A boy in a red hoodie and faded, slightly tattered blue jeans walked forward with his hands in his pockets, weaving around the endless stream of people, unease stirring in his heart.
The red hood concealed his face in shadow. Up close, one could see his mouth, the only part visible beneath it, moving as he muttered to himself.
"I must be crazy. Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez are good to me. They really are. I shouldn't even be thinking about this."
"Why did I accept his invitation? My life is good now. Freddy's great, too. I have family, friends, brothers.
."
At last, the boy stopped outside a lavish-looking hotel. Looking at the lion's-head door handle, polished to a sheen by the passage of time, he swallowed hard and hesitated.
He was used to hardship. Ever since his real family had abandoned him as a child, he had drifted between orphanages and foster homes. His rebellious streak had driven him to run away from his foster families time and again.
But recently, when he turned fifteen, Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez had adopted him and given him genuine love and care. At last, he had stopped running away and settled into their home.
In truth, however, Mr. and Mrs. Vasquez were too kindhearted.
They hadn't just adopted him. They had taken in a whole bunch of children with similar backgrounds. Raising seven children was an enormous expense to begin with, and the Vasquezes were hardly wealthy.
In fact, they were rather poor.
"Our oldest sister works her way through school to take some pressure off Mom and Dad, and she still has to struggle through her thesis.
."
The boy raised his head, remembering how their enormous household depended on just three people to keep it going. Whenever he wanted to