Those Worse Off Than You

Later that night, I got my dad to call Children's Aid to ask for the social worker from the other day. As she came to the phone, I picked up and told her Ace's reply. Whether or not she fufilled his request.

Even better, later on that week Ace was released from the hospital and sent back to that big old home on Bay street (adifferent room though, of course). Now, they really had him on lockdown. They had people coming in to check on him every half an hour.

He still refused to see anyone but me and everytime I came there, plates of food were scattered across the floor, but everything else was neatly put away. We were playing card on the floor when I asked,

"Why don't you eat?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"You're going to make yourself sick," I taunted.

"I know... I just don't feel like eating. Don't worry; I'll eat when I get hungry enough."

"Well... shouldn't you at least throw them away?"

He smirked, "I'm not allowed, someone has to come get them. I'm not aloud to leave the room."

"That sucks. We should ask them if you can go out for lunch."

He laughed a little bit. "Yea, you can ask, but I highly doubt they'll let me."

"Okay; I will," I said and got up. I opened the door and walked down the hall to the main desk where I asked.

With a bit of hesitation and a lot of convincing, I finally got a sign out sheet, bringing it back to the room, where Ace looked up from the floor, smirking. "I beat you," he announced.

"What," I asked, dumbfounded.

"The game- I beat you at cards."

"Well... who cares. Come here and help me fill this out; we're going for lunch," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he smiled.