Chapter 2: Shrimp Feasts and Wish Lists

---

Suddenly, I remembered: when we found him with the cops at Six Flags, Caleb had been staring, wide-eyed, at a little boy holding his parents’ hands, loneliness and envy written all over his face.

The image haunted me—a blazing July afternoon, the scent of sunscreen and fried dough, but Caleb’s world shrunk to the sight of a family he could never reach. That kid probably had no idea he was the target of so much longing.

"It’s not your fault," I sighed, trying to comfort him. "Aunt’s just too slick."

What kid doesn’t want to go to an amusement park?

If I’d been his age, I’d have fallen for it too.

Hearing that, Caleb looked up. Something flickered in his eyes, but he looked down again, mumbling, "Mm."

He scuffed his sneaker against the sidewalk, tracing invisible patterns in the dust. I wanted to ruffle his hair, but something told me he wasn’t ready for that.

"Alright, let’s go."

"...Okay."

His voice was barely a whisper, but I heard it. He followed me, matching my steps for the first time.

I forced myself to focus and counted the cash I had left.

Thankfully, after graduating high school, I’d saved about a thousand dollars, with a hundred already gone to rent.

We’d manage. Somehow.

I squeezed the bills in my wallet, fighting the urge to panic. A thousand bucks didn’t stretch far in this city, but for now, it felt like a lifeline. I promised myself I’d make it work—no matter what.

After moving into the rental, we spent the night cleaning and then crashed into bed.

The next morning—

I’d planned to get groceries solo, but after washing up, I found Caleb already awake, curled up on the battered old couch.

Morning light filtered through the grimy glass, falling across his face and the dark circles under his eyes.

When he saw me with my bag, about to head out, he immediately stood up, dark eyes locked on me, fingers clutching the hem of his jeans.

His lips moved, but nothing came out.

Seeing the fear in his eyes, my heart clenched.

I understood right away—

He was scared I’d leave him too.

The subtitles from yesterday flashed again:

[Why does the little villain look so lost?]

[What’s to pity? He’s probably faking it, worried his only family will ditch him. No wonder he turned out so messed up. If I were his sister, I’d have bailed ages ago.]

[...Don’t be like that. The villain’s just withdrawn—he never hurt his sister, okay?]

The comments blurred before my eyes.

While I hesitated, Caleb seemed sure I was leaving. The light in his eyes faded, his hands clenched, lips going pale.

Just as he was about to turn away, I called out, "I’m just going to buy groceries. Want to come?"

The second I said it—

He spun around.

Meeting my smile, his gaze trembled, and he answered in a rush: "I’ll go."

I nodded.

Yeah.

What could a kid who just wants to go grocery shopping possibly be plotting?

Sometimes, the smallest invitation can change a whole day. I slung my tote bag over my shoulder, and we stepped out into the hazy sunlight—side by side for the first time in forever.

---

I took Caleb to the bustling farmer’s market.

He’d never been, and the chaos clearly overwhelmed him—his brows were knit tight.

The sharp tang of tomatoes and the sweet haze of ripe peaches hung in the air, mixing with the chatter and the clatter of shopping carts. Caleb looked like he’d landed on another planet, eyes darting from the mountains of produce to the knot of teens haggling over apples. His hands gripped the grocery bag so hard his knuckles turned white.

I didn’t expect much—just for him to help carry a few things.

But the comments had their own take:

[Why is the villain so funny? Does he think he’s some rich kid or what?]

[He wants his sister to do everything. That spoiled look, ugh!]

[What do you expect? The villain’s had it rough. As his sister, shouldn’t you spoil him a little?]

I ignored the bickering and made my way to the veggie stall, picked up a small cauliflower, and asked, "How much for this?"

"Two bucks," the woman said.

I bargained her down to a dollar seventy-five and even scored a free green onion.

Caleb watched me go back and forth, a little dazed.

Seeing his face, I thought he was embarrassed, wanted to explain, but ended up saying nothing.

Until we hit the meat counter.

The butcher was a young woman, fast and cheerful: "Alright, sweetheart, seven dollars."

I was about to pay when Caleb suddenly piped up, voice awkward: "Um, could we maybe get it for, like, six-fifty?"

I blinked and turned.

Caleb kept his face straight as a board, but his ears were bright red.

[Wait, the villain’s learning to hustle now? First-time negotiator energy, lol!]

[Sis’s face is priceless!]

[Who haggles that seriously? Dude’s ready for Wall Street!]

Exactly.

I found it hilarious and adorable.

But Caleb was dead serious.

The butcher laughed: "Sure, kid."

She winked at me, clearly charmed, and handed over the package. Caleb looked so proud, I half-expected him to fist-bump himself. Seeing he’d won, he looked up at me, eyes shining.

I couldn’t help but pinch his cheek.

Tsk, kind of cute.

He scowled at my hand, but didn’t pull away. For a second, he almost smiled.

---

After that, we grabbed shrimp, eggs, some spices, and daily basics.

Piece by piece, nothing looked expensive, but the total added up quick.

In a few days, I’d be starting at the local college.

Not only did I need to save for tuition, I also had to leave enough for Caleb.

Ha.

Life was getting more interesting by the day.

A real-life city survival game.

On the way home, the sun was already blazing, heat shimmering on the blacktop. I wiped my forehead and spotted a breakfast cart by the curb. After shopping, we split two bagels—one for each of us. That was breakfast.

He didn’t complain, hugging the bagel and wolfing it down.

But a growing boy eats a lot—I was going broke just keeping him fed.

By noon, Caleb was hungry again, but too shy to ask, just staring at me with big, hopeful eyes.

Seeing that, I rolled up my sleeves, grinned, and said, "Bro, I’ll make you seven dishes and a soup."

Caleb swallowed. "Really?"

Me: "Of course!"

So, the rest of the day—

He watched as I grabbed a shrimp, sautéed it with green peppers, then scooped it out: "Done! Shrimp and peppers."

Then I tossed the shrimp back in, didn’t even wash the pan, added some eggs, soy sauce, salt, fried till golden: "Shrimp and eggs, done."

After that, shrimp back in, add tofu...

...

After torturing—no, transforming—the shrimp every which way—

Shrimp tofu mushroom soup, shrimp oil scrambled eggs, shrimp heads fried with eggplant, crispy fried shrimp shells, shrimp and peppers, shrimp and eggs, shrimp noodle stir-fry, shrimp pancakes... all hit the table.

Caleb stared, eyes huge: "..."

[Shrimp: Should’ve stayed at the market.]

[The villain is stunned, lol!]

[Laughing so hard—who’s doing all these dishes?]

I patted his shoulder, all serious: "Learned it? When I’m at school, you gotta take care of yourself. Eat well."

Caleb sat there, dazed for a long time, before he finally nodded: "Mm."

I nodded in satisfaction, not noticing the boy quietly lowering his eyes, hands clenched into fists.

If I’d known, I would’ve sat with him a little longer, maybe asked about his favorite foods or told a dumb joke to lighten the mood. But all I did was start clearing the table, humming some pop song from the radio.