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I nodded so he wouldn’t worry, but all the while, my insides churned in anticipation of the unknown future once he left.

Alanzo was a short, bald man with dark eyes and extremely huge, hairy arms. Looking at him, I could swear his forearms were as big as my thigh, and his biceps seemed to be the size of my head. He was a tiny terror with a jagged scar that ran under his eye, across his cheek, and clear to his ear. Alanzo Mazo was not a man who gave anyone warm, fuzzy feelings on their first impression.

“Call me ZoZo, angel. All my nieces and nephews do. Think of it like Joe–Joe, but with a Z.” His thick jersey accent almost made me want to laugh at the idea of calling this man of muscle by a nickname. “We’re gonna have a good time. You’ve got two choices, doll face.” He pointed to the back where my room was. “You can chill in there, and I’ll leave your food at the door, knock twice and jet, or we can hang out, eat some pasta together, and play checkers.”

Thinking about this hulk of a man wanting to play checkers, the laughter burst out of me before I could stop myself.

“What? You don’t think I know how to play checkers?” he asked, pointing to himself. He shook his head before smiling at me, showing a missing front tooth. “Oh, I see. You don’t think I can cook. Well, angel, you are in for a treat. I have my great-grandmother’s manicotti recipe right up here.” He tapped his temple for emphasis. “Me and you are gonna eat well while old Pop’s here handles business.”

I laughed harder.

“Oh, a smile truly befitting an angel,” he said, watching me.

I blushed and looked to Giano who was also watching and waiting, trying to gauge my reaction. Giving him the most confident gaze I could muster, I nodded to give him the go-ahead to leave. With a man like Alanzo watching me, I was sure no one would get to me. As for Alanzo himself, he might look scary, but anyone who wanted to play checkers with an up-and-coming eighth grader certainly couldn’t be all bad, right?

The weekend came and went with Alanzo proving to be the amazing cook he had claimed. Too bad he couldn’t say the same for his skills at Checkers, Crazy Eights, Connect Four, Trouble, or Uno. However, give the man the game of Operation, and his hand was as steady as a real surgeon’s, leaving me to wonder what Uncle ZoZo did for a living.

Apprehension filled me as each day passed, one into the next, drawing me closer to my new life. I had a new school, new clothes, and a new name. I had new memories to remember of a life I hadn’t led.

I had poured over the pictures countless times, trying to engrain every moment of young Angelina Diamante’s life into my mind, and they somewhat haunted me. Her last year of life was missing. The pictures stopped at age ten, but she had been a year ahead of me in school. The only picture of her at age eleven was her school photograph. In the drawer, there was only one picture labeled age twelve. Why the loss of photographs? Everything leading up to that point was recorded in those pictures, so many of them it was easy to get lost in the story of her life.

What happened to her? I still didn’t know. The timing of her leaving and my arrival nagged at me, but what could I do? I was still breathing. I was somehow still surviving, so I needed to push forward. Count the days, count the hours, and count my blessings until I was bigger, stronger, and more adept at taking care of myself.

By becoming Angelina, I could now be thirteen instead of twelve. I had five years to fulfill my stranger’s needs, and then I could find my way out. I didn’t know what he needed from me yet, and it had already been a year. One day, I hoped to sort the mystery of how our paths had crossed, but until then, I kept pressing on.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi
. I counted to myself as I once again went over each photograph.

Angelina Nylene Diamante—I could become her. I could do this. Will to survive, drive to move on … Kids were resilient. I would get through this.

I found myself restless and unable to sleep. Once my stranger informed me of my future, he slowly allowed me more access and privileges. With the house now wide open, I was free to roam at any time, whether Giano was home or not, like the weekend Alanzo stayed with me. No longer being bound by any restrictions was both freeing and terrifying. I couldn’t help worrying over what would happen next. My mind constantly went back to the thoughts of what would happen when the charade was over.

Giano’s house wasn’t overly done like the home I had once shared with my parents. The modest four-bedroom, three-bathroom place was certainly designed for a growing family. The kitchen was modern, being the most contemporary room in the house. It was really the only minor similarity to where I came from. Overall, the place had been decorated in warm tones, giving a cozy feeling throughout.

What it was not meant for was a single male with a darkness to his eyes and a young girl so beyond lost she wasn’t sure she would ever be found. However, that was who resided there.

Did the stranger build this house for his wife and daughter? Was this his family dream for Angelina? All pictures were gone except the ones in our room, mine and Angelina’s.

It was past midnight, and I needed to be asleep. Tomorrow was a big day, a huge day, a colossal day. Tomorrow was my first day at my new school. Tomorrow morning, we would get up and make the drive to Calvary Academy in Lakewood, New Jersey. Tomorrow, I truly showed the world I was thirteen-year-old Angelina Nylene Diamante.

We had gotten through my orientation two days ago. My stranger, Mr. Giancarlo Diamante, was a stellar performer as the doting single father. According to our story, my mother died tragically in a car accident at the beginning of summer last year. Therefore, my father felt it important that we move to Lakewood, and I attend a private school to get more one on one time with my teachers as my education had been a distraction for us both without my mother Nylene around anymore. I had spent the last year mourning her loss and homeschooling since I couldn’t focus outside of our home, or so my stranger told everyone.

We accepted their condolences graciously and moved on through the evening. As I made my way to the kitchen, I couldn’t help wondering if Nylene Diamante really did die tragically in a car accident in May just before I was taken. Was Angelina with her? Why had my stranger not reported his daughter’s death, too? Then again, he hadn’t told me she was dead, nor had he ever explained the lack of his spouse’s presence. No, I really didn’t know what had happened to his family at all, and I couldn’t say if what he had told the teachers was a partial truth or yet another lie.

Giancarlo Diamante cleaned up nice. Rather than being in his usual dress slacks and a button down that typically had one or two buttons undone, he wore a suit much like my father would have worn: steel gray pants that fit him like they were made for his body; a lavender shirt that buttoned down, adorned with pearled, square cufflinks; and around his neck, a steel gray tie with a design of small, black doves in a pattern throughout it all added to his ensemble; topped with a matching gray sports coat. His wing-tipped black shoes made it all come together for the polished appeal of a businessman.

His broad shoulders filled the outfit completely. His tall stature was no longer the softness I had come to find in my time with him. Instead, he seemed powerful and domineering. His dark hair was slicked back to perfection, and his dark eyes danced with mischievousness when necessary to flirt with any of the staff at my new school. Add the rasp in his voice, and he seemed able to talk and carry himself out of any situation.

I read in a book once about how some people have charisma. I thought that was what I could define the interactions of my stranger and the school personnel. He turned on the charm and used his charisma to keep the questions at bay.

I fumbled in the kitchen as I wondered what exactly Giano did for a living. What was his job? How could he afford to send me to such a nice school? I saw the pictures. Angelina had always attended private school, much like I had with my parents, which as I thought on it, I didn’t really know what my dad had done other than he had been part of the “family business” with Papa. That was all they ever called it, and why should I care to question it?

My stranger came and went at strange times. Sometimes, I even thought he left in the middle of the night. I tried not to think about it. In my time here, he had only left me long-term the weekend Uncle ZoZo had stayed with me. Was a weekend really long-term? What did he do that required him to leave? The more I allowed myself to question, the more fear crept up inside me. I just had to get by until I could make my escape.

“My angel,” the gravelly voice sounded from behind me in the kitchen, “shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I needed a drink,” I whispered as the butterflies returned to my belly. Nerves hit me as I feared his reaction to my being out of place.

“Nervous?” he asked as he passed me, making his way to the refrigerator.

“Some, yes,” I admitted, needing to find comfort.

I watched as he poured a cup of milk into a saucepan. Over the stove, he heated it as he added a bit of honey and a splash of vanilla.
Interesting
, I thought.

No one had ever cared if I slept before or not. Then it hit me like a wrecking ball. I didn’t know the last time I had gotten up in the middle of the night for anything.

Yes, I sometimes had needed to use the restroom, but I would hold it out of fear. I would need a drink and deny myself for the same reason. I had been afraid, if my father heard me wake up, he would want to do things to me. Yet, somehow in the crazy whirlwind of time with my stranger, I had found it safe to emerge from my room at night.

I gripped the counter as the emotions erupted inside. For the first time in my short life, I felt the freedom to come down to the kitchen for a cup of milk in order to return to my slumber. However, in doing so, someone—my stranger—actually cared enough to get up with me and make me a special bedtime drink.

No one had ever offered me such importance in their life to care if I was able to sleep. My stranger did, though. His actions showed me he cared.

For the first time since Papa died, someone actually cared about me.

Silently, I watched in awe as he prepared my drink. Sitting at the kitchen island with me, he sipped a mug full, as did I. Once we finished, he rinsed everything in the sink then guided me to my room.

“Better, my angel?” he asked as he tucked me in.

Feeling alone as I lay in the queen-sized canopy bed that engulfed me and not wanting to be alone, I whispered, “Please stay.”

Chapter Six

When the beeping of my alarm awakened me, I slowly pushed myself to get up. Looking around, I realized I was alone in my room, although Giano had been kind enough to lay with me until I fell asleep. Carefully, he had climbed in behind me to wrap his arms around me so I could settle in last night. Feeling cocooned in his warmth and the security of his embrace, it hadn’t been long until I drifted into a dreamless sleep. I didn’t remember him leaving, and I hadn’t woken up again. To my surprise, I felt well rested after the not so great beginning to my night.

I once again allowed myself a moment to feel cherished by someone. He cared. I had always heard actions speak louder than words, and Giano had shown me he cared with every action he made.

The school day passed me by in a blur of changing classes, meeting new people, and trying to keep my story straight. I learned one lesson quickly today: less was always more. The less I said, the more likely I was to keep my secrets locked away.

Dinner time arrived with Giano not home. Typically, we had dinner together, so I couldn’t help the disappointment I felt t due to Giano not being there for me to share my important day with. Not to mention, his not being home by that time was unusual, once again making me curious about what he did for a living.

I ate my leftover pasta from the night before then headed up to my room. Sitting on my bed, I reached over to my nightstand and opened the drawer. Pulling out the tiny picture as I had done so many times before in the last few months, I placed it on the bed in front of me.

“Today was interesting, to say the least.” I talked out loud to my friend as if she was really there and not just a paper product in front of me. “Changing classes while trying to keep my schedule straight, all the new people…” I smiled at Angelina. “Being in a co-ed school for the first time in my life is different. Boys make a lot of noise.” I laughed, picturing my friend laughing with me. “The girls are in their own worlds, I guess. No one really talked to me today, but I didn’t really talk myself.” I sighed, thinking about my avoidance of conversations. It had been that way my entire life—stay quiet so I didn’t reveal any secrets. This new life might not be so different from my old one.

Looking over at the picture on the wall of my young friend, I imagined it as myself. Her arms were raised up high. Her long, brown hair flowed down her back, and her back was to the camera, looking at something in the distance. In the photograph, no one would know it was the real Angelina Diamante and not me.

The lines blurred in my mind as I went back to looking at my favorite picture that was on the bed in front of me. In this one, Angelina’s face was faded behind a huge bubble she was blowing. If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could picture it as me having a family fun day as she’d obviously had.

Shaking my head, I tried to shake off those thoughts. Angelina was a real person. I didn’t want to take away her existence, even in my mind. I thought of her being here with me, imagining us as two little girls with two loving parents each and not one bad thing in our lives.

I moved the pink pillow from beside me to across from me and closed my eyes, picturing my friend on the bed in front of me, holding the pillow while the two of us shared about the day.

“Mrs. Robert’s from English class seems like she has a lot of expectations. I’m gonna have to stay on point with her. That little, old lady seems harsh. I think I will have fun in Mrs. Mark’s Science class, though.” I continued on with an hour-by-hour replay of my day to the silent room around me. Finishing my recount, I almost wanted to cry when I found myself waiting for my imaginary best friend to reply. Of course, no one answered, and once again, my reality washed over me.