Missed Connections (58 page)

Will shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the homeless now munching on their mediocre food, and sighed in relief as he tore the hair net from his head. That was it, he had fed the homeless. Thank god this shift was over. Now only... six more days to go. Ugh.

"Come on Will," Judy spoke from the direction of the kitchen.  "Bring your tin over. It's time to wash up."

"What?" he asked, his head snapping up in alarm. No, this was it; he was supposed to be done. He had fed these people, he had done his time and his good deed for the day. He should be free!

Judy just flashed him another smile in answer and jerked her head toward the rest of the kitchen.

"Oh god, will the torture ever end," he muttered to himself, throwing the hairnet onto the counter before he grudgingly dragged himself and his tin to the kitchen and slammed it down on the old worn counter.

"Please, try not to break the tins. We can't afford new ones at the moment." Will shot Judy a glare as she turned her back to him. She was really starting to irritate him with her cheery but chiding tone. Seriously did this woman ever stop smiling? By the looks of her secondhand clothes, she wasn't much better off than the people out there scarfing down the food him and the other volunteers had just served them... for free.

Judy faced Will again and pointed over to a big, metal free-standing sink in the corner of the kitchen. A short, stout red-haired woman (she may have been the one at the tin next to Will but he couldn't remember) stood in front of it. "Talia's on wash duty today, so you don't need to worry about it right now but that's where it's done just so you know. Wash, scrub, dry. Make sure all the tins and utensils are clean for tomorrow. Simple," she stated with a nod. "The duties rotate each day so you'll be on it at least once."

Great, just what he wanted. The promise of more work.

Judy then pulled out of a cabinet a few nondescript brown trays, like the kind found in a high school cafeteria. "There's also kitchen duty, basically the prepping and cooking of the food along with cleaning the surfaces and things afterwards. But today we'll start you off easy. Dish duty. Just go around and collect the empty used dishes on these trays and bring them to Talia." Judy's smile widened as she gestured to the trays before her. Will hated it so much by this point that he had to remind himself that smacking it off her face would definitely be frowned upon.

He snatched up a tray with a little more force than necessary before stomping outside to the main dining area.

This was ridiculous. It was a D, one lousy D, that's all! It wasn't like he wouldn't get into an Ivy League anyway. His father had so many connections with other high societal and influential members that Will could have completely flunked out of
every
class this quarter and
still
been accepted to an Ivy League. He had already gotten acceptance letters from Princeton and Yale so what was the big deal?

Will strolled out to the outdoor main dining area, which was really no more than a few unyielding cold metal tables and benches set up in a random pattern in front of the soup kitchen. Men, women, and children of all ages and races, clothed in layers of varying degrees of decomposition, sat about talking and eating their meager meals. With a sigh of annoyance, Will entered the fray, grabbing at empty plates and stacking them on his tray while simultaneously trying to avoid any contact with the people surrounding him.

He was in the midst of the tables, four dirty plates stacked precariously upon his tray—there was no way in hell he was making more trips than absolutely necessary—when a loud peal of laughter sounded from behind and a body crashed into him. Will stumbled, and was able to catch his balance before he made a very embarrassing nosedive into the floor, but the tray he had been carrying wasn't so lucky. The sound of clattering crockery—thank god they were made of plastic and didn't do anything but bounce—filled the dining area, causing all noise to cease and every gaze swivel to find the source.

It was like a bad movie scene, the protagonist making a fool of himself and drawing everyone's attention.

But it wasn't his fault at all.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," a voice sounded from behind him. "Here, let me help y—"

"Are you kidding me?!" Will shouted, rage sweeping through him as he whipped around to face the miscreant. A pair of startling blue eyes met his own, partially obscured by a mop of dirty black hair forced down into his face by a gray beanie. A spark of recognition ran through Will as their eyes met, a brief flash of those same blue eyes from another time. But the memory was gone just as fast as it had come, leaving Will with only a sense of déjà vu. Before he could think about it, the boy spoke again, scattering his thoughts.

"What?" the boy sputtered out, confusion in his tone and a hint of anger replacing the remorse that stained his face not seconds earlier. A face that was defined, bone structure so sharp that he looked borderline gaunt, especially partnered with the pale white skin Will could barely see under all the dirt and grime. The sense of familiarity grew stronger in Will. But rage quickly overpowered his curiosity.

"You did that on purpose, you little cretin!"

The boy held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I swear it was an accident, buddy. I said I was sorry—"

"We are
not
buddies," Will growled. 

The boy's face darkened, jaw clenched in anger but eyes turning uncharacteristically sorrowful. "No, I guess we're not."

He bent down, gathering the plates quickly and stacking them on the tray. When he rose with the tray clutched loosely in both hands, he shoved it at Will with a curt nod, the sorrow in his eyes dissipating as quickly as it had come.

Will stared coldly into those familiar blue eyes, steel lacing his voice as he stated, "Best you remember that, for your sake."

Then he turned, and strode back toward the kitchen, anger still strumming through his veins but smug in the knowledge that he had put that boy in his place. He had taken no more than three steps however, when the boy spoke once more.

"I'll keep that in mind next time I come across another pretentious jerk."

Will spun on his heels so quickly the tray almost fell from his grip again. This boy obviously had no idea who he was talking to. No one talked to Will that way.

"What did you call me?" he asked slowly, voice dangerously low, the threat as clear as day.

But the boy just gave him a deadly glare before spinning on his own heels and walking back to his table. A startled woman stared at Will, openmouthed, as the boy sat across from her and her young daughter, the shock and fear warring for dominance upon her face telling Will she knew exactly who he was.

Then it clicked. That's why the boy was so familiar. He was the one Will had witnessed earlier giving his food to the same woman and child the boy was sitting with now.

But a small part of Will still felt uneasy. Like he was forgetting something...

He shook his head, grumbling, wanting nothing more than to continue to berate the boy until he was thoroughly knocked back into place. But he knew the boy wasn't worth his time. While Will would be going back to a nice extravagant estate, a warm bed, and a rich decadent meal, the dirty, insolent boy would most likely be sleeping on some park bench.

Taking his own advice, Will continued on his way to the kitchen, ignoring the stares he got along the way and dropped off the plates he had collected with Talia. He bristled at the thank you Talia gave him and strode back out to gather some more.

It took five trips in all, with Will gaining more and more confidence in balancing plates as he worked. He ignored the silence that seemed to follow him as he went about his job and made a point to disregard the boy's table completely. By the final trip, Will was sure he could carry the remaining ten plates no problem. Then he could call it quits and escape this disgusting place and all who frequented it. Until tomorrow, that is. Ugh.

Maybe he could talk to his father when he got home, Will mused to himself as he stacked a plate on his tray. He could explain to his father all that he had achieved and all that he learned today. He could even apologize for his behavior earlier if he really needed to—however he would avoid that until absolutely necessary. Then maybe he could get out of the rest of the week. It wasn't too terribly late to book a flight to the Bahamas...

Will balanced another plate on his tray, a cocky smile breaking out upon his face. It could work.

The last dirty plate unfortunately, resided in front of the mother and her young daughter, the two still talking cheerily to the boy from before. Will huffed out a sigh of annoyance. He really should just leave them to take their own plate to Talia. He shouldn't have to bus it like some common waitress. But Will mused that the boy would probably try to steal the damn thing and headed over to collect it.

All conversation ceased as he approached and quickly gathered up their plate. Will didn't make eye contact with any of the table's occupants and made sure to completely ignored the boy altogether.

As he turned and took a few steps away, the conversation picked back up, the hushed whispers and quiet tones suggesting that they thought Will was out of earshot.

"You really don't know who that is?" he heard the woman ask.

"No, should I?" the boy responded flippantly.

Will was almost to the kitchen, the woman's response almost drowned out in the sea of other voices around him. But during a lull in the conversations he could just make out the last part of the woman's sentence, "—get on their bad side, Morgan."

The name sparked another round of recognition within Will, but where from, he still didn't know. He mulled it over, repeating the name over and over in his head, trying to figure out why it sounded so damn familiar. He was too lost in his thoughts to pay any mind to his surroundings as he deposited his burden in the sink, completely deaf to Talia's complaints about his handling of them. He ran through every person he knew:  all of his father's business partners, board members he had met, classmates he had to do projects with, everyone. Not one fed the spark.

Will, still lost in thought, walked back out to the front, pausing outside the kitchen, brow furrowed in concentration. Why was this bugging him so much? What kind of association could he possibly have with some street kid? It was absurd, completely ridiculous and he should just let it go.

But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. It was a challenge to him, one that he knew he couldn't back down from. It would continue to bug him until he solved the puzzle. Will looked back up at the boy, staring at him intently as if the answer to his question would just appear above the shabby beanie.

Of course it didn't. But the nagging in his head increased until he was sure the answer was there, just on the tip of his tongue...

An idea struck Will and he quickly retrieved his phone, opening the camera app and taking aim at the table. He zoomed in, noting that his antics had caught the attention of the woman. She looked up, eyes going wide with something akin to fear before she quickly grabbed her daughter's hand and pulled them both away and down the street. Fortunately, this caught the attention of the boy and he looked back, trying to find the source of the woman's fear.

Will snapped the shot.

Perfect.

He could use his dad's connections or maybe blackmail Jared—a chubby short kid who sat in front of him in Government class with a knack for computer hacking—to find out who this boy was.

He lowered his phone, locking it and stuffing it in his pocket, not the least bit concerned that he had just been caught. The boy was getting up now, no doubt to make the same hasty escape as his companion.

"Morgan," Will whispered to himself aloud, the name rolling around on his tongue just as sweet and familiar as his favorite candy. Finally, it fed the flames of the spark of recognition, building them higher and higher until it exploded into an inferno. Will was suddenly assaulted with memories of the past. A little black-haired boy, no more than five years old, racing across the grassy field of their elementary school, giggling with joy as an equally young Will chased after him. The same black-haired boy, a little bit older, lying on his back pointing up at the night sky, inventing shooting stars where there were none. Will, standing fists clenched before a boy twice his size as the black-haired boy stood behind him still defiant despite the bruise now forming on his cheekbone. Will whispering "Morgs, you awake?" to the dark room on one of their sleepovers, trying to see if the boy beside him was truly asleep and grinning in joy when he received a "No, I'm asleep" in response before launching into a story that had them both giggling not so quietly.

"Morgs?" Will called breathlessly, breaking out of his memories to run and stop the boy before he could get too far. He held his breath, not daring to get his hopes up but also knowing that it was much too late for such silly things.

And when the boy halted at the name but didn't turn back around, Will's hope only grew stronger. He tried again, "Morgan Emerson?"

Will watched as the boy slowly turned around, the similarities between the little boy he used to know and this older, shabbier version now oh-so-obvious. "Hey, Will."

He had been wrong, he had been so wrong. He did know him. This boy, hidden beneath ragged, soiled clothing and a fine layer of dirt and grime, was his childhood friend. His best friend. They had done everything together, never apart from one another for more than a day. Completely inseparable.

Until Morgan had just up and moved, leaving an eight-year-old Will behind wondering what on earth had happened and why his best friend hadn't shown up for school. It wasn't until later, once he had pestered his father—who had never fully approved of their friendship due to the status gap between the two families, only barely tolerating it—into grudgingly finding out where his friend had gone that he discovered the truth. Morgan's mother had passed away suddenly, a brain aneurysm, his father said. And since there had never been any father to speak of, Morgan had been sent to go live with his grandfather three hours away.