Posey (Low #1.5) Read Online Free Page A

Gillian pushes her workbook toward her brother, looking for help.
    It’s a display I’ve only witnessed in movies. No one uses the kitchen table at my house. I don’t remember a time when I had a meal with my parents that wasn’t in front of the television, or had anyone help me with schoolwork without huffing and puffing about what an inconvenience it was.
    “Are you staying for dinner?” Patricia asks, lowering the flame on the stove to simmer the packaged gravy. “We have plenty.”
    I look to Low for assurance before I agree. I’m the girl who jumped out of a window and into his work truck without a clue as to where I was headed. He let me tag along and saved me from wandering amongst gangsters and thugs on the streets, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t want me making myself at home in his space.
    “Stay, Poe. I’ll drive you where you need to go after you eat,” my knight in shining armor replies.
    We eat fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and applesauce, and drink grape soda from coffee mugs, occupying all four chairs around the table. Gillian talks about her day at school, and Patricia complains about the garbage disposal not working again.
    “I called the landlord, but he didn’t answer, of course,” she says before popping a piece of chicken between her lips. Patricia’s wearing bright green eye shadow with heavy pink blush across her cheeks. Her curly bleach blonde hair is pulled back into a clip, and her nails are painted red. She’s outrageous and fantastic and true all at the same time. “And he still hasn’t sent anyone to fix the faucet in the bathroom.” 
    “Don’t call him again,” Lowen says. He wipes his mouth clean with a napkin. “I’ll take care of it this weekend.”
    Simple gestures and the genuine affection this family so obviously feels for each other burns my cheeks with awe. Hiding my smile behind my mug, I drink the rest of my soda to keep from embarrassing myself in front of Low.
    “Is it okay if I get some more?” I ask, lifting my cup.
    “Sure, honey.” Patricia pauses the conversation to answer, falling right back into it once I stand.
    The off-white refrigerator is covered with school awards and decent report cards from the youngest member in the household. Poems written on college-ruled paper with Gillian Seely’s name in the corner are taped between her academic accomplishments, and a brochure for a teen summer writing program is in the center of it all, kept in place by a magnet.
    “The bottle is on the counter,” Lowen says, directing his eyes to the liter of grape drink.
    “Oh, sorry,” I say, but it’s too late. I’ve already opened the fridge to see what’s inside.
    Or in this case, not inside.
    Lit dimly by a clear bulb in the back, the refrigerator is empty and smells like mildew. Sticky spots and crumbs are the only indication that anything but a pitcher of water, a take-out container, and random condiments are kept here.
    “I haven’t had a chance to make it to the grocery store,” Patricia says, waving me off dismissively. “Hopefully, I can go sometime tomorrow.”
    This isn’t a fridge that belongs to a family with no time to shop.
    It belongs to a family who starves.
    “No problem.” Cold, processed air cools my warm cheeks, and I close the door quickly, fighting the urge to open the freezer.
    As comprehension blankets me in a scratchy embrace, I eat every bite on my plate and consider licking it clean, not daring to waste a single scrap. I can feel Lowen’s blue-eyed stare on me from across the table, but keep my gaze down as shame rips me to pieces. It was only last week when I watched my mom throw away a week’s worth of leftovers and a drawer full of fruit that molded and thought nothing of it.
    “Poesy, tell us about yourself.” Patricia also scarfed her meal. She pushes the dish away and folds her fingers underneath her chin. “Start with your family.”
    Shame shifts to resentment, straightening my spine and lifting