Invincible

Chapter Three

My relationship with Brad has been going pretty well over the past two weeks. During that time, he's gotten some papers done for me confirming my fake identity, telling me how the authorities agreed that if my parents or anyone connected to me was found, they would let us know. This brought me some sort of relief. Maybe they'd just send out pictures instead of telling people my name.

Lately, Brad's been asking me a lot of questions. Things involving gangs and whatnot. It kind of disturbed me a little, as I know—or think I know—little about them and intended to keep it that way. He also asks me a lot about fires, but I told him that I haven't experienced one of those at the moment either.

All of these questions got me to thinking that Brad might believe something is wrong. He doesn't tell me much about it, and as much as it killed me to know, it was probably best if I didn't ask.

One night, after dinner, before I could even get up from the table, Brad drops a bombshell on me.

"Troy," he says, "remember that you have to get to bed early now. You have to get ready for school in the morning."

A shiver travels down my spine. I mask my disappointment by simply nodding my head, muttering a casual "okay", and then exiting out of the room.

I spend an hour outside on the front porch, where I've spent a lot of my time these past few weeks, breathing in the cold, fresh air, gazing upon the beautiful neighborhood placed in front of me. After that, I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, and head off to bed.

But I couldn't sleep.

For some reason, I was afraid to go to school. I don't know why, but something inside me felt scared and nervous. Not about the lessons—I probably knew the stuff from the back of my hand. It was the kids I was worried about.

I'm not sure if I can remember what school I went to, but if I could, I would want to return there. I don't know who these kinds of kids are or what they'll do when they see me, but I've recently watched a lot of TV shows to know better.

Anyway, the kids, who have probably already known each other for years and have stayed in this city together for so long, will be confused when they ask "where did you come from?" and I say, "I don't know". Maybe some of them already know what happened. That I landed on Brad's couch without the slightest memory of my past, or even how I got to this city. I mean, they could hear it from anyone. Brad, the police, the whole community?

Maybe I shouldn't care if they know, or don't know about me. Either way, they'll still view me like every other new kid: a freak.

--

The next morning, after breakfast, me and Brad exit the house and head towards his truck to drop me off at school. The truck itself was a metallic silver color, with smooth fenders and tiny tires beneath its enormous body. For some reason, I could see Brad crying into its steering wheel at the thought of his previous car and what happened to it. Then I clear my head of those thoughts, and enter the vehicle.

We pull up to the large building, the image of its two stories and faded maroon colored bricks grabbing the attention of my boggling mind as Brad finds an open spot on the curb, and stops the car.

"Okay," he says as I get out. "I'll be here to pick you up after school, all right?"

I nod.

"Remember, just try to be yourself."

Like that was so easy for me. I barely even know who I am.

"Yeah, sure," I say.

He then hands me a piece of paper that has his phone number on it, telling me to call him in case of an emergency.