Darling - K. Ancrum Page 0,37

department.

“So,” Wendy said to Curly, getting ready to start fishing for hints, “how did you all meet?”

Curly didn’t even look up from his phone. “Ominotago and Waatese are my cousins.”

Ominotago perked up at the sound of her name and Tinkerbelle turned to Wendy, but Wendy was busy staring at Curly. He looked absolutely nothing like Ominotago and Waatese. The only feature they shared was dark hair, but Ominotago’s and Waatese’s were jet black and straight, and Curly’s was very dark brown and, well, curly.

“My mom was Irish, but my dad was Ojibwe,” he said, continuing to type.

“He’s what?” Wendy asked.

“Chippewa,” Ominotago clarified. She scowled when Wendy’s face still didn’t dawn with comprehension.

“American Indian,” Fyodor explained from far away, striking a match and lighting his cigarette.

“Oh, cool,” Wendy said. Well, that canceled out Ominotago and Waatese. “Prentis said he thought you—”

But before Wendy could finish, Curly groaned loudly and slouched dramatically in anguish against the bus wall. “Prentis doesn’t know we’re cousins, and neither does Peter. But I fought Peter after we introduced him to Ominotago, and now he thinks she’s my girlfriend. It’s so embarrassing.”

Ominotago grinned. “I’m too cool to be your girlfriend, even if you weren’t my cousin.”

“Truth,” Minsu called, nodding. Charles had stopped crying, but it looked like he’d cried himself right to sleep. Minsu had moved his arm from cradling what was clearly his best friend, to resting it over the top of the seat while Charles’s head lolled on his shoulder. It was cute, but Wendy still had questions.

“Why did fighting Peter make Prentis think Ominotago was your girlfriend? And what about—” Wendy nodded over at Tinkerbelle and Ominotago, who had refocused themselves on their private conversation.

Curly looked just as embarrassed as he had at the dinner table. “Peter gave Ominotago a nickname, but she didn’t like it and asked me to make him quit calling her that. So, I asked him to stop, but like always, he didn’t want to. Instead he bothered me all week until I just snapped and pushed him to the ground to beat some respect into him. He won the fight, of course, since he’s bigger than me, and he also punished me for trying. But he did stop. Now he rarely refers to her directly unless she’s physically in front of him. He calls her ‘Omi’ now, which is annoying because only Tinkerbelle is allowed to call her that and everyone else respects this, except him.

“He doesn’t ever own up to his mistakes or apologize when he’s rude,” Curly continued, bitterly. “He just stops doing whatever he’s doing or pretends he doesn’t remember when he hurts your feelings.”

Christ. “Why do you live with him?” Wendy asked quietly. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…” She shrugged.

Curly looked stricken. His dark eyebrows pinched, and the corners of his mouth twitched up and down like he was trying to force himself to smile but failing. He gazed out the window for a bit and dragged a hand down one of his braids anxiously before answering. “I was … different back before I met him. I was really angry, getting into trouble at school and just doing whatever I wanted all the time. I wore out the people who were taking care of me, and then I wore out my extended family, and only a few of them will talk to me now.” Curly’s eyes flicked over to Ominotago.

“I mean, I’m sure if I went back to them now it would be different,” he continued. “I could do school; I have the patience for it now, and I would do so much better. But I was really, really bad. Just, breaking things and…”

Curly was talking so quietly now that Wendy had to lean close to hear him. She could see Fyodor over Curly’s shoulder, watching them both as he smoked.

“Anyway, I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Curly said firmly. “Slightly was already there and seemed so overburdened with taking care of the littler ones. I couldn’t just leave him there alone, working so hard like that. He was the only one who had real skills, you know? My parents never taught me how to do the things Slightly knows how to do, but he taught Nibs and me quickly, even though we’re older. His birth family was really strict, I think.

“It’s been three years since I moved in, and I’m almost eighteen, so I’ll be free to do what I want soon,” Curly said hopefully. “I’m