THE FIFTH BIRTHDAY

I woke up to sunlight that morning. Before doing anything else, I lay there watching Jimi sleep beside me, his legs sprawled across the bed, his breathing soft and peaceful—like what I imagined an angel’s might sound.

Five years had passed since that afternoon when my water broke in the Romanovas’ backyard and they refused to help me. I ended up on the street, taken in by a stranger named Aster—a persistent, inexplicably kind and empathetic boy who now dated my best ...