Chemistry Read Online Free PDF

next to him, so he wasn’t alone. Eventually, he stopped crying and fell asleep.
    I made the doctors promise not to wake him when they told me neither of our parents survived. I said I would tell him myself, and I did. I told him without any flourish or pity. I told him quick like a Band-Aid, and he barely reacted at all. He’d already lost his mother, so this wasn’t anything new. And I think maybe he appreciated that I wouldn’t coddle him over it.
    We spent the rest of our days in the system. At first, we lived in a group home together. Then they found a foster family for Gene, but not me. The family only wanted one, and they wanted a boy about Gene’s age. Even back then, I was too old.
    The day I turned sixteen, I got work at the church across the street from my high school. Nothing glamorous, but I planned to attend the best college in the state with the money I would save. I wanted to study chemical engineering, get a good job, and be much better off than guys like Phoebus, who can’t do anything other than kick a soccer ball and… dance, apparently.
    Gene and I were lucky enough to attend the same school, which may not have been the best thing for him. The older he got, the more trouble he caused. So there’s one failure on my account. Because who did he look to for guidance? Me. And now he’s a lost cause. God help me, I love him, but he’s already an addict and a near dropout. I’ve failed him. And now, it seems I’ve failed Valentine, too.
    The only person I’ve ever done anything good for is Peter Gringoire. Peter and I became fast friends, as he was in need of a tutor and I was in need of someone I didn’t have to talk down to. He’s smart—he really is. He’s just distracted most of the time. He still lives in the same group home I left after I turned eighteen. He’s almost like a brother to me, and he deserves so much better than what he gets. He deserves better than all of us, except maybe Valentine.
    II
    Here, we come to the last bit of my little history. I met Valentine, as I said, on Valentine’s Day. I noticed him hugging his knees under the eves of my church one night. My first thought when I saw him was that he looked exactly the way Gene had the day I first met him: utterly lost.
    I stood staring at him, hoping he would look up and notice me. He never did, so I spoke. “Hey. What are you doing here?” I didn’t give him the private-property speech. It was clear to me he was only here because he had nowhere else to go. “Hey, you.” I tapped his shoe with my foot, and he looked up at me. It was all I could do to keep myself from leaping back in shock.
    His face looked more like B-rate horror movie make-up than a true face. Lumpy, one-eyed, and huge. He was a Cyclops. I had expected a fat kid by the shape of him, but he was far from fat. As he pushed himself to his feet, I could see he was all muscle. And for a moment, I believed he was going to reach out and snap my spindly, little neck. But he didn’t. He just blinked and bowed his head. I think he must have been crying, but his face was already wet from the rain, and I never bothered to ask. I try to leave people as much dignity as I can. Dignity is important when you’ve already lost everything else. I know it’s always been that way for me.
    “You should probably come inside.” I started for the door and assumed he followed, but when I turned back, I saw him standing just where I’d left him, his head still bowed, rainwater dripping from his bright red hair.
    “Well, are you coming?”
    No response.
    I think the look on his face was what gave me courage. I’m not normally a courageous person, but his expression told me there was nothing I could do that would move him to anger. He was too far gone for that. He was already drowning. So I walked back to him, took him by the elbow, and led him to the door.
    I flicked on the sanctuary lights, turned up the heat, and sat him down in the front pew. He shivered and breathed