“Luke.” The name popped out of my mouth as I was about to shove in a forkful of eggs. I couldn’t stop a grin. “My name is Luke.”
Mrs. Bingham jumped out of her seat with a squeal. The tight, black curls covering her head remained oddly still, especially in contrast to the rest of her, which did a fair amount of shaking as she bounced up and down, clapping her hands. “Luke. Oh, I knew your name would fit you perfectly.” She yanked me out of my chair and into a tight hug. “I was just thinking you might be ready to start school. But now I’m sure of it.”
Of course. Now I was psychologically ready to reenter the world. Because that was my biggest problem—remembering my name. Never mind that everything else about me had been sucked into a mental black hole. Well, except for the flying, but I stopped bringing that up after the social worker decided I needed to spend more time with the counselor.
Ethan flounced into the kitchen and dropped into a chair. “What’s with all the noise? You finally win the lottery, Mrs. B?”
“Mom,” she said and gave him a fake scolding look. Ethan had been adopted by the Binghams over a year ago, but he still refused to call her Mom. Mrs. B nodded toward me with a smile. “Congratulate your brother, Ethan. He remembered his name.”
Ethan wasn’t my brother any more than Mrs. B was my mother, but anyone could tell that. Where Ethan was light, I was dark. And though we were both on the shorter side of tall, Ethan looked like a body builder—without spending any time in the gym—and I could hide behind a light pole. Or as Mrs. B put it, Ethan was football, and I was basketball. Even though neither of us played sports. Not that I remembered, anyway.
“Really? So you’re not John Doe? You think you know a person.” Ethan shook his head, but a smile crept onto his face. “Seriously, man. That’s awesome. So…” He stared at me. “Do I get to know your real name, or is that top secret too, like… that other thing?”
“Dude. Shut. Up,” I said and kicked him under the table.
“You still on that flying thing?” Mrs. B put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. “Maybe school’s not the best thing for you yet.”
“No.” I shot Ethan a glare. “I know I can’t fly.” With Mrs. B, sometimes it was easier to just tell her what she wanted to hear.
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