“Stop wasting time. Let’s go.” My dad’s voice booms over to me, and I start walking faster to not upset him.

Weaving through the small ‘grocery store’, we wave to the usual knowing employees and walk down a series of steps to the underground level. Once we get to the stained linoleum hallway with two chairs set outside for the only two people that ever fill them, he knocks and is immediately let in. He never looks back at me or speaks a word. For the next four hours, I don’t exist in his mind and, truth is, we both prefer it that way. It’s like a mini vacation from our own hell.

I’m not sure why my dad never shipped me off to my grandparents’ or just left me at one of the places that takes unwanted kids. The only humane thing he’s done with me since my mom left us to pursue her own dreams is keep me instead of turning me over to foster care. Not that she was much of a mother anyway. Neither of my parents have ever been very parental.

Dex and his dad interrupt me just as I’m digging further in my mind that usually I try not to do. But I like to remind myself that I will not turn into him or the other kids that wander the streets. That I will get out of this one day and live a happy life with plenty of food and kids I will always tell how much I love them.

“There she is,” Theo, Dex’s dad, says as the heels of his dress shoes click on the floor. He doesn’t fit the type from around here. Tall, blonde, scruff on his face with a muscular build. Always dressed in nice slacks, a button-down, and dress shoes. No one would ever assume he’s as messed up as my dad—well, I guess he’s not as bad, but they run in the same circles.

“Hi, Mr. Prescott,” I answer, giving him a small wave. His large hand lays on top of my head, and he messes my hair up slightly before doing the same series of knocks my dad did ten minutes ago.

“You two have fun. Love you, Edge,” Mr. Prescott says, using Dex’s nickname he earned last year when he made a pick that stuffed peoples’ pockets. Not sure why the guys trusted him for his input, but they all tossed him some bills after, which got him so excited, which, in turn, made me hate him a little.

Soon Mr. Prescott’s gone and the smell of bubble gum and boy wafts under my nostrils. A wide smile instantly crosses my lips because I’ve been waiting for two weeks to see him. “What’s up, Chrissy?” he asks and hands me a Game Boy. I’m scrunching my eyes up, getting ready to ask him what’s this when he quickly remarks, “I borrowed my friend’s for the day,” answering my unasked question.

“Thank you,” I genuinely say, and his shoulders rise and fall like he doesn’t care.

Dex Prescott and I might not have the most stellar of conversations, but, for four hours every other Saturday, it’s just me and him. We play games, always ones he brings with him. He sneaks food away in his backpack that he shares with me. He’s fortunate to only live with his father every other weekend, while the rest of the time he lives with his mom. I can’t say I’m not jealous of his ‘normal’ childhood, except for when he’s with me, but I’m happy for him all at the same time. Not sure how I can be happy for someone I feel so much jealously toward, but I do. I wouldn’t wish any other person to have the life I have.

“I have something for you,” I say, digging into my pocket. I pull out the small disk and Dex’s eyes light up, grabbing it out of my hand.

“How did you get this?” he asks. “I’ve been saving, but my mom says no more games.” He holds the newest game of Mortal Kombat out in front of him like it’s a Babe Ruth rookie card. “You play it first.” He hands it back to me, thankful he didn’t ask me again how I got it. Especially since I kind of borrowed slash stole it from another kid. Not that I would usually ever steal. I’ve told myself a million times I’d never do it. But the kid called me a dirty piece of trash right in the middle of the playground. All his damn friends laughed and chanted it back. So, when I went in to go to the bathroom during recess, I played a payback that benefits Dex. The guilt resonates pretty hard within me, so I just replay the nightmare of the playground scene in my head to justify my actions.

“No, Dex, you go first.” I push his hand closer to him, and, ultimately, he accepts it.

“Thanks, Chrissy,” he says, giving me a huge smile before inserting it into the player.

12 years old

“BYE, MOM,” I mutter while allowing her to still hug and kiss me goodbye for the weekend. My eyes find Ted’s right behind her, smiling at our affection. He’s been dating my mom for a year, and they seem to be really happy. Usually he’s still around when my dad drops me off on Sunday, so she really isn’t fooling me, thinking he doesn’t spend the night.

“Call me if you need me,” she whispers in my ear. I’ve had a cell phone for three years because my mom wants to be able to text me and check up on me whenever I’m with my dad.

“I will,” I agree, trying to get out of her tiger grips. My dad’s horn honks again and I slowly backstep, giving a quick wave to Ted.

Running out the door, I climb into my dad’s new car. When I say new, I mean five-year-old used Cadillac, but new to him. He waves to my mom and I do the same.

“Ready, Edge?” he asks me, and I cringe from the reference of my nickname. My reaction has done a one-eighty since he first referred to me as that. Remembering the happiness that swelled in me the day he called me Edge for the first time, only disgusts me now. He said it with pride, but mostly it was because of the joy I instilled in him by making him money. Now though, I wish he’d say my name at least a few times. Edge comes with an expectation that I’ll continue to make the picks that gain him money, but leaving me with the fear one day I won’t. That I’ll disappoint him and the name will be stripped from me. As well as maybe my father.

“Yeah, Dad.” I sit in the car, listening to his rock ‘n’ roll music while watching his left foot tap to the beat of the music. The minutes ticking by until I see Chrissy. Since she doesn’t have a phone; I only have these four hours every other Saturday to spend with her. Although I’d never admit it to anyone, I love when our dads win big because they usually stay longer or the four of us do something together. She understands me, and we have a mutual understanding of our dads’ shitty recreational activities. “Dad?” I ask, and he turns his attention to me briefly before directing it toward the road again. “Do you mind if Chrissy and I go to the diner?”

“No, you’re old enough. Shit, when I was your age, I went all over my town,” he agrees, and I’m glad because I saved the money my dad gave me last week so I could take her out.

“Thanks,” I say and he just smiles over to me.

Chrissy deserves so much more than her shitty life with her shitty father. In the four years I’ve known her, she’s never shown up with anything new. She puts on a good front with me, but it’s obvious they don’t have money; her clothes are always really worn and a little too small. After I heard her stomach growl that first day I met her, I made sure to grab some snacks from my mom’s before my dad picked me up the next time. Now four years later, it’s our routine. We eat, play games, and never talk about anything important, even though I’m sure we have plenty in common.

When my dad parks his Cadillac behind Chrissy’s dad’s Caprice, my stomach gets this foreign, anxious feeling. I fear I’m getting sick, especially since the feeling grows more intense as we make our way through the run-down grocery store and down the steps. When we reach the bottom, I swear the fruit scent of her soap conceals the usual mold and sour food smell. My eyes find her sitting in the same chair every time, and my stomach bursts into a zillion little fireworks. She looks up at me, a smile already in place. “Hi, Mr. Prescott. Hi, Dex,” she greets us, and my dad says his usual while my voice embarrassingly cracks.