Free Pieces of Me by Amber Kizer Page A

other sets of parents from burying an infant. Sam liked the stories that made people aware that they could choose to alleviate suffering rather than contribute to it.
    Though he tried to hide and ignore her, his ma tracked him down, waiting only a few heartbeats before launching. “Samuel, Mrs. Wayland’s son, Trevor, has invited you to his birthday party on Friday night.”
    Not another friend date
. Samuel had barely healed before she’dbegun thrusting him out into the world. Apparently anyone under the age of eighteen was a potential friend hookup for her only son. That’s all her standards seemed to stop at—age. She’d invited more random boys over for cookies and milk than hardcore pedophiles.
    “I have plans. And, isn’t he ten?” Samuel didn’t look up. He knew eye contact was an unfavorable idea.
    She tsked so hard, spittle flew from her lips. “You don’t have plans.”
    Gross
. I tried to wipe my face clean on reflex.
    “There’s a gaming tourney this weekend. Starts Friday afternoon.” Samuel rarely lied. But sometimes lying was the only way to get her to back off.
I don’t understand why he even tries the truth. Just tell her what she wants to hear
.
    “They’re going camping up in the mountains, Samuel. It will be fun.”
    I watched her lock her knees and cross her arms. Sam clenched his jaw and hissed an inhale. I felt sorry for him.
    “Why do you want me to go camping with a bunch of kids?” he asked.
    She sighed. That sigh was never a good sign, even I knew that. “I want you to make friends.”
    “I have friends.” His rapid-fire answer dismissed her.
Uh-oh
.
    “Oh yes, your friends online? Invite them to dinner, I’d like to meet them. You can’t, can you? They don’t exist. They are not real people. Real friends come to dinner.”
    “Ma—”
    “Don’t take that tone. You are going camping with Trevor and his friends. I already said yes.”
    “I’m seventeen!” Sam shouted.
    “Don’t worry, Samuel. I’m sure some of those boys play games too.” She turned on her heel back toward the house.
    He paused and sat with it for a moment. Dammit. At least when he was on dialysis every day she couldn’t force him to go camping. Camping?
Sam camping?
    He needed to charge up his extra batteries. What a pain in the ass.

    Misty shifted in the seat again. Her bony butt felt bruised and sore from the hard chairs that populated her school days. She smothered a halfhearted yawn. She needed to get more sleep, or better sleep, or something.
    Bell ring. Bell ring, please. School or apartment, Misty’s life sucked.
    I never wanted to return to high school, but there were days when I missed my life so much it was worth the pain. Someone needed to keep an eye on Misty even if I was the only choice.
    Back in these halls it felt like Groundhog Day, a loop that made my skin crawl. I felt like I relived the trauma of that last school day over and over again. I kept waiting for someone to pop out at me in the hallways wielding scissors, but they couldn’t see me.
Nothing changes. No one really sees Misty either
.
    Misty’s class schedule was a couple of levels down from mine in the world of the mediocre student. English. Math. Civics. State history. Art. PE. She cared about none of it. She only wished she could get paid to be there. Her locker was full of unpaid medical bills she hadn’t felt good enough to log in yet.
    The last bell rang and I jumped up, ready to get going. Misty needed the library’s refuge. I knew this. Did she? Classmates disappeared like a magic act. Misty didn’t move very quickly, so she was last to leave.
    “Misty?”
    Misty blinked before raising her eyes, but she avoided eye contact, fearful the teacher might see too much. “Yes, Mrs. Youngs?”
    I knew that look. Misty wasn’t going to be asked about an assignment. This was the caring, the I-notice-you teacher face. Nine out of ten times it wasn’t like they really wanted a response; they just wanted to make