The Boy Who Steals Houses

No, please. It's – you're allowed to hurt. It's not a contest.

He's so empty. They tried to stitch him back together, but too much already fell out. Stars and buttons and caramel truffles.

He's officially taken house burglary to the next level. Forget stealing a bed, a key, a home for the night. He's stealing families and their Sunday lunches.

Sam looks down at his fingers wrapped around Avery's phone. "I'll catch him if he falls." "Who catches you?" Moxie says. Sam stitches on a pretend smile. "It doesn't matter.

We're stealing a house, because you know what we need?" Avery shakes his head. "We are the kings of nowhere," Sammy says. "We only need us." He's a very good liar.

A family. A home. I really want a... h-home.” “But you can’t steal it.” “I know,” Sam whispers. I know I know I know. “You have to build it.

She is the sun and her eyes burn stars.

Everybody leaves.” “I’m not leaving.

He can't be an invisible boy when she can see him. He can't steal houses or the girl inside them, but he can build a bridge of moons and caramel cakes to get back to her.

Sammy.' He gasps for breath. 'I ran all the - way - over here - to rescue you -' He sucks in a ragged lungful of air. 'And you're just kissing - in the sunset? You little jerk.

He's not exactly a stranger anymore. He showed Jack how to do a backflip. Someone tipped sand down his shirt. He gave Moxie a leg up over the chain fence on the way home. He's eaten their potato salad and worn their clothes. The trouble is he stole it all, every moment. And that's the part people don't overlook. They feel betrayed. Betrayed people have the hardest fists.

If something even remotely sexist comes out of you mouth again,' Moxie says, her eyes glinting, 'I will take a pound of flesh per word.

He wishes they'd realise, though, that you can't fill the hole of a missing mother by carving each other into pieces.

Moxie's body relaxes and her shoulder leans against his. The pressure is warm and soft and everything. And he falls into it. Just a little. He won't let himself get too comfortable - he's not that stupid. But for the barest moment between patchwork frowns, he's wanted.

If it hadn't been so dark and if his fingers hadn't been so stiff with dried blood, he could've picked the lock in thirty-eight seconds.

People understand a cute seven-year-old boy screaming on the floor because he's autistic. They call the police when that screaming little boy becomes seventeen.

If Aunt Karen doesn't want us, we can find our own house." Sammy takes Avery's hand to cross the road. "Can you do that?" Avery whispers. "Steal houses?" "Yeah," Sammy says. "Yeah, of course I can.

They still don't know you were the creepy intruder,' Moxie says. 'But I'll claim you as my friend and they'll forget I said you weren't. They're boys. Their brains are the collective size of a pea.' She looks at him. 'Hmm, oops.

I'll kill you, Jack.' Jack glides past with a very self-satisfied smile and tosses a backpack on the sofa. Directly on to Sam. Sam catches it with his face. 'Oh,' says Jack, backtracking to stare. 'Oh.'

Well, I don't trust whoever killed this pot. Did they cook potatoes or souls of the damned?' ' Ah.' Moxie peers at the blackened base. 'That was me.