Eliza

I head downstairs to the kitchen, where I see my mother sitting on the cooking table, clicking buttons on her laptop with one hand, and biting away on an apple with the other.

"Hey, mom?"

She turns to look at me.

"You need any help with anything?"

"Actually, yes honey, you can help me to cut the carrots, and then steam them."

I nod, as I get out the bag of carrots from the fridge, and take out a few.

"How's he settling in?" My mum asks, although her eyes seem fixated on the computer screen.

"I think he's just getting used to it," I reflect, as I place the carrots on the chopping board, and grab a knife. "Because you know, it's a lot to get used to."

"Is he being nicer now?"

"I think he's just struggling a bit," I respond, without directly answering her question.

"With the transition?"

"Maybe. But I also uh... I saw these scars on his back. They looked like-"

"Wait, hold on?" My mom interrupts, as she throws the finished apple in the bin next to her. "I need you to explain to me how you managed to get into a position where you saw these scars."

"Mom, relax, I was helping him with the shower."

"You were doing what?" She raises her eyebrows and voice at me, a menacing look of disproval creeping comfortably onto her face.

"Not like that. He didn't know how to work the shower, and I showed him. He took his clothes off to get inside the shower, and I just happened to get a little glimpse of his body. That's when I saw the scars and they were-"

"I don't think I have to tell you that this will be the only time you're seeing any part of his body that's not his hands, neck or face. I promise Eliza, if I ever hear about anything between you two, he is out."

"Okay, mom. But can I just finish off what I'm saying now?" I demand, growing increasingly infuriated at her lack of compassion towards the situation.

"Go ahead."

"There were so many scars. And I feel like something major happened for him to get them."

"Doesn't he just get in a lot of fights? He was, you know... On the streets."

"Yeah but... I don't know, what if living out there all alone made him prone to being attacked by people? When I saw him earlier on, he had just been harassed by another homeless guy."

"What do you mean harassed?"

"The guy wanted to know if he had some food, and he got really angry and grabbed Theo and-"

"Theo... I take it that's his name."

"Yeah. He heard you before you know."

"I'm sure if he was a parent and his daughter brought home a random guy that lives on the street, his reaction wouldn't be far off from mine."

"Mom, you don't always have to bring up the fact that he lived on the street. He doesn't want to be reminded of that."

"And how exactly do you know what he wants? I'm telling you, Eliza, stop this. You're showing way too much concern for this boy that you don't even know the first thing about."

"I don't need to know him to be concerned, mom."

"You didn't even know his name an hour ago."

"Because his name is not what's important. His name doesn't change the situation he's been in for the past God knows how long. And that same situation is why I'm so concerned, there's no ulterior motive behind it. You know what, this was a mistake," I say, as I pour the carrots into the pot on the stove, and switch on the fire. I intend to walk out of the kitchen, until I see a look of guilt on my mom's face.

"Okay, fine. I'm sorry."

"Like you said, mom, I don't know him. I'm not going to jump into bed with someone I don't know."

"Language, missy. I don't want or need that kind of imagery in my head. But, look, it's okay to be concerned. But really and truly, I don't know what you expect to do about it. Did you ask him?"

"Yeah, and he basically told me to mind my own business."

"Then that's what you have to do. If he wanted to tell you, he would have. And like you said you saw before, he was basically getting attacked, so who knows how many times that's happened?"

"But what if he wants to tell me but he just doesn't like opening up?"

"Then you wait. This situation is not in your control, Lize, it's in his. And you just have to wait. I promise you, there's nothing you can do."

"It's just weird. He's so secretive."

"You've known him for about two days, Eliza. It would be weird if he was spilling all his secrets to you."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I say, waving the fork I'm using to monitor the carrots around.

"Eliza, are you even looking at the carrots?" My mom demands softly.

"Sorry, got a bit distracted."

"You don't say," she finishes, as she stands and walks over to me, turning the hob off. "It's ready now." She takes the carrot filled pot off the stove placing it on a pot mat on the kitchen table. She opens the oven and retrieves a tray that intensifies my already insane hunger. The lasagna that fills the tray glistens enticingly, inviting the pleasant oozing noises into my welcoming ears.

She places that on the kitchen table too.

"Should I go and call-" I begin, but she cuts me off.

"No, I'll do the honours," she says turning to me, then walks to the direction of the stairs. "Theo, dinner's ready!" She shouts, then turns back to me and looks of anxiety and confusion are shared between us.

"Um, do we sit down or... Remain standing?" I ask, knowing full well even she doesn't know the answer.

"Let's just stand. It looks less intimidating when he comes down, then we can all sit down together."

Her mini speech ends as Theo's face instantly makes an appearance. It's hard to not think that he looks completely different to the boy I met on the streets a few days ago. He looks cleaner, neater... Happier.

"Sit down," my mom orders him, wearing her best smile that never fails to come across as fake.

He sits down, and my mom follows his lead by taking the seat opposite him, leaving me to the seat to the side of them.

"Okay, so Theo, help yourself to as much as you want. But obviously not all of it." The three of us stop in our tracks at the covert mention of Theo's undoubtable hunger. I shoot my mom a look of confusion subtly mixed with disapproval. "Wow, I did not mean it like that, I'm sorry," she quickly rectifies herself.

"It's fine," he says, brushing her off, whilst scooping his pile of lasagna on his plate.

"Eliza?" She says, as she passes the lasagna tray to me. Still in dismay at her earlier comment, I react slow in taking the tray, causing her to throw me an unfavourable glare.

When I finally take my portion of lasagna, and receive the pass of the carrots, I notice the eerie silence at the table. Theo digs into his meal, and I can't help but notice his unconscious efforts to not seem as hungry as he actually is.

Empathy travels through my body at the sudden turnaround that has happened in his life. I know that if that was me, I would want somebody to take me in.

"So, Theo, have you always lived here?" My mom's voice suddenly fills the silence. "In New York, I mean," she adds.

"Mom." Before I can continue on to let my mom know how inappropriate the topic is, her and Theo speak against me in unison.

"Honey, it's just a simple question, calm down," I hear my mom say in one ear.

"It's alright. You're obviously going need to get to know me," Theo's voice sounds in my other ear.

A feeling of annoyance spreads through my body, mostly directed towards my mom for her constant decision to speak.

Theo

I notice Eliza slump back on her chair, a look of aggravation written on her face. Confusion hits me as her sudden attitude becomes unclear. At first the assumption crosses me that she thought her mom was bordering along rude with her words, however as we sit here now, it would be completely silly to sit in silence. Questions have to be asked. The mystery of me needs to be solved.

"Um, yeah, I have. I was born in Queens and lived there my whole life."

"I'm sorry, if you don't mind me asking. How did you get from Queens to Manhattan?"

"Mom, are you being serious right now?"

"What? What am I doing, Eliza that's bothering you so much?"

"You're asking him personal questions. Just chill out."

"Chill out? I'm just trying to get to know the boy. Seeing as you didn't tell me anything about him."

It looks like Eliza's mom has the final word, as her daughter slinks back into the position she was in. This time, with her shoulders crossed, like a child being deprived of their favorite dessert.

"Oh, so you're going to act like a child now? Eliza, he is not offended. I'm sure if he was he would tell me, right?" She turns to me, and I nod in agreement.

"Yeah, look, Eliza I get what you're trying to do. But if I'm being honest it's making me more uncomfortable you trying to protect me from simple questions."

She stands up hurriedly, and the next words to come out of her mouth sends shockwaves through me.

"Well maybe you can go and answer them back on the street," she says, before picking up her filled plate and scraping the contents into the bin. She slams her plate down on the table, and rushes upstairs.

I am surprised, and rather peeved that the plate doesn't shatter into pieces. Any sound would relieve the blossoming tension in the room.

My eyes are wide at her comment, and I soon realise that I am too shocked to even say anything. However, her mom seems to do the job for me.

"Eliza, you come down right now and apologize! That was rude!" But it's clear that Eliza has already locked herself in her room to even hear her mother's anger.

I fiddle around with the food on my plate, before scooping up a forkful and putting it in my mouth. As I chew, her mom turns back to me with a sheepish smile on her face.

"I'm sorry about her. She's just acting like a brat for no reason."

"No it's fine, don't worry."

"So..." She returns back to her former seat. "Did you run away?"

"Um-"

"Or were you kicked out?"

"I don't really want to... Talk about that," I say abruptly.

"I understand that. It's just that I need to know what I'm living with here."

"What you're living with?"

"All I know about you is your name. I don't know who you are, where you came from or why you're here."

"I'm just-"

"And I have to admit. I'm not exactly happy that you're here. I've always taught my daughter never to speak to strangers. And then she does, and on top of that... She brings you home."

"Look... She told me it was fine by you."

"And she lied."

"I know that now."

"So the question is... Who sticks around where they know they're not wanted?"

"I thought, I just thought that-"

"What, that I would come around?"

My eyes shift away as a symbol of my agreement.

"Well, you thought wrong. Listen here, street boy," she says, maintaining direct eye contact with me. "I don't know who you are or what you want, but I can promise you you won't be here long enough to even touch my daughter or whatever it is you're planning to do-"

"What? I haven't laid a finger on Eliza. She's been helping me and I'm grateful."

"Because she's too kind! She can't see through you, but I can. And you want something. And you won't use her to get it."

My head becomes fried with this woman's clear distaste for me. I thought this dinner was us breaking the ice; but the realisation soon strikes me around the face that ice is not something to be broken.

I've lived in hell once before. I made a promise to myself I wouldn't do that again.

"You know what?" I speak loudly, standing up. "You're right. I don't know why I ever thought I could stay somewhere I'm clearly not wanted. I'll be gone in less than half an hour."

I head for the stairs, and hear her menacing voice call after me. "Don't you want to take your plate with you? You know, one for the road?"

I huff at her ignorance, and find myself charging up the stairs and into the temporary room faster than I anticipated. Once I get into the room, I pick up the items of clothing I entered here with. My fingers soon fill with soil and mud.

I take a deep breath, but it comes out more as a scowl. It is filled with disappointment, at myself more than anything. I survived for months living the way I did, and then I let myself get talked into moving into a home with a rich kid and her brat of a mom?