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There were a lot of things I remembered from when I was little, though I didn’t remember ever being told I would feel like such a black sheep on a family holiday. Of course, I wouldn’t, and couldn’t, say that being alone on a family holiday bothered me. Why bother with something that isn’t there? Besides, I don’t think Santa would be willing to stuff a few people in his Christmas sack just for me. Sorry, Mr. Clause. I know you’re trying, but a stray cat isn’t cutting it.

A few things I recalled were screaming children, a few people who looked like they were ready to pull their hair out, and rows of beds in long damp rooms. And then, rather suddenly, a loving face, a nice smile, a bed and room all to myself, and the overwhelming scent of cologne.

If you haven’t guessed already, I used to live in an orphanage, but only for the first three years of my life, so I never knew my real mom. How could I? Dad once told me that memory came when you began speaking, and unless I was some sort of superhuman, I wasn’t about to remember any-thing like that. Dad also told me that the first thing a child remembers is its mother’s smell. Well, sorry, mom, but all I could remember was the smell of Dad’s cologne.

Needless to say I never thought much of my real mother. The only thought that came to me was if she had died or something. And if not, why had she given me up? But that had only come up a few times in my short period of life.

Okay, so I’m exaggerating. My life hasn’t been too short, but it’s only been fifteen years, so I don’t have a car yet, and that’s one of the few milestones I count. That and when I first saw the man I began to call ‘Dad’, when I started Middle school, then High school, and now I will be counting my first Christmas alone.

Enough with the memories for now, shall we? I will give you one last memory and then a few words of wisdom from my dad. Around two months before Independence Day, my dad didn’t come home. Like any optimistic, foolish, naïve little girl, I just thought he was probably coming home late, you know? Nope.

He’d been in an accident earlier that day and the police (or whoever was in charge of it) had neglected to tell me, his adopted daughter, anything about it. How responsible of them. But like I said it was my first ever Christmas completely alone. Not counting Mama, Hercules, and Molasses (a few stray cats), but I’m pretty sure they didn’t count as family. So sorry, little kitties.

Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about the ‘words of wisdom’. God knows you people would kill me if I didn’t drag this on for as long as possible. Dad once told me, “Things will never turn out how you plan.” Let me tell you, I’d been living by those words from the day my father told them to me. And I swear that’s what happened to me my first Christmas alone.

I slumped down the stairs of my apartment building because the stupid elevator had picked that day to stop working. Rubbing my eyes, I suddenly realized that I had lost one of my boots near the middle of the steps. Grumbling angrily to myself, I retrieved the blasted thing, slipped it on, and pulled the laces as tightly as they would go and did the same with the other boot, just to be safe.

“Where are you going so early, Naomi?”

I looked down to see my landlord, Mr. Vega. He was a squatty man in his fifties or so. Let me tell you, his son looked his exact opposite, all except for the face. They both had droopy eyes and that mean bulldog look to them. I opened my mouth and stuttered slightly, pointing at the door.

“I was just…heading out,” I said. If there was one thing I would rather not do, it was be around him on that day. Reason number one: Going to work on Christmas is nothing compared to him. And reason number two: He had this sick obsession with trying to get me to go out with his son. He was a nice guy, really, just not my type. It may have had something to do with him being at least ten years older than me and him still acting like a twelve year old. But, the world may never know.

Either way, I casually walked down the steps and eased my way towards the door. Don’t draw attention—three more steps—you’re almost there…two more steps…

“Naomi!”

God, if you love me, you’ll let me reach the door knob. I felt a slight pressure on my shoulder and I looked around. Thanks, God. At least I know how you feel about me. Gritting my teeth, I slapped on a smile and pulled Sammy’s hand off my shoulder, but he quickly turned it into a kiss on the hand.

“Hey, Sammy,” I said, feeling a tinge of sour disgust coming out as I pulled my hand away from him. “Look, I really need to get going. Mrs. Ashburn will have my head on a plate if I’m late.” He looked at me in a sideways fashion and cocked an eyebrow. Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a wee bit, but I tell you Mrs. Ashburn was a force to be reckoned with.

I smiled forcedly and slipped out the front door, saying “Bye” under my breath. Like I said, he was a nice guy, just not my type.

Before taking my usual route, I ducked behind the side of the apartment building and peaked into a small cardboard box and flipped open the top. Suddenly, two little heads peeked up at me and began meowing hungrily. Hercules, a chubby white kitten, placed his paws his skinny brother Molasses’s head and swiped at my hand.

“All right, hold on, chubby,” I said, opening a can of food for them. “Let Molasses have some this time. I don’t want to come home with him getting mad at me, okay?”

Looking around, I found Mama, a scrawny calico and the kittens’ mother, staring up at me with her big green and gold eyes. “I haven’t forgotten you.” I said, slipping a small plastic sack of left over fish out of my bag and pouring it on a dirty old paper plate in front of her. It was never much, but it was always enough to keep her and her kittens happy.

I had found them all in that same box nearly a month prior and since then, they’d been ‘my cats’ so to speak. Oh…I’m sure God thought I really needed something else to feed, but to tell you the truth, I was having trouble paying rent, paying for school, and having enough money left over to feed myself. But, I couldn’t just let a little family of three die, now could I? I’m not heartless.

Quickly waving them all a slight goodbye I turned around the corner and made my way down the street, making sure not to pick my feet up too far for fear of my boots coming off again. They were probably two sizes too big for me, but they were a good price and I was caught in my dad’s old words, “You’ll grow into it, don’t worry.” I guess he hasn’t seen my latest wardrobe; a dingy black coat that basically swallowed me, an X-Large gray ribbed sweater, and a long denim skirt that I have to put a belt on (tightly) just to wear. Oh, yeah, dad. I’ll grow into these when I gain about fifty some odd pounds.

Shaking my head and tugging on the green and red (hey, Christmas colors) scarf I had thrown around my neck, I grabbed hold of the corner lamppost and swung onto the connecting sidewalk. I went down this way every day after school and it was always at least part of a second faster to swing on that lamppost.

I passed by several restaurants and stores, glancing at the CLOSED signs with sour envy and all I could wonder was what in the world possessed Mrs. Ashburn to make me work on Christmas? It was a family holiday, for heaven’s sake! Okay, calm down, Naomi. You don’t even have a family, so why get worked up? No reason to. Yeah, let’s see how long I can keep up that façade without killing myself.

Thank you so much. I'll be posting more now!

I love it!

Naomi has stress issues, though...

If you want to learn the secret to a truly glamorous Christmas, listen carefully: knock a kid off a ladder, then go visit him in the hospital. The smell of floor cleaner, ammonia, medicine, and sickness is the best smell in the world! I’m not saying I did push the kid, but that’s probably the only way it’ll happen to you, because it could only happen to me like this.

Now, I’m sure you thinking, “Hey, why are you in the hospital? It wasn’t your fault.” I know, I know, but like I said, I’m not completely heartless. Besides I need to give him the book he risked his life over. Anyway, I just wanted to make sure he was okay and then motor so that his family couldn’t accuse me of anything.

Looking around, I found that about half the lobby was staring at me. I’m sure it was like, “I wonder why she doesn’t look concerned…” Well, that’s because I don’t know the little twerp and I was only concerned about getting out of there as fast as I could. Gotta save my own hide, thank you very much.

Besides, I had to give him Les Miserables, because if someone’s going to risk their neck for an old traditional play was surely a friend of mine and deserved to get what they wanted.

I tapped my foot and looked around the waiting room. People had come rushing in and out of the hospital the whole time I’d been there, and that was barely a half hour. I mean, seriously, what could possibly be so horribly wrong with these people that they had to run in and out, in and out all morning long?

Sighing deeply, I was almost relieved when Mr. Johnson (okay Dr. Johnson, sorry. Gosh…) He smiled at me; very good sign.

“Hello, Naomi,” he said, shaking my hand as I stood to face his…chest. Seriously, the guy was like a foot and a half taller than me. Not cool. “Valentine is doing fine. It was a minor concussion.”

I tilted my head to the side a bit and cocked my eyebrow. Pointing to the door I opened my mouth a bit and said, “I thought that kid I helped was a boy.” Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the name ‘Valentine’ a girl’s name? Yep. That’s what I thought. But, Dr. Johnson just laughed at me and patted me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, a small laugh still hanging over his voice. “Do you want to see him?”

I stepped back in a bit of shock. I know I kind of wanted to see the kid, just to make sure that he was okay, but after Dr. Johnson told me he was okay, I thought I would just go ahead and leave. “But I thought only family could visit,” I said slowly, eyeing the door carefully.

“It’s fine, besides,” he said, winking, “I’m sure Valentine will be happy to see you.”

Dr. Johnson walked out of the lobby after his pager went off. He waved adieu at the door and I was left, rolling my eyes, groaning, and stamping my foot like an irritable three year old. I was just having one of those days where I just wanted to go home, punch Sammy Vega in the shoulder, and go to sleep. But, oh no. I had to go see the kid with the weird name. By that time, I just waned to know the kid was okay, and definitely did not want to go see him.

Just as I turned to leave, the front plate glass doors swung open once again, this time they just about knocked me in the face. Good thing I was in a hospital already, huh?

The four—oh, five—people who about made me lose an eye didn’t even stop, but went right on to the front desk, all of them speaking at once. The receptionist looked very frightened. I would be too, if a bunch of people just came in and started shouting at me… Okay, so I would take a scalpel and tell them to back off, but really now.

“Yes, Mrs. Valder, Valentine is fine,” the receptionist said calmly. I guess she had dealt with these people before. What a joy.

A woman with long black hair—Mrs. Valder, I suppose—looked up in relief and said a word of thanks to…the florescent lights. A man beside her with choppy, shoulder length black hair (with light green streaks. Ewe…) put his arm around Mrs. Valder and took a step toward the front desk.

“What happened, exactly?” He asked blatantly, but the receptionist just shrugged.

“I have no idea,” she said, shaking her head. “But that little girl over there is the one who called the ambulance.” The lady pointed in my direction.

Little girl? I beg your pardon, but I’ll be sixteen in a few months! Uh-oh… Okay, I thought to myself, edge carefully to the door before they spot you. Edge very, very carefully to the door before they spot you.

“Merci, merci! Vous avez sauvé mon petit cousin!”

Crap… I was quickly pulled around like a rag doll between those five people while one of them spoke French in my ear. It was all such a blur, I’m not sure if I was laughing, screaming, or just out of it completely. Soon after, the French girl pulled me away from her with tears in her eyes, though she was laughing.

“Merci, merci!” she said again. I looked around at all of them; they all smiled back, all except for one guy who had decided to stand back. If I knew him better, I would have mouthed “Thank you”, but I didn’t. When I looked back to the girl (who still had her nails in me) a boy, a bit taller than she, came up and pulled her away.

He was…strange to say the least. His hair was blonde at first glance, but after a good look you could tell it had deep brown roots. Other than that, he looked like your normal rebel teenager: his ear was pierced all the way up—top to bottom—and a silver stud was embedded in the middle of his tongue. Just looking at it made me twitch a bit. Oh, almost forgot to tell you: in the lower left corner of his lip, he had a nice little loop piercing.

“Please excuse Vivian. She gets…” he said, still holding onto Vivian. He rolled his eyes, trying to think of the right word. “Keyed up, I suppose you would say.” I nodded slowly and wiggled my way out of the four-man circle they had me in. Smiling and waving, I edged to the door.

“You’re welcome, but really, I have to be going,” I said. “The kittens will hurt me if I don’t get home and feed them.”

Mrs. Valder placed her hand on my shoulder (people, stop touching me!) and pulled me close (hugging is also a no-no, thank you). “Let me thank you properly,” she said, took a deep breath, straightened her skirt, and took a step in front of me. “I’m Charlotte, and the little boy you saved was my baby.”

The distinct smell of white lilies and green tea wafted in my—did she just say that was her son? I stared at her, my mouth agape. She was thirty, at most, and to have a child his age (I think he like thirteen) she’d have had to be seventeen when she had him. I tried to shut myself up, I really did, but it just came out:

“You look too young to be his mother!” I yelled. Mind you, we were still in the hospital lobby, and apparently they aren’t too keen about loud noises. Mrs. Charlotte laughed to herself and put her arms around her husband, who was the man with the black and green hair (at least, I hope he was her husband).

“Yeah, we were young,” he said. Gasping suddenly, he threw his burnt out cigarette in the trash can beside his foot and grabbed my hand (what did I just say about grabbing and touching, people?). “I’m Ziggy, by the way. And you are…?”

Name…name…I forgot my name! “Uh…” I said. Lord, I sounded like a mental patient. “Naomi. My name is Naomi Harris.” For some reason, while saying this, I neglected to look at them. They all had the same bright green eyes—except for Charlotte—and for some reason, there was something about those green eyes that actually scared me. “But really…I have to go.”

The man who had been standing ‘in the wings’, so to speak, stepped up after spotting a certain something I held in my hand. Crap, I’d forgotten that Les Miserables was still with me. I had to give it to the little twerp. Setting down my bag, I handed the book to Charlotte. “Valentine was trying to get this off the top shelf in my store. I just thought he’d want it. Don’t worry about paying for it.”

Charlotte smiled, but I was already out the door and into the cold. As far as I know, she didn’t even see me as I walked out.. I had to get out before I got too attached to a family that wasn’t mine.

It had been only a few says since my run-in with the Valder family, and only after I had run out of the hospital and gotten back home did I realize that there may have been a connection with them and the old Valder Theatre. For all I knew, one of them could have been Henry Valder, and I had given up the one and only chance I’d ever have to talk to my idol. Believe me; I was kicking myself in the rear for that smooth move.

It was New Years Day…er, night, actually. The clock ticked away the half hour left before mid-night and I eagerly watched the television set that sat in the middle of my room, waiting for the ball to drop and finally make it 2006. A sudden realization hit me, and I pulled a pocket sized note pad from my jacket pocket. In bold, swirling letters on the front, it read Life Achievements. There was really not much in there besides when I was adopted, when I got an autograph from Henry Valder, when the Valder Theatre closed, my thirteenth birthday, when I got my permit, my first Christmas alone and now my first New Year alone.

Just as the clock with 11:45, a loud knocking came from my door, and I doubled over on my bed, thinking Go away, go away, go away! Reluctantly, I sat up straight and scurried over to the door, ready to punch whoever it was at the door. Let me guess: his initials are Sammy Vega.

“I don’t want to come down for the party, I don’t want to have a drink of wine, and I am not, I repeat not going to put mistletoe above my door!” I slammed the door open and, surprisingly, had to look up to see the face of the man at my door. He looked down at me through two bright green eyes, curious and dumbfounded and strangely alluring at the same time.

“I saw the party downstairs; I’d rather not go myself. I would never offer alcohol to a minor, and if I asked a young girl to put mistletoe above her door, well, I would feel a bit like a *****,” he said, his voice a bit rough and masculine. Can we say ‘smoker’? Glancing down I saw why he most likely came; a big red floral bag hung off his arm. And unless he has ‘fruity’ stamped across his chest I would suspect that would be the bag I had accidentally left at the hospital on Christmas.

Gasping, I shoved him in excitement and snatched my bag from him. “Oh, my gosh, I thought I had lost it! I can’t believe you found it, thank you!” I quickly opened it and pulled out my purse, a thick stack of yellowed paper, and began shuffling through an assortment of red, blue, green, and black pens. I can’t afford new clothes and yet I can buy a whole warehouse of pens. Go me! I went back to the stack of paper and ran back inside my apartment.

“Come on in. I’ll make you some tea or… hot water. Whichever,” I said, a slight laugh. Not at him, but at myself. It was a bit embarrassing that I wasn’t even able to offer people actual tea. But it was all I could do, so I barely gave it anymore mind and poured a bit of boiling water I already had going into a couple of cups and dropped a tea bag in each.

“You’d better appreciate this. I had to dig these out of the seventh ring of Hell,” I laughed and handed the cup to the man. In case you’re wondering, yes, I’m a very friendly person and even if it isn’t smart to let a complete stranger in, he did bring my bag. Besides, he looked lonely. “Now, be quiet. The ball’s about to drop.”

I counted silently to myself, my hands laced together and a small wish going through my head.

“Five…four…three…two…one…” I said under my breath with the rest of the world, and even more quietly, “Happy New Year.” The words rang through the apartment building along with a few party poppers, and young, high pitched girl squealed as older men shot one cup of champagne down after another.

I turned quickly to the man sitting beside me and patted him on the shoulder. “Sir, I would like to thank you. This was going to be my first New Year’s alone, but you saved me from that,” Then I did something I hadn’t done for a long time, especially not to a complete stranger; I smiled at him. “Anyway, thank you for bringing my bag.”

He smiled. What a smile. His teeth weren’t the slightest bit yellow from smoking, and he had such sad eyes. Just the ones I saw in the Valder family—the Valders! How could I have been so…so stupid? But before I could say anything, he saw the look on my face and cut me off instantly.

“I just thought someone like you would need their purse. You’re practically dressed in rags,” He said, pointing at my light brown sweater that was practically falling off my shoulders. Oh, very nice, mister. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Miss Naomi Harris.”

I looked up quickly with a cocked eyebrow. “How do you know my name?” He looked at me and laughed slightly at my dazed and confused look.

“I was looking through your purse, not for money, but for an ID of some kind,” he said, a sly smile slipped across your face. I pursed my lips and stared at him wryly, reaching for my bag and digging out my sorry excuse for a purse. Quickly, I dug around the small hidden pocket where I had kept my money, and found that nothing was missing. “Besides, you told Charlotte your name at the hospital.”

“Fine. I trust you,” I said, setting my bag back down, but not before taking out a thick stack of yellowed paper with a bunch of chicken scratches. At times I wondered how in the world I was able to write in a completely different language. I usually did a lot of writing at night, so I usually stopped trying to figure out what in the world I had written.

I gasped slightly and took out my notebook reading Life Achievements and wrote over ‘Getting through my first New Year alone’ and instead, I wrote ‘My first New Year with a complete stranger’.

He stood up, setting his cup of tea on my nightstand, and walked over to the door. He turned to me before opening the door. “Miss Harris, I would like to tell you that I didn’t take anything from your purse, but I do believe I was the first to read that play of yours,” he said, a classy tone in his voice. Play? My play? He read my play! I sucked in a mouthful of air and I’m pretty sure my cheeks puffed a little. “Don’t worry. I thought it was rather good.”

“Before you leave, what’s your name? I know Charlotte, Ziggy, Valentine and Vivian, but as far as I know, I don’t know you,” I said, placing my hands on my hips while trying to look as dignified as possible. Believe me, when you’re wearing a sweater that looks like a short dress and a black skirt that falls all over the floor, that’s very hard.

“My name,” he said, slowly, humoring me and my attempts, “is Henri Leonard Valder, ex-actor of the Valder Bijou.”

Thank you for all the kind comments!!!



“Okay, class, first of all,” Mr. Hicks said at the front of the room and crossed his arms, “who didn’t do their homework?”

He and I looked around at the rest of the class and saw, in utmost amazement, that no one had raised their hands. I sat in my seat and smiled half-heartedly. That meant I was going to have a lot more competition this year. Before you get confused, every year Mr. Hicks assigns one class with the job of writing a play and the play he likes best is the one we’ll use in the spring. It was really, for some reason, something I wasn’t too happy about. But after that Henri guy said it was good, I felt a little more confident.

My knee jumped up and down nervously as I held my script in hand and looked around at all the others ready to jump from their seats and hand in their plays. Well, too bad, wannabes, I’m up first. I was already leaning forward a bit in my chair, because as Mr. Hicks says, “First come, first served”, meaning that whoever gets their script to him first gets their script read first.

Mr. Hicks tapped his black homework tray twice and glanced quickly over the class one more time before smirking and walking slowly to the side. “You may turn in your assignment,” he said in a low voice, but one all too easy to hear. I jumped up first, rushed to the tray, and slammed it so hard into the tray I was almost afraid I’d heard it break. But I didn’t, so it was okay. But I wasn’t a complete idiot, so directly after I got mine in, I stepped out of the way towards Mr. Hicks and I watched the stampede.

“Good job, Naomi,” Mr. Hicks said and patted me on the shoulder. “I look forward to reading your play.” He always told me that, mainly because he knew how crazy I was over old classics. It was a wee bit sad, I think, but I never paid it any mind. I glanced a bit over to Mr. Hicks and found that I was stiff and a getting a bit hot, and let me tell you that the drama club room is always freezing.

I let out a deep breath that I hadn’t realized until then I was holding and looked away from Mr. Hicks, only then becoming aware that I was blushing. Here’s an interesting tid-bit about myself: I had had a crush on Mr. Hicks for about a year, but I can’t really tell you why. But I swear I will hurt you if you tell anyone else. I can’t really say if it was a serious crush, since every girl in Drama Club had a crush on him of some degree, but for me it was more of a fatherly thing.

“I heard from a good friend of mine,” Mr. Hicks said, glancing at me from behind his thick rimmed glasses, “that your play was rather good. I must say, he isn’t pleased very easily.” I could only stare at him like a cow looks at an oncoming train, as Weird Al would say. I glanced from side to side and noticed my mouth was hanging open slightly. Honestly, I really didn’t get it. At all. He smiled to himself after seeing my dazed and confused expression.

“Henry,” he said, still smiling. He patted me on the head and ruffled my hair. “You met him on New Years Day, didn’t you, Naomi?” I gasped after hearing the name ‘Henry’ and placed my hands over my mouth to keep myself from blurting out the first thing that came to mind, because I apparently had a bad habit of doing such.

“ ‘enry ‘alder..?” I asked through my hands, darting my eyes up to Mr. Hicks who only looked

back down at me with a smile. He chuckled and shook his head, not in a “No, stupid” kind of way, but in an “I can’t believe she said it like that” kind of way. But afterwards, Mr. Hicks nodded and tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out the window in the direction of downtown.

“If you want to get in touch with him,” he whispered, leaning down close, “he’s usually at the old Valder Theater.” Before I could say anything, even a word of thanks, Mr. Hicks smacked me on the head, told me to sit down, and got up in front of the class again. He always did that. I stuck my tongue out at him, he looked amused but still pointed at an empty seat and mouthed the words, “Sit down.”

I rubbed my the back of my head, feeling a bit hurt after being thumped by his wedding ring, and grabbed a chair beside Alisa, a friend of mine. As usual she was clinging to Dallas like a wet towel, and though I usually hated girls who did that kind of thing, it just seemed to work for those two somehow. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and he had his arm right around her shoulder, pulling her close. Mr. Hicks used to get mad at them for being so close, but one day he just said, “Fine! Get married and have babies for all I care!” Even though, whenever we go to see a play for ‘inspiration’, he never lets boys sit with girls.

Mr. Hicks slipped into his coat and leaned against his overly cluttered desk. I remember when I first came to the Drama Club room. Everything was so neat and everything had a place of its own on a shelf somewhere. Now, halfway through my second year of Drama Club, we can’t even find the shelves behind the junk anymore. Mr. Hicks’ desk was littered with so many paper that even he forgot was color the top of his desk was. The only thing that was actually clean on his desk was a picture of his wife, Mary-Lynne. Most everyone in the Drama Club had met her at least once, and all the straight guys thought she was gorgeous.

“All right, everyone,” Mr. Hicks said, “I suppose this class is going to be cut short for today. I have to start reading these scripts and pick one for our next play. You may go home or where ever you go after school.”

Alisa and Dallas stood up in unison and everyone else got up at their own pace, but I stayed in my seat and waited until the classroom was empty. Mr. Hicks paid me no mind and pulled all of the papers out of his tray and set them on a clear piece of desk. He adjusted his glasses and took mine, flipped it open, and began reading.

I sighed, stood up, and walked over to Mr. Hicks’ desk. He was making a few corrections on the script with his ‘red pen of doom’. “Naomi, I thought I told everyone to go home,” he said, a bit of irritation lingering in his voice. I shifted me feet, pursed my lips, and wringed my hands before I decided it was alright to reply.

“Sir, you said you know Henry Valder, right?” Mr. Hicks made a small, low noise in his throat that I translated as a yes. “Well…then, answer me this. Why did he leave the theatre?” Mr. Hicks looked up and folded his hands over the various papers on his desk and looked me straight in the eye. I met him with a serious stare, and he sighed. Mr. Hicks slipped his glasses off and set them aside.

“I thought that you of all people would know,” he answered, leaning over his desk. “Henry was hurt during a play.”

“I know that!” I retorted anxiously and stamped my foot. “But what happened exactly? How is it that someone can get hurt during a play? Did he fall off stage, break a leg? Something along those lines?” But Mr. Hicks only shook his head, and this time in a “No, stupid” kind of way. He stood up from behind his desk, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out the door. He turned back inside to the room, but before going on inside he turned to me.

“Naomi, there are things about that family that stay inside the walls.” The look on his face was so serious it almost scared me. “You and everyone else need to understand that.” He closed the door and I was left outside in a cold January rain. What he said scared, confused me and made me a little curious.

There are things about that family that stay inside the walls…You and everyone else needs to understand that. What was it about them that no one knew? Hearing that only made me want to know even more.

It's actually Henry and Henri. Henri is the French version of it, pronounced 'On-ree'. I use that way a lot, but I use Henry more, since even though he's from a French background, he likes the English version better.