Blood Brothers. Colleen Nelson

don’t like them?” she asks. She’s got a tag clipped to her blouse that says “Volunteer.”

      “I have to wear one of these every day?”

      Father Dom and the lady laugh. I hold my mouth tight. I didn’t mean to be funny. The woman stops laughing quickly. “There are polo shirts on Fridays.”

      “What’s a polo shirt?”

      The woman walks past, and a cloud of perfume carries me along behind her. “These are polo shirts.” Grey, collared shirts that feel like heavy T-shirts hang on a rack. “How many do you want?”

      I cast an anxious glance at Father Dom. The principal of St. Bart’s was willing to pay for a uniform, but I couldn’t ask for anything more. Fumbling for words, I let my hands drop to my side and shrug at her.

      She gives Father Dom a knowing look. “I’ll speak to Father O’Shea, he’ll understand,” she says softly and grabs two of the shirts. My cheeks burn.

      Father Dom stands with his hands in his pockets while the woman moves around the store, clacking through hangers until she finds pants that fit and grabs some thin, beige socks from a bucket. She doesn’t say anything, but I guess my white sport socks aren’t the right thing to wear. They’re grey with dirt, anyway.

      With all the pieces of the puzzle on my body, I stare in the mirror. It looks like me, but completely different.

      “You look like you belong here,” the blond woman says.

      I catch Father Dom’s eye in the mirror and he gives me a satisfied smile.

      “Jakub, there’s a call for you.” Laureen stands in the doorway holding the cordless. We haven’t had a phone for months; it kept getting disconnected. Laureen lets us take calls on hers. Not that there are very many. I take it from her and bring it to my ear slowly, waiting to say hello until I hear her shuffle halfway downstairs.

      “Hello?”

      “I’m on a cellphone! Henry got me one of the pay-as-you-go deals. In case he needs to get a hold of me.”

      I let a beat go by. Lincoln knows as well as me that there’s only one reason a guy like Henry buys an untraceable pay-as-you-go phone. But I’m not in the mood to be an asshole. I drop my voice in case Laureen is listening. “What time do you want to meet up tonight?”

      Link pauses. “I can’t tonight.”

      My mouth twitches with disappointment. “I wanted to throw up that piece we did on the train. I found the spot for it.”

      “Sorry, man. I can’t make it. I have to do this thing.”

      I don’t ask him to clarify. He’s choosing Henry over me. Rubbing a hand through my hair, I take a deep breath. It’s temporary, I remind myself. In a day, a week, a month at the longest, Henry will get busted for something and Link won’t have to choose between us. “Okay, whatever. Hey, what’s your number?”

      He hesitates. “I can’t give it out.”

      I wish Link was beside me so I could slap him, wake him up from his delusional dream. “Pay as you go and can’t give out the number. Got it. Sounds totally legit.” I press the disconnect button and sit fuming on the stairs.

      Laureen’s watering plants on the front steps when I bring the phone to her. She’s wearing an old T-shirt, so big her arms stick out like twigs. Her stringy brown hair hangs down her back. She smells like cigarette smoke. I look at the shrivelled-up sticks that used to be stems and wonder why she bothers. The water gets soaked up in a second.

      “Father Dom picked you up today, eh?” Laureen doesn’t leave the apartment much. She watches things from her window, keeping track of our life like it’s a reality show. “Were you helping out at the church?”

      I shake my head. “Something with Father Dom, but” — I use the line Dad has trained me to say if she gets too nosey — “it’s kind of personal.”

      She raises her eyebrows and nods. “Everything’s okay, though?”

      “Yeah, we’re good,” I reassure her.

      “I guess so, now that you got into St. Bart’s!” She calls to me as I go back inside. I give her a wave and retreat.

      My suit jacket hangs on the bathroom door. I pull it off the hanger and slip it over my T-shirt. I stare at the golden crest on the pocket. Once I get to St. Bart’s, with the uniform on, and sit in a desk, I’ll become one of the boys I saw in the photos. I get an ache in my gut, like a hunger pain, thinking about it.