Disclaimer: I don’t own the concept of the Sharing. I don’t know yet how far this story is going into the future, so let’s just be safe and say I don’t own anything that K.A. owns. However, I do own everything else. Except I don’t own NYC.

That’ll make sense later, I promise. Hopefully.

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THE SHRINK

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Chapter 1:

My name is Helen.

I can’t tell you my last name. I can’t tell you anything about myself, or my father will beat me.

Or not me, actually. He’d be more likely to get drunk and then attack my brother, even if I were the one to do the “wrong” thing.

I guess you might think that I’m one of the kids who hate their siblings. That I’m glad that my brother takes the beatings that should be mine.

But I’m not.

My father has slapped me around enough times for me to know that it wouldn’t make a whit of a difference if I actually tried to like my father or not.

Besides, my brother is the only one person I have left.

Well, there is my mother. But between her parties and her time spent at other men’s homes, she might as well not be my mother.

More accurately though, my father might not be my father.

I think that’s why he hates my brother Joshua so much. Because he thinks that Joshua isn’t his son, so it doesn’t matter if he hits him or screams at him.

As for me, I wait.

I wait in the corners, in the shadows, until my dad is gone, in his room or on the couch and then I creep out, arms extended, to hold my brother and to wipe away his tears.

I hate my father.

I remember reading in a book, called Ellen Foster, about a girl whose father was an alcoholic like mine, and how she used to dream of killing her daddy.

I liked her ideas, actually. Her best one was to let a poisonous spider into her father’s bed and then after he died, to call the police and act very very sad because her father was dead.

But it turned out that her father drank himself to death, and that she didn’t need to do a single thing.

I don’t have enough patience to wait for my dad to drink himself to death. But maybe if I put some poison in his drink…

He’d probably just get sick and then blame it on Joshua and I’d have to watch again, again, again, even though it was my fault, and then the endless circle would start over, again, again, again….

I am eleven years old and my brother is nine months younger than me.

My mom didn’t waste any time hopping from one bed to another.

At night I dream about leaving, and I know I could. No one would notice, but I can’t leave Joshua, and if Joshua left, my dad would notice.

It’s kind of funny how when you want your parents to care, they don’t, and then when you want your parents not to care, they do.

Or at least in my case. I know that other families have dads that love them.That there are other families that aren’t “dysfunctional.”

A shrink came to our school one time to help out all the troubled kids and I wouldn’t talk to him. In Ellen Foster the shrink told her she was scared, and she was, and I don’t want anyone to know our secret.

If anyone found out, my dad would kill Joshua.

And he would probably be sober while he did it.

Again, it’s really weird. My dad cares because Joshua isn’t his son, but he doesn’t care that I’m his daughter.

And of course, my mom doesn’t care at all.

I slammed my locker shut, and then kicked it when it bounced back. It stubbornly refused to close, so taking the palm of my hand I hit it and kicked it at the same time.

It closed.

I locked it, messed up the combination numbers and then ran to catch the bus. Joshua was waiting for me and he fell into step with me as I passed him.

“What’s up?” he asked, and I replied, “Nothing much.”

Simple, ordinary conversation between two fifth graders, that was all.

“Do you think Mom’s going to be home?” Joshua asked, and I shook my head.

“What about Dad?” he asked, as lightly as possible, and I glanced at him.

“I don’t know. He might be.”

We turned the corner and then climbed onto the bus where the bus driver scowled at us for being late.

“Next time you two are late, you can walk,” she snapped, and we both mumbled “Sorry,” before flopping down on an empty seat.

I then took the time to look Joshua straight in the face, noting his blackened eye.

“So, did they jump on you during lunch or in the bathroom?”

“Lunchtime,” he told me, and then leaned back, his feet flat on the bus floor. “It was only three this time, so it wasn’t that bad. Did the girls bother you again?”

The girls. We called them muffins, after something in Madeline L’Engle’s book, Meet the Austins where the muffins were the “popular clique.” They were called muffins because they wanted to be exactly alike, just like muffins.

“Yeah,” I admitted, also leaning back. “But you know, sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me.”

“In other words, that’s a pathetic attempt by people who are hurt by words to deny it,” my brother retorted, shaking his hair out of his eyes. I grinned at him, glad that I didn’t have to explain my feelings to him, that he already knew.

The bus turned a corner and stopped at our stop, and Joshua and I both wearily got up.

“See ya, losers,” someone said from the back, and we both ignored it.

“Do you think middle school will be any better?” I asked him as we stepped off the bus.

Joshua shook his head. “Nah. At least, I wouldn’t count on it.”

As we started to walk to our house, a kid stopped us and handed us a flyer.

“Here. Have you heard of this new club?”

I looked at it. The top of the paper said in big letters, THE SHARING.

“No,” Joshua said. “What is it about?”

“It’s a new club where everyone is accepted and tolerated. It just got started, and I’m a full member. Do you want to join?”

I glanced at Joshua, and raised an eyebrow. “Everyone is accepted?”

“Yup,” the boy responded. “Everyone. And we all stick together too, so if anyone bothers one of the members, then we all respond.”

His words hit a raw nerve in me. I did not, repeat, did not need anyone to stand up for me. I could deal with the stupid muffins on my own.

“No,” I snapped, handing the leaflet back to him as I walked away. A few second later, Joshua followed me, carrying one.

“Why’d you walk off like that?” he asked, hurrying to keep up with me.

“Didn’t you hear him?” I asked. “So if anyone bothers one of the members, then we all respond,” I mimicked. “Why doesn’t he just say, since you two obviously don’t have friends, join this loser club so you can have some.”

Joshua shrugged. “I thought he was just being nice. I want to look into this.”

“Do whatever you want,” I told him, and then we were silent.

We entered the apartment quietly, and I called out softly, “Dad?”

“What is it?” he answered from in front of the TV, and instinctively I winced.

“We’re home,” I said, trying to sound happy.

He didn’t respond.

We slowly put our books away as Dad turned to look at Joshua. “Come here, boy,” he said softly, and I ducked my head, hiding under my hair.

After a moment of hesitation Joshua walked over to the couch and stood in front of my father.

“So, you got into a fight, did you?” he said softly, almost purring. I kept my face under hair, not looking.

“No,” Joshua started. “These kids jumped -”

Smack!

My father brought his hand down across Joshua’s check, and without even looking I knew that there were tears in my brother’s eyes.

“What did you say?”

Joshua hesitated again, and then went on. “I wasn’t fighting, I -”

Smack! Smack!

Twice, and this time I looked up to see tears spilling down his smarting cheeks.

I averted my eyes again.

“What did you say?” my father asked again.

This time, Joshua answered, “I fought.”

I heard my father stand up from the couch and deliver a punishing blow that sent Joshua to the floor. Grabbing him roughly, Dad yanked him up by his arm and slapped him again, this time causing his nose to start bleeding.

Then he dropped him on the floor, and without another word sat back on the couch, leaving my brother breathing harshly.

After a few minutes Joshua crawled away to me, trembling as he wiped away the blood. I knelt down and held him, held him as I always did, crying a little.

Then, for no reason at all, I stood up straight.

“I fought too, Dad,” I said. “I beat this girl up. I got a detention.”

My father grunted.

I knelt back down to the trembling Joshua, who whispered, “I wish I could do that and get away with it.”

I held him and whispered, “I wish he’d care about me.”

My brother shook his head. “He doesn’t care about me, he just cares that I don’t belong to him.”

I looked at the flyer that had fallen to the floor, and asked, “Do you think this new club would do anything?”

“The Sharing thing?”

I nodded.

Joshua shook his head violently. “I don’t want to be a part of it anymore,” he whispered, “If it accepts everybody. I don’t want to be a part of anything that accepts him.”

“I know,” I answered, stroking his hair. “I know.”

Review Responses

Look at that. I couldn’t even wait two days. It’s really weird, actually. I feel this burning desire to update, a craving to upload. It’s almost like I’m addicted. Except I haven’t finished Chapter 2 or 3, yet, so those won’t be coming right away like everything else. I do have Chapter 4, 5, and 6 done, but Chapters 2 and 3 needs to go first. In case you don’t know that 2 and 3 goes before 4, 5, 6.

Sorry, I’m babbling. I just finished reading all of L. Emmist fics and reviewing them all – yes, all, every single chapter of his nine fics – and so I’m kind of dizzy from staring at the computer screen for so long. I reviewed them all because I always have this feeling of not being complete, almost, if I read a story and don’t review all the chapters. So, for those of you on my favorites, I will get to you eventually and give you a lot more reviews. And if any of you are on my author alert, then I’ll get to you to. I finished all of Wraithlord’s fics a couple days ago (except one of them, and I’m gonna get to that one too).

Now, for the review responses.

Hey – thank you, thank you.

Jumba – Sorry, I’m shortening everyone’s names. Hope you don’t mind! And yes, I am going to bring J.P back, but not until… let’s see… if not Nadar Chronicles 3, then in Mayanites: Nadar and Kyan, or perhaps The Return of the Animorphs, or maybe even Lorrth’s Quest. I’m not sure yet, but he will come back, eventually.

Mersang – Thanks for the review! And she does tell them what a Nadar is, eventually. Maybe in The Papai, or even in The Healing, which is the book after this one. And flashbacks, as far as I’m aware, won’t come that frequently. This was more of a fire-induced temporary memory loss. See ya!

Rachel 9466 – Ah. Well, I write like a maniac, as you can see from the chapters I already have done. And I’m glad you caught up! And oh – I was wondering, do you want a character? I mentioned that in my last fic. Just curious. See ya!

DH – You’re back! And I was just thinking about you, how you nicknamed me KP and now that has been spreading to the point that I call myself that. And yeah, I’m pretty much writing my own Animorph series except different. And I tried your link, but it wouldn’t work. Is the url bad or something? Send it to me again so I can look at it. Thanks!

And that’s it. Till next time, folks.

(That means review.)

smiles and winks and then frowns because the little stars won’t work so she has to use bold

Ok, I’ll stop now. Review, please!