SHOUT - Adopted by Lin Manuel Miranda

THE MANIACS

"Mr. and Mrs. Miranda."

Jeremy squints at my captors' names on the clipboard and moves his index finger along the words. I think his internal excess of stupidity is affecting his eyesight. Or maybe he's just pissed all the time. Considering his job, and his companion, I'll assume the latter.

The Mirandas. Sounds like a TV show. The pair stands dumbly in the doorway and watches me with hearts beating out of their sweaters. Jeremy is saying something but I kick his voice out of my head. I see skyline out the window behind them. Any New Yorker with skyline view is choking themselves with dollar bills. I expect butlers and a velvet-encased collection of circa 1920's cigars.

I must have ignored Jeremy the first time he said something. He hisses over his shoulder. "Introduce yourself."

The dude beats me to it. "Lin." He shakes my limp hand. He seems to loom over me. I think it's just me, because he is only as tall as his wife, whose cheeks look ready to pop like balloons, she's smiling so wide. I blacklist him as soon as his skin touches mine. I blacklist the wife, too, because she is wearing his diamond ring and I want no part of their charity.

I stand my guard. "At least your name is bigger than you are." I shove my duffel bag into his arms and clomp past him into the apartment.

The Mirandas sit on the white couch. Jeremy sits on the white armchair and spreads legal forms across the glass table for them to sign. Note: Everything is white. I don't know which Miranda had a scratched cornea when they bought their furniture. Haven't they heard of TV dinners? Jeremy talks like he's a salesman. 50% off on your next foster kid if you call 1800-CPS today. No allergies, prone to biting, don't feed after midnight. I should come with a warning sign.

I hear a voice behind me that is not Jeremy. "This guy is Sebastian. And Tobillo. You can call him Tobi, if it's easier."

I turn around. A mini-Miranda peels out from behind the hallway, footie pajamas and all. A dog trots out behind him. The kid sprints into the room so fast, the rugs slide under his feet. I shuffle a few steps back when the kid hops on the couch between The Parents.

The dude smiles. "Say hi, Homeboy."

The kid beams. "Hi, Homeboy."

Jeremy drums his fingers on his briefcase while everyone laughs but me. Outside, the sun does an arc over the million dollar skyline. Storm clouds mumble on the horizon. A burning candle covers an odor with an edge-- bad plumbing? Dead animal? I narrow my eyes and open my mouth, only because Jeremy is staring bloody murder at me and there's way out. "You've got rodents?"

Quiet falls like a bomb over the room. "Pardon?" asks the wife, all smiles.

"Rats."

The dude rips the tangles from his hair in one swipe. "The building is chock full of Rodenticide. Why?"

"I beg your pardon, I've doubted your aristocracy."

Jeremy widens his eyes. "Vidya!" He turns to the brood. "You'll have to excuse her."

"No worries." The dude's gaze eats me from the inside out. "Want to sit?"

"Thanks," I say, meaning no, but the dude misunderstands. He pats the other armchair, a smaller one, next to the couch. I sit like there's a bomb in my mouth. Jeremy pulls my file from his canvas bag and reads the first page out loud. "Vidya Shahanna Charandowa. That's her. No changelings here, right?" He looks at me over his glasses and chuckles. "Um. Born to Vikran and Fariba Charandowa. Registered to Hope House in 2010, case closed September that same year, so--"

The wife leans forward, eyebrows arched. "Case?"

I feel the hardness of my knuckles close in on my palm. Will Jeremy tell them? He can't. Not this early. Not ever. My scalp prickles.

"From court. But that's--" Jeremy coughs. "That's another story."

I freeze them out and pick at a scab on my forearm. Jeremy finishes a conversation with the wife and grabs his briefcase from the floor. "If you have any questions, any concerns, I wrote my number--"

"Our apologies, I didn't come with instructions." I start to stand, but Jeremy holds out his hand to stop me.

"She shouldn't be too much trouble." He gives me a look like, you better not be.

"Don't worry about a thing." The dude grins. "I never met a kid I couldn't befriend."

"You sure?" I say from behind him.

Jeremy turns sharply but sighs when I wiggle my fingers at him. Buh-bye. No more lectures. No more blah-blahs.

To everyone else, The Miranda's are perfect. They all have the same black hair, the same dark skin, the same grins, smiling me off to an early grave. Nothing like me. The dude signs some papers and the mother smooths the kid's hair. I turn to look out the window until I hear the door slam, until I'm sure he isn't coming back.

An early grave would be a step up from this prison.