't even hesitate. His arms came around me like we'd never stopped doing this, like we were still fifteen and nothing had changed. I don't remember who let go first. Maybe we both held on longer than we meant to.
Then he pulled back and looked at me, eyes still a little wide. "It's been a long time," he said. "I didn't think you'd still be in Crifton."
I nodded, trying not to say too much all at once. "I'm still at the orphanage."
He blinked. "Really? That's… I didn't expect that. Why didn't you ever text me? Or call?"
"You kind of blocked me," I said, shrugging one shoulder.
"Oh." He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess I did. When we moved to Riverfort. I thought it'd be easier that way, and then I just… left it like that." He looked at me again, more gently this time. "But, damn. It's really good to see you again, Treasure."
"I feel relieved to see you," I admitted. "Today's been a shitty day. Really shitty. I needed this."
Devon nodded. "We have a lot to catch up on. Let me just finish up here. I've got a few more things to grab, then I'll drop off the groceries and we can talk properly, alright?"
"I can tag along," I said.
He smiled. "Yeah? Okay. That sounds great."
We went aisle to aisle, pushing the cart like we were on some kind of mundane mission. He had this long, ridiculous list scribbled on a receipt, probably given to him by his brother. He took it seriously too, inspecting brands like they mattered, sniffing half the cleaning products like he was choosing cologne.
When we finally made it to the cashier, he paid without flinching, packed everything like he'd done this a hundred times, and we wheeled the cart back to the parking lot.
I raised my eyebrows when I saw the car. "You have a car now?"
He laughed. "No, this is Kevin's. Old Hyundai. Barely holds itself together, but it does the job. I offered to run errands just so I could drive it around a bit."
He loaded the bags into the back seat and slammed the door shut. "We'll drop this off, and then maybe drive around a little? The basketball court we used to hang out at—it's still there."
I smiled. "That sounds perfect."
We got into the car, and while Devon buckled in and started the engine, I stayed frozen in place. I didn't follow him out when he went to carry the bags inside. I just sat there, staring at the dashboard, suddenly overwhelmed.
It felt like too much too fast. Like I was diving headfirst into a life that wasn't mine anymore. I didn't even know if I was allowed to step back into it.
So I stayed in the passenger seat, silent, waiting.
Devon came back a few minutes later, slid into the driver's seat, and turned to me.
"Alright," he said, adjusting the gear stick. "Let's go."
We parked near the old basketball court. It was mostly empty now, the metal hoops rusted at the edges and one of the nets missing entirely. The painted lines on the concrete had faded into soft ghosts of what they once were, but I could still see everything—the games we used to play here, the way we'd race barefoot until our feet burned, the dumb dares, the echoes of our laughter bouncing between the chain-link fences.
We got out of the car, walking in slow steps along the court's cracked edge, like we were circling something holy. I kept stealing glances at Devon, trying to believe he was really beside me again.
"So," I said, "tell me… how's everything been?"
He exhaled through his nose, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. "Still doing karate," he said. "I'm going in for my black belt soon. Feels incredible, actually. Long time coming."
I looked over, and he was glowing when he spoke. Not in some poetic way—he genuinely lit up when he talked about it.
"I started training little kids too," he added. "It kind of reminded me of us, you know, when we were six, still clumsy and serious about everything. There's this one kid, he looks so much like you when you were little. He's got these big, ridiculous eyes—blue in the middle—and long lashes that flutter when he blinks. I swear, he's so cute it's almost annoying. Every time I see him, I think of you."
I felt something stretch in my chest at that. Not painful. Just… tender.
"I finished high school," he went on. "Started community college. It's been a whirlwind, honestly."
Then he looked at me, more quiet now. "You? What about you? What happened?"
I shoved my hands into my pockets, eyes fixed on the concrete as we walked. "I'm being kicked out of the orphanage."
He stopped walking for a second. "Right," he said, slowly. "Because you're turning eighteen."
"Yeah," I said. "They're overpopulated, and it's just… my time to go, I guess. I'm not the first, I won't be the last. But I didn't really do anything about it. I didn't look for a place. I guess I kept thinking something would work out. Now I've got two months and nowhere to go."
I looked away before he could see anything too raw in my face. "They said they could fund me into college if I pick one with a dorm. Which is fine. But it feels crazy. Like I'm floating."
Devon nodded, his expression unreadable. I wanted to ask him more, but instead I asked something safer.
"So… are you back just for a vacation or something? Or are you staying?"
He kicked a loose pebble across the pavement. "Kevin got married. Has a kid now. He moved into our old house. My mom was going to sell it, but he asked to take it. Said he'd renovate and live in it. So she gave it to him."
He gave a short laugh. "I only came back to visit, really. Riverfort's been boring as hell. I wanted to go to Valmont, actually, but it's expensive. Like, stupid expensive. I don't have that kind of money yet. So I'm not staying here long."
I nodded slowly, taking that in.
"Have you thought about picking up a job?" I asked. "Save up a bit?"
He shrugged. "I've been getting some money from the sports center, training the kids. It's decent, but it's not enough to get my own place. And I don't know anyone in Valmont. Moving there would be huge. And kind of scary."
He paused, then looked at me. "But… I don't really have any other options either. So maybe."
"I'm going to Valmont," I said, surprising even myself with how certain I sounded. "I don't have anywhere to stay here, and if I'm gonna be figuring things out from scratch, I might as well be somewhere bigger. Somewhere with possibilities. If I stay here, I'll rot. I'll just… vanish into this place. I'm still young. I want to screw up and learn and try things while I still have the time to get it wrong."
There was a long silence. Just the wind moving through the fence. And then Devon said, without skipping a beat:
"I'll come with you."
I turned to him. "You're serious? You'd come with me to Valmont?"
He met my eyes. "Yeah. I mean, we could split rent, right? Rely on each other. Get some jobs, any jobs, whatever we can. We'll make it work. It'd be better to go together than to try and figure it all out alone. We both want it. So why not?"
I stared at him, completely still. The light hit his face just enough to catch in the brown of his eyes. And for a second, I thought I might cry again. Or laugh. Or kiss him. Or all three.
Because right there, in that moment, I felt it. That maybe I wasn't cursed. Maybe I wasn't as unlucky as I thought. Maybe this world hadn't closed all its doors on me just yet.
Maybe—just maybe—I had someone still standing in the hallway.