by Jolene Perry
“Are we eating with Mom and Dad tonight?”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
“Where’s Marla?”
Who knows? I have to talk to her, touch her, something. I need help. I can’t be expected to keep up on all my clothes, not with everything else I have going on.
“Doing chores for Mom probably. Want a pizza?” I raise a brow.
“Will you eat it with me?” she teases.
I sometimes skip out when we order pizza. It’s a lot of fat and carbs, but I know Ellie loves it. “I won’t skip out, but can we get a whole wheat crust?”
“Fine.” She pretends to be putout by slumping in her seat, but she wouldn’t be eleven if she didn’t.
I stare at her sweet face. This is my family. This is the person I have a connection with. That I care about. She’s enough.
FOUR
Dean
I finish my last bits of homework. Only another month or so before graduation. Part of me can’t wait, and part of me knows life will get infinitely harder. I’m smart enough to know that I have it good with Bill and Jeannette.
“So Dean, when does this class of yours start?” Bill, my foster dad, flops back onto one of three papasan chairs in the living room, dropping the Birkenstocks off his feet onto the floor. He rubs his hand over a bald head and looks at me.
We get second glances all the time because neither he nor his wife, Jeannette, are old enough to be my parents. They’re early thirties.
“Tomorrow.” And I’m not at all looking forward to it.
“You know.” He chuckles. “You wouldn’t be stuck doing it again if—”
“I’m well aware.” I raise my hand between us. “If someone would let me talk to my brother, this wouldn’t be an issue.” He knows this pisses me off, and I wish he wouldn’t bring it up.
Bill sighs. “We’ve put in petition after petition, Dean. I don’t know what to tell you.”
I want to put my fist through something, but that would just wind me up in counseling again or some other needless and pointless waste of my time.
“Jeannette has rehearsal until late tonight.” He flips open his iPad case and starts thumbing through pages. They may be total hippies, but they’re up on the technology.
“And why don’t you need to be there?” He’s the head tech at one of the theaters. I can never remember which one, mostly because he bounces around like they all seem to do.
“I made the sound effects guy be the techie head tonight.” He chuckles more to himself this time and flicks his finger across the iPad again.
“I’m gonna head to my room.” I stand up and duck under a row of plants hanging from the ceiling.
“Have you eaten?” He glances up at me briefly.
“Yeah. I’ve eaten.” A bowl of cereal.
“Oh. A new kid will be here in a few days to take the top or bottom bunk. Best to claim your space now.”
“Will do.” Shit. I walk into my room, which is still dark.
Something moves near my window making me jump back into the hallway and slap the light on, heart pounding. The door still rests open, and no one’s in here. Weird. My eyes have to be playing tricks on me. I scan the room again as my heart begins to slow down. What the hell is wrong with me?
The floor is bare. The beds are made. The books are lined up on the shelves. I have my favorite sketches covering almost an entire wall. People, animé, some characters I’d like to build a graphic novel around someday. All of it. It feels like my space. For now.
I step in and look around again for whatever moved, even getting on my knees to check underneath the bed. Nothing. I’m an idiot.
I’ve had to share my room off and on for the three years since I moved in with Bill and Jeanette, but it always sucks getting a newbie. I think I’ll stick him on the top this time since I’m apparently seeing things in the dark. I hit my stereo and the Black Keys start playing. Nice.
“What’s up?” Katy half yells from my door.
“How was your date?” I tease.
“You mean coffee.” She turns the stereo down enough so we’re not yelling.
“Fine.” I stand on the ladder to see if I’ve left anything on the top. “Coffee.”
“Well, coffee was nice…” Her grin leads me to believe it was more than nice. “And then he forgot something in his shop so we had to go back there…” She’s half dancing while keeping her feet on the floor.
“And?” I can play this game for a short while.
“And we listened to music as loud as the speakers would go…” Her voice gets higher with each new admission.
“Okay, are you going to lead me on forever? Or tell me what happened?” I’m trying to be a good friend and listen, so I sit on the floor in front of the blue dresser and wait for her to finish her story.
She sits on the bottom bunk. “He asked me about you, and I told him how we’re good friends even though you don’t like my boots.” She wrinkles up her nose and sticks a boot in my face, which I push away.
“And I told him how we kissed once and how weird and awkward it was and then…” She’s leaning toward me and trying to pause dramatically.
I know she wants me to encourage her, but I’m not a girl. I don’t do the squeal girl thing.
“He kissed me.”
“So, what you’re saying is that you owe me.” I fold my arms.
“Nice try, Dean.” Her eyes narrow.
“So, now what?”
“Now I’m freaking out.” She grabs the sides of her head with her hands.
“And why is that?” I’m glad Katy and I are friends, because it gives me some insight into girls, but not glad, because I really should have learned more from her by now.
“Because I’ve never…you know…and he obviously has, and now it’s like this thing that’s going to be hanging out there.” She gestures randomly in front of her.
I hold my hands up between us. “I love you, Katy. But talking about your virginity is where I draw the line. And it’s only hanging out there.” I repeat her gestures. “If you’re thinking about it and want it to be.”
“Oh, come on.” She scoots herself out to the edge of my bed. “I need help here, pointers or something.”
“One.” I hold my finger up between us. “You’ve had coffee and one kiss.” I cross my legs and lean forward. “Two. Just tell the guy. Really, we don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Mostly it’s just overwhelming because we know when we screw things up, the girl will always remember we screwed up because we’re her first.”
“But what if me being, you know, all inexperienced freaks him out?” She is seriously worried about this.
“Then you need to find someone who’s not an asshole.” I laugh and lean back again.
“But what if I like him, even though he’s an asshole?” Her voice is filled with pleading.
“Then rent some porn and take notes. I don’t know, but leave me out of it.”
Katy may be older than me, but only by a month and since she’s so much shorter, it feels like she’s my little sister.
“Well, I think I’ve inflicted enough emotional damage on you today. Wanna grab a coffee and join the throngs at Starbucks?” She stands up as tall as she can and stops next to my door.
“Yeah. I ate cereal for dinner.” I crawl up from my spot on the floor.
“Again?” She grabs my doorknob.
“It’s what’s easy, and we both know what the food’s like here.” I shrug. “I need a CD while we’re out. Maybe we should stop and talk with Jesse. I could do some research for you. Find out where he stands on the whole virginity issue.” I hold in a smile.
She whirls around and puts her finger to my chest. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
“Wow. Vicious.” I hold up my hands. “Won’t say a word, promise. In fact, if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him we slept together.”
“That’s a great idea!” Her whole face brightens. “Then I could avoid the conversation altogether, and
if I do something embarrassing I could just blame it on you!”
“I was kidding. Go.” I gesture with both hands to get her out of my room. Are all girls this neurotic? And if so, how do they hide it so well?
FIVE
Addison
If Dad could see this place, he’d feel really guilty for forgetting to sign my waiver for this ridiculous life skills class. I step out of the car, which really stands out here, and walk inside before I’m singled out by…well, anyone.
Once I’m inside the dreary grey brick building, there are hand drawn signs pointing me to my classroom. Up the stairs…to the left…more grey brick… I glance over my shoulder and around me a few times as I take my seat. Why didn’t I think to wear something more appropriate? Something that says—juvenile delinquent? My tall boots and small jacket sort of set me above the dress code of the rest of the students. I don’t bother to take more than a peek, but most look like they rolled out of bed and put on the first thing their feet touched. Whatever. At least it’s only a few classes. And it gets me out of the house.
I try to look busy with my phone, but part of me doesn’t even want to text Deborah to tell her about this place. I might seem like the tough girl for getting arrested, but hanging out in a dilapidated building with layer after layer of pale grey paint peeling off the brick, might say something else.
I wonder if there’s a way to just sign in and disappear. The door closes behind the teacher with a loud thud. Guess not. She’s an older African American lady, with graying hair and a figure that looks like she spends a lot of time in the kitchen.
“Welcome to Life Skills,” she begins. “I’m good with names, so don’t try to pull anything.”
She chuckles.
I tune out.
I glance to my right. Not a bad looking guy, even if he needs a good scrub down. He uses a finger to scratch a tanned arm. His nearly black hair could use a cut but longer and unkempt seems to suit him. He looks up at the teacher once through long, thick lashes. Why is it always boys who get those? Completely unfair.
On my left is a guy with stringy blond hair who can’t sit still. His left leg shakes and shakes, and then his right leg. I wonder how many hours he’s spent in a tattoo parlor—there’s barely any pink skin left.
There are three girls easily within my sight, but I dismiss them quickly—too short, too fat, and too scary-looking. I even know as I think this that I sound like a spoiled brat, but seriously, what guy wants to kiss a girl with a ring through her lip? Actually… I might know a few.
I raise my hand at my name during roll, and take in the bleakness that is this classroom. Why, oh why, do all public buildings feel the need to use fluorescent lighting?
As I shift in my seat, I start to have jail flashbacks, and pull out my hand sanitizer doing a quick rub of my hands. My eyes rest on the desk but it would be a little weird to clean it with sanitizer… Wouldn’t it?
“Today we’re going to partner up for a few minutes. I have a questionnaire for each of you to fill out, but I want your partner to ask you the questions and fill it out for you.” She begins to hand out papers and I drop my sanitizer in my bag. I’ll clean up later.
I hold in the temptation to roll my eyes at the assignment. I’ll just ask my partner to write on theirs, I’ll write on mine and we can turn it in. I let out a contented sigh. Perfect.
“Don’t even think about doing it yourself. I’m very good with handwriting.” She chuckles again. “I’ve been doing this a lot of years.”
Great.
She hands me a paper and one to the guy with the lashes on my right. “You two can work together.”
I let myself sigh again as I turn my desk to face his. He does the same. Wow, eyes. His eyes are dark, and deep, and brown. I suck in a breath. This is completely unlike me. Boys don’t affect me this way. Ever. He’s sort of model-y looking. Square jaw, straight nose, cheekbones. I glance down to his lips. There’s a faint trace of stubble, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, just for fun. He definitely has a different edge than any guy I’ve been with.
Wow. Okay. Get yourself together.
“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Prince.” The words roll off his tongue smoothly. His voice is low but soft.
Wait a minute. “How do you know who I am?”
“We were in court on the same day.” His face is expressionless.
“We were?” He’s hot enough that I definitely would have remembered.
“You don’t remember me?” He smirks.
“Apparently not.” At least he won’t think I’m staring, cause I totally am.
“Let’s just get this over with.” He looks down his sheet. “Addison Prince,” he mumbles as he writes.
“But you obviously remember me.” I’m smug. This is what I’m used to from boys. I can handle him.
“And your daddy’s attorney, yes.” His dark eyes glance up briefly before returning to the page.
How would he know that? I fold my arms.
“I saw you get into your car.” He’s still writing on the paper.
I raise a brow. This is definitely what I’m used to. “So you were watching?”
“You’re hot. I watched.” His face is even as he rests his hand on the desk and looks at me. It somehow doesn’t feel like a compliment.
I narrow my eyes, a bit unnerved but trying not to show it.
“So, why are you here?” he asks.
“None of your business.” I tighten my arms across my chest and sit back.
“Actually, it’s on the questionnaire we were just given.” A corner of his mouth pulls up.
“Because the judge ordered me here.” I widen my eyes, daring him to contradict me, and besides, it seems like something we shouldn’t be asking each other in a class that’s supposedly aimed at “rehabilitation.”
“For forging train tickets,” he mumbles again as he writes. “Probably to somewhere really obnoxious like up to the Hamptons.” The same corner of his mouth pulls up as he writes.
I narrow my eyes further, hating that he’s right.
“Or to see a boyfriend…” His head bobs back and forth as if weighing his options. He’s way too relaxed for these kinds of accusations.
“Excuse me!” I hiss as I lean forward in my seat and set my arms on the desk. “That’s not what I said.”
“So, both then?” One of his brows goes up.
“No.” Even though he completely hit it on the head. That really sucks.
“Well, since I’m writing this for you…”
“Fine.” I look down at my paper. He’s right. It’s the second question, just after name. “What are you in for?”
“Judges orders.” His smile spreads wide.
Ha. I’ll show him. I rest my foot against his. Tell me what you’re here for. I send the thought straight to him.
“They won’t tell me which foster family my brother’s in, and I want to know, so I broke into their offices and…” He stops, his forehead pulling down.
Crap, it usually works a little longer than that. But now I don’t know what to say. He’s separated from his brother? The thought of being separated from Ellie gives me a crushing feeling in my chest. She’s my salvation from Dad’s exhausting schedule and Mom’s complete lack of presence. I don’t want to feel sympathy for this guy.
We stare at one another in silence over our desks, which seem to be shrinking, bringing us closer together.
“Thanks.” I smile brightly, pushing all that weird introspection away, and fill in the blanks. “Now I need your name.” I’m recovering well.
He is not. Recovering well, that is. His jaw is set and he scoots his desk away to face forward.
“Hey.” I lean toward him. “I don’t want to get in trouble just because you don’t feel like doing this, okay?”
“Dean?” Our teacher looks over at us. “Not a one of you wants to be here. Please help out the young lady sitting next to you.”
He turns toward me again. “Knock off the pers
onal crap.”
I don’t like the look in his brown eyes now. They’re almost black with irritation, and something like fear or uncertainty spikes through me. It’s not a feeling I deal with much.
“I just asked a question from the paper.” I hold it up between us. “What you say or don’t say is completely up to you.” I press my lips together. Even though it is my fault he got personal, he doesn’t know that.
He glances down at his desk and something like remorse hits me. I don’t like it at all. It hits that part of my brain that tells me I’m doing something wrong, and then I feel that pang in my chest that is so uncomfortable.
“Fine.” I exhale. “Sorry. Let’s just get through this thing, okay? Your first name’s Dean. What’s your last name?”
“Courser.” The smoothness is gone from his voice.
“Thanks.”
Dean is hard in thought. Is it just that he told me about his brother or is it something else? I know what brooding means now. But he’s not doing it on purpose like I think most people do. He’s carrying a heavy load. Gah. I breathe out. I don’t want to be thinking deep like this. It always takes me to places in my head I don’t want to go.
“It was clever, you know.” His eyes meet mine and my heart jumps again.
I’m officially ridiculous. Though, if I’m just having fun, he could be an interesting guy to have fun with. I look around at the people in the room. Nope. Meeting someone in a life skills for juvenile delinquents really is beneath me. Even just for fun.
“The ticket thing.”
“I know.” It took me a long time to put it all together, to get the paper just right, to figure out what I needed people to say or do for me. People only cooperate with the thoughts I give them for a short amount of time. I’d worked on it for a long time before putting it into action. And for almost two years, it served me well. Traveling under my own name would not have been smart.
He shakes his head, but there’s a small smile pulling on the edges of his mouth.
I slide my feet back underneath me on the floor and I swear Dean cringes. Bizarre. I glance down at his feet. Adidas, of course. Soft soles, wear forever.