Alva - Silent

Alexs life as a teenager in South Central LA is far from perfect, but its his life, and he knows how to live it. He knows what role to play and what things to keep to himself. Hes got it all under control, until one lousy pair of shoes kicks him out of his world and lands him in a foster care group home.

Surrounded by strangers and trapped in a life where he could never belong, Alex turns to the only person lower on the social ladder than he is: a special mute boy. In Sebastian, Alex finds a safe place to store his secretsthose that sent him to foster care, and the deeper one that sets him apart from the other teenagers he knows. But Sebastian has secrets of his own, and when tragedy rips the two boys apart, Alex will stop at nothing to find the answerseven if it means dragging them both through a past full of wounds best left buried.

It might just be worth it, for the slim chance at love.

Sara Alva is a former small-town girl currently living in big-city LA with a husband, two cats, and an avocado tree. She recently discovered-- after a year in her house-- that she also has a fig tree in her backyard, which might mean she needs to get out more. But sometimes the stories waiting to be told demand more attention, and when she puts fingers to keyboard, it's usually to write about journeys of self-discovery, heartache, personal growth, friendship and love. When she isn't writing, she's teaching or dancing. For information, free reads and news on upcoming releases, visit http://SaraAlva.com/.

SILENT

Sara Alva

Silent Copyright 2013 Sara Alva

All rights reserved.

Published 2013

Cover art by Dani Alexander

No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or circulated in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the authors creation or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

For the people who inspired me and kept me writing through a difficult year.

Thank you to Tim, Dani, Jenn, Marleen, Daniel, Shayla, Luc, Jay, and Madison, without whom Id still be staring at a Word document.

And thank you again to Dani for creating the perfect cover.

PART ONE

Chapter 1: New Shoes

I eyed my opponents warily, hoping they wouldnt be too tight today. If I could get in at just the right angle, and with just the right amount of force

With one swift movement, I shoved my right foot into the dirty Converse sneaker. That was the best way to do it, but it didnt really make any more room for my big toe. A lump of nail pressed up against the fabric, where it was starting to tear the canvas away from the rubber sole.

Damn. Just when were my feet supposed to stop growing, anyway?

Id outgrown my shoes enough times by fifteen to know Id have that awkward, painful limp by the end of the day. For a second I considered trashing the sneakers and putting on flip-flops, but the teachers would probably throw a fit if they saw. No sense inviting trouble. It usually had an easy enough time finding me as it was.

Looked like I was just going to have to suffer through it. I sighed, beginning the torture of my left foot as well.

Alex! My mothers voice easily carried through the thin walls. If that bitch PSA counselor calls here one more time about you cutting class, you wont be able to sit for a damn week!

From the kitchen came the sounds of clinking beer bottles, which meant her boyfriend, Hector, was getting an early start on his day.

Or maybe not so early. Fuck, Id be late if I didnt hurry.

I grabbed my backpack off the floor, ignoring the little cockroach that scurried away from its now-exposed hiding place. It quickly found somewhere to slip off to between the wall and floorboards, probably joining hordes of its kind. Gross as it was, it was my own faultId left some tamarindo candy in my bag after Giselles quinceaera .

The train blasting past the house gave me yet another reminder of my tardiness. It rattled the walls and kicked up dust through my open window, adding to the fine layer of soot that blanketed the lone piece of furniture in my rooman old white dresser Id rescued off the curb a few years back. Of course, it wasnt exactly white anymore.

Taking off as fast as my too-tight shoes would allow, I scrambled down the short hallway and got all the way to the front door before Hector grabbed me and slammed me against the wall.

Where the hell is my shit? His stubbled face pressed close to mine, blowing foul beer-and-morning-breath up my nostrils.

I pushed back and easily freed myself from his grip. He wasnt going to be able to jerk me around like this much longer.

Get the fuck off, man. I have school. Some of the paint chipped off the wall behind me and fell onto cracked linoleum as I stepped away.

I know you took it, hijo de puta . You fucking touch my shit again, I dont care if you are your mamis son. You living in my fucking house. I can kick you out like I did your puta sister.

Fuck off, Hector.

He raised his arm and struck my chest, making me bang my head into the wall. More paintor maybe a bit of drywall from an already cracked surfacefell to the ground. Hectors rage-filled eyes darted over to observe the damage, and before he had a chance to regroup, I ducked, whirled, and burst out the front door.

I ran for a couple of blocks. I didnt really need to, because Hector was far too lazy to actually come after me, and probably too out of shape to catch me if he did. I was sure hed just storm back to the fridge and pull out another beer, then crawl into bed next to my mother and

I cut off the image before it went any further, distracting myself by pounding the pavement as fast as I could. People tended not to run through the streets in my neighborhood unless they were in troubleand when you were in trouble, you werent going to be running at no jogging pace. If fitting in meant dashing down the road like I had the cops on my tail, I was okay with that.

That is, I was okay with it until my toes started to feel like they were going to bruise black and blue from the pressure. I eventually limped to a stop, sensing a bit of cool air against my foot where it was not meant to be. One look down confirmed my fearsmy sock was clearly poking through the front of my right shoe.

Fuck. Like I didnt already look ghetto enough.

I started hobbling at an awkward pace, trying to find the balance between the usual I do as I please saunter and the I really should get to school speed-walk. It was hard to look cool with my feet busting out of my shoes, but I still fought to maintain the image, giving my usual head-nod to the bums outside the local liquor store.

A stray muttwith a lot of pit bull in its mixbounded across the street in front of the little tienda where we bought groceries. Mr. Jimenez instantly appeared in the doorway with his broom, shaking it in front of his solid potbelly. When that failed to scare the pup, he resorted to shoving it away. He made the same shooing motion toward me as well, probably because Id been known to lift a bag of hot Cheetos or two on occasion.

I gave him a sarcastic wave and decided to cut through the projects, keeping my head down, as always, when I passed anyone particularly shady-looking. Most of the prostitutes had hidden themselves away by this hour, but one strung-out druggie was still wandering down the littered sidewalk. She muttered loudly to herself about needing a goddamn pillow, scratching pointlessly at the lice that had already set up long-term residence on her scalp.