“But what I’m most proud of today, is that I — or I should say — we get to help a young boy in an orphanage, who the odds say would have had almost no chance — a boy who would have been more likely to end up in prison than in college.”
Out of the corner of his eye Ryan saw the mom he’d been following talking to a police officer and pointing in his direction. He covertly slipped into a small side aisle of the electronics department and wedged himself between two smaller TVs on a lower shelf, hoping to escape notice, still transfixed on the program broadcast in high definition on every screen. He had to find out what was going to happen to this orphan.
Elite test scores and spotless medical records flashed up on the screen behind Prescott as he touted the limitless potential of this exceptional but underprivileged orphan. Then Prescott described the boy’s family.
“Our initial public offering is a little boy who lost both of his parents in one tragic night three months ago,” he started in a somber tone. “Both physicians, his mother was a pediatric oncologist-in-training set to join the staff at Boston Children’s Hospital and his father, finishing his cardiology fellowship, had just been offered a position at Massachusetts General Hospital, Harvard Medical School.
“This young boy has been languishing in an orphanage for the past three months with no family, virtually no stimulation and, the sad reality is, no hope.
“That will change today!” Prescott paused to let the applause die down.
“No!” Ryan whispered, his heart pounding harder than it had during the whole run from his school. They’re talking about me! His eyes were transfixed on the screen, round as saucers, so entranced by the story that he hadn’t even noticed the police officer approaching — until he was picking him up to carry him out.
“Wait! That’s me!” Ryan shouted, struggling to wriggle free.
“It takes money to raise a child. It takes morals, ethics and intelligence. It takes love. And, sometimes, it takes Avillage.
“Our initial public offering will be traded under the symbol RTJ.” As the clock hit zero, Prescott tapped the opening bell with an antique wooden mallet.
A nameless, coarsely pixelated copy of Ryan Tyler, Jr.’s 1st grade picture appeared on the screen, as a white 3 at the bottom left of the screen almost immediately turned to a green 4.25, then 5, then 5.75, then 8.
“RTJ! That’s me!” he yelled frantically, straining to see the TV. The last image he caught before the officer turned down the center aisle that led to the exit was a grainy photo of a man and a woman who must have been in their late 20s or early 30s, standing outside a large brick house in what appeared to be a quiet suburban neighborhood.
The green number at the bottom continued to tick upward 12.21, 12.89, 13.41…
CHAPTER 2
A brilliant white light illuminated her face, enveloping her with an almost angelic aura, serene and surreal in the storm. Her eyes, finally finding his, relaxed, widening almost imperceptibly, while her lips fell together and just started to curl at the corners with the inception of a smile. Her expression softened and her shoulders dropped gently as the tension fled from her muscles. Somewhere in the transition from expectant to elated, her countenance found peace; love; contentment.
CRASH!
He was awake, sitting straight up again, but not breathless today.
Ryan looked up at the clock — six forty-five. Better. Most of the other kids were stirring, and he could hear the faint splatter of the shower echoing from the tiled bathroom.
The first few seconds of every morning were always disorienting, waking up in the middle of a half-heartedly renovated gym instead of his old, cozy bedroom. But surprisingly, nothing felt remarkably different than the day before. Maybe that hadn’t been him on TV yesterday. After all, the picture was essentially unrecognizable, and RTJ weren’t even his initials. The part about the kid’s parents though was what he couldn’t resolve. That had to have been him.
After the police officer had picked him up at Wal-Mart and delivered him back to school, he’d fabricated a story about swearing he’d seen his mom in a car that looked just like the one she used to drive. He’d run after it and eventually lost sight of it but found it again in the Wal-Mart parking lot. He’d gone inside to try to find his mom.
His tears were real, and everyone bought the story. The principal was more than happy to turn the case over to the school counselor without doling out any punishment, and the story got J.R. off the hook too.
Ryan took a quick cool shower with the fading remains of the hot water and returned to his small space in the middle of the cavernous barrack, occupied by a heavy trunk and a metal-framed bed. As he was rifling through the trunk that held all of his worldly possessions, the same nanny who had scolded him for taking too much time in the shower the day before appeared beside him.
“You’re popular,” she said. “More guests today.”
“Did you say guests? With an ‘s?’” He only knew one adult.
“That’s what I said. Now hurry up. They’re waiting. And your bus is going to be here in 15 minutes.”
Eager to find out who had come to see him, he threw on a T-shirt and shorts, slipped on a pair of white tube socks, and grabbed his shoes. As he was pulling the laces tight on his second shoe, kneeling on the floor behind his trunk, he turned his gaze toward the window to the lobby, where he caught a brief glimpse of a man and woman just turning to face him.
He’d seen them before!
Pale-faced and expressionless, he dropped all the way to the polished concrete floor, pretty sure he hadn’t been spotted, suddenly disturbingly aware of his heartbeat pounding from his chest into his head. It was the couple from the grainy photo he’d seen standing in front of the brick house on the TV screens as he was being dragged out of the store!
The windows in the converted gymnasium were all at least 20 feet off the ground and the only other way out was through the lobby. There would be no escape. Still, he had to buy some time to think.
“Now where is he off to?” he heard the headmistress say, leading the couple ever closer to his space. “He is going to be so thrilled. We do our best to give the boys everything they need here, but we know it’s not home.”
He silently slid himself under his bed as the footsteps passed by. He’d have maybe a minute to figure out how to handle this. His eyes darted back and forth, looking for approaching feet as his mind raced. He had no idea what an initial public offering was, what J.R. had meant about his parents’ having been chosen for him, why the old man had said that the opening of Avillage was historic, and most of all why or how he was integrally involved. And he was desperate for answers.
The footsteps stopped at the opening to the bathroom.
“Ryan? Are you in there?” the headmistress called.
The echo of her voice was the only reply.
“Hmm. Tell you what, I’ll just to go fetch one of the nannies to check.”
“Or I could just…” the man’s voice started.
“I’m sorry,” the headmistress interrupted, her thin lips struggling to maintain a smile. “Our policy strictly forbids non-employees from entering the children’s bathroom — for our protection… and yours. I’ll just go get one of the nannies.” Ryan listened as her heeled shoes clacked quickly back toward the lobby.
Maybe he could get some answers out of the man and woman who had apparently come to claim him. They had to be in on this somehow. That would be a big gamble though. Once he’d revealed his hand, he couldn’t possibly undo it.