Part 7 (1/2)

”With me.”

”Sleeping in your lap while you watch television?” There was a sharp, nasty sneer in Michael's voice.

”I told you, he's not well socialized.”

”So you keep him penned up.”

”He has a room of his own. Is there something you want?”

”I just want to sit here with him for a few minutes. That okay?”

The woman stared hard at him. Then she looked at Faith, who nodded. She had no idea what to think about any of it, but Michael wanted to sit with this apparently crazy cat, so she wasn't going to get in his way.

”Fine. Just...don't sue us if he slices you open. We don't have any money, anyway.”

”Do I look like somebody who'd sue anybody, lady?”

Without another word, the woman turned and walked off toward friendlier people.

Faith sat down at Michael's side. The cat growled at her, too.

”It's okay, dude,” Michael said, almost crooning the words. He put his hand flat on the side of the cage, near the cat. Immediately, a paw lashed out and left a long red seam on Michael's palm-but he didn't even flinch.

”Look at him. He's not mean. He's scared. G.o.d, I f.u.c.king hate people.”

Without thinking about what she was doing, Faith put her hand on Michael's leg.

He stared down at it, his hand still flat on the cage. For maybe as long as a minute, the three of them were still and quiet. Then Michael said, ”I was a foster kid.”

She knew that. She'd overheard Aunt Bibi and Uncle Hooj talking about it. But that seemed a wrong thing to tell him. So she said only, ”Yeah?”

”Yeah. I went in when I was two. I never got adopted or even had a family placement for very long. A couple times a year, though, they'd do this adoption fair thing. You know what that is?”

She didn't, so she shook her head. But he was still staring at her hand, so she said, ”No.”

”It's like this here-a bunch of foster kids get dressed up as good as they can and get taken to a park. People who are thinking about adopting go to the park and look over all the kids. If they see one they like, they take them home. It's more complicated than that, but that's basically it. A bunch of unwanted kids trying to be was wantable as they could be, a bunch of rich a.s.sholes walking around deciding which one matched their furniture the best. It f.u.c.king sucked.”

Faith felt her eyes burning. She didn't know what to say or do-all of this was way heavier than she knew how to deal with. So she squeezed his leg a little. That felt silly, but she couldn't think of anything better.

He twitched under her touch and then went on with a story that wasn't yet finished. ”People used to come up to me all the time. I guess I was a cute kid. I mean, I don't know. It's not like I have pictures. All I saw in the mirror was me. But people said all the time that I was...was...beautiful”-he flinched and almost spat out that word-”so lots of people would come up to me at those things. But I never got picked. Probably for the best.”

While he'd been talking, the cat had inched closer to his hand. Michael had never moved it, even though blood was now dripping off the side of his palm from the slice the cat had made through it. Now, while they were quiet again, the cat stood and pressed his body against the side of the cage, against Michael's hand.

And started to purr like a motorboat.

Michael laughed. When the cat turned and put his head against the wire, he finally moved his hand, sliding his fingers into the cage and scratching furry black ears. Then he opened the cage and pulled the cat out.

”What are you doing?” The woman was back, but she pulled up short when she saw the cat draped over Michael's shoulder. He hissed at the woman and then turned his face toward Michael's neck.

”How much to adopt him?”

”What?”

”How much?”

The woman stood there with her mouth open, blinking. Faith's father would have said she was 'catching flies.' Then she closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. ”Take him. I'll waive the fee. You have to put him in a carrier to get him home, though, and he's not going to like that at all.”

”It'll be okay. He knows I'm not gonna hurt him.”

Faith didn't know how Michael thought he was going to be able to keep a cat in the clubhouse, which was where he lived. But she kept her mouth shut. It felt like something important was happening here, between Michael and this cat, and between Michael and her.

He was right about the carrier. The cat went from Michael's arms into the cardboard box without a fuss. And then they walked back down through the park.

He walked her to Dante, cradling the carrier at his chest, talking into the air holes.

”Tom is a stupid name for a cat. They didn't even care enough to give him a good name.”

She smiled. There was a good chance that today her crush on Michael was turning into something more than that-which sucked extra hard, since nothing was going to happen as long as her father had anything to say about anything. ”So give him a better name. What do you like better?”

Michael peered into the holes. Faith couldn't imagine he could see much in that dark s.p.a.ce, but it seemed like he could. ”He looks like that cartoon cat. The one who's always chasing Tweety?”

”Sylvester? Yeah, he looks just like him. But I think he's tougher than that. More like Sylvester Stallone.”

He turned to her and grinned. ”Sly Stallone. Yeah. That's his name.”

When they got to Dante, Michael handed her the box full of cat. ”Happy birthday.”

She stared at him. ”What?”

”He's for you. Happy birthday.”

”You're giving me a free, feral cat for my birthday?” She'd meant it as a joke, but she was sorry she'd said it, because he blushed, and hurt went through his eyes. He'd really thrown her, though. She didn't think she could go home with a cat any more than he could. Especially not a man-eating beast.

”He'll like you. I know.” He set the box in Dante's bed, then opened the top. Lifting Faith's hand, he put it in the box with Sly-who immediately swiped at her, drawing blood.

But then he b.u.mped their joined hands and purred.

”See?” Michael closed the top of the box, and then he noticed that her hand was bleeding. ”Oh, d.a.m.n. Sorry.”

He lifted her hand again, and this time he took it all the way to his lips and kissed the new wound. Faith's heart raced.

And then he held her face in his hands like he'd done before, and he kissed her, and she was fairly certain she was going to pa.s.s out.

This time, she was determined not to pull away. The first time, she'd been overwhelmed and not sure how to kiss and breathe at the same time. This time, she'd just go ahead and pa.s.s out if she ran out of air, but she was not going to pull away, not ever.

His lips felt so fantastic. He needed to shave, too-there was bristle all around his mouth, like sandpaper. He was so blond she hadn't noticed the scruff until it was rubbing against her skin. But oh, she liked it. She liked the way it hurt a little. And she loved the way his tongue moved inside her mouth, soft but greedy, and the way his hands were tense around her face. If everybody kissed like this, Faith couldn't understand why people weren't doing it all day every day. Because this was the best thing ever.