by Patty Blount
It had to be.
When he put the roller down to stretch his back, I picked it up and carefully rolled paint in a big W pattern so he wouldn’t start in on me. We painted side by side until all the walls were covered. It didn’t take long at all.
“Sage green, huh?” Dad took a step back and scanned the room. “Not bad. Where’s your mother? She should check it out, make sure it meets with her approval.”
“Out.” Oh shit.
“Out where?”
“Um, well, she had a—” Holy hell. Now would be a great time to start washing the brushes. I uncovered the tub, turned on the water, and got busy.
“Reece, she had a what?” He crouched to pick up a roll of paper towels and wiped paint off his hands.
I kept my eyes pinned to the green paint circling the drain. “Um, she had a date.”
He snapped up straight. “A what?”
I swallowed hard and turned to face him. “She had a date, Dad.”
His face went red, and he shot out a hand to clutch the door frame. He stared at the painted walls, at me, and abruptly turned away. “Unbelievable. Matt’s dead a couple of months, and she’s out with other guys?”
My blood started to boil. “Dad. She misses Matt—”
“Bullshit!” He exploded. “If she missed her dead kid, would she be—” Abruptly, he clamped his mouth shut and wiped a hand over his red face.
I thought it over for a minute and decided I felt bad for him. It took me a minute to decide, because it shocked me that I did. “Come here. I want to show you something.” I led him to Mom’s room—the bedroom that used to be theirs. I unmade the side of the bed she slept on. “Look.”
Dad crossed his arms. “What? It’s a pillow.”
“It’s Matt’s pillow, Dad.” Underneath the pillow, I showed him the folded square of blue cloth. “This is one of his LVFD shirts. She sleeps with these. Every night. And she cries.”
Dad shook his head, turned away, walked back to the bathroom, and stared at the paint drying on the walls. “She should talk to me. Goddamn it, she shouldn’t be dating other guys.”
My jaw clenched. This was so typical, blaming everybody else for the shit he caused. “You left. Remember?”
“Yeah.” His face fell apart. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them, I swore they were wet. “I remember.” He shoved past me, walked down the stairs, and slammed the door on his way out.
I stood in that bathroom, fists clenched and muscles trembling, trying to hold it all in, hold it back, but it was too much. Something deep inside me snapped, and I drove my fist through the sage-green wall.
Chapter 12
Amanda
At school Monday, I dodged slow walkers swinging backpacks and practically ran right into Reece on my way to my first period of the afternoon.
“Hey.”
“Oh, hey, Amanda.” He gave me one of those long, slow looks that was kind of like a slow-burning fuse.
“Meet us on the field right after school.”
He blinked. “What, today?”
“Yeah, Logan. Today. What’s wrong? You got a date?”
“No.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A slow red flush crawled up his neck. My fingers itched to follow it. “I’ll see you later.”
For a minute, I watched him walk away. If I were a regular kid, I’d move in on Reece Logan. He was cute—all the Logans were. But I’m not a regular kid. I’m a rental. I didn’t have the luxury of a second chance when I screwed up. How many chances did parents give their real kids? What a stupid question. It didn’t matter how many times real kids screwed up, because I wasn’t anyone’s real kid. Anyone who wasn’t in prison, I mean. I could be returned at any time, exchanged for a younger model, and I could never afford to forget that, no matter how much I liked a boy.
Did I like Reece? Maybe I just felt sorry for him. Maybe it was just too personal for me, seeing somebody’s family shredded. Reece had this look of desperation that went from quiet to full-out violent storm levels. It drove him. I knew that much from the day he walked into the LVFD. I understood that; I felt desperate too.
And that’s why I was helping him.
I didn’t know much about family, except for the old reruns of The Waltons Mrs. Merodie used to like to watch. Families are supposed to support each other, band together. Family forgives. Family always comes home. But real life was way different. My father wasn’t home long enough to become one of my memories, my mother wouldn’t get out of prison for at least three more years, and foster families traded me like a two-year-old cell phone. Real life meant in fourteen months, I could be homeless.
A statistic.
Technically, I had until twenty-one before I aged out of the foster care system, but the sad truth is when parents rent a kid, they want them young and cute. Eighteen-year-old wards of the state who get kicked out usually end up in group homes.
In other words, hell.
I wanted to turn a hose on Reece Logan for having the nerve to show his face in the house where his brother used to work. So why was I suddenly imagining what it would be like to break some rules with him? Why was he so tempting?
I made my way to Mr. Serrano’s office for our weekly appointment.
“Hi, Amanda. Come on in.”
“Hey.”
“Your social worker wants a report. I’ve talked to your teachers, and every one of them has nothing but praise for you.”
My eyebrows shot up. This was news. “Even Mr. Anton?” Mr. Anton was my math teacher, and math teachers were, by definition, not of my world.
Mr. Serrano laughed. “Yes, even Mr. Anton. Your grade in his class has improved.” He tapped a few keys on his computer and rotated the screen so I could see my progress report. “Your grades are good, Amanda, but need to be better.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to mouth off. Mr. Serrano irritated every nerve I had. He wore the same clothes every day—a pair of tan Dockers and a Lakeshore High T-shirt. Okay, so technically, I wore the same clothes too, but that was only because I didn’t own any other stuff. His hair was always carefully combed to the same side, and he wore wire-framed glasses that were slightly bent so that one eyebrow always dipped under the frame and the other arched over. His desk looked like he’d just taken it out of its box. There wasn’t a crumb, a scratch, or even a sticky note on it. All it held was his computer and phone.
“What’s the point? I can’t even afford community college.”
“Amanda, you can. I admit scholarships are a bit of a lottery win, but you’ll fill out the financial aid forms. Pell grants don’t need to be repaid, and you definitely qualify. There’s plenty of aid available to foster kids like you who don’t want to be one of the statistics.”
The dreaded statistics.
I’d heard this tired old song too many times from foster parents, my social worker, and Mr. Serrano. Homeless and pregnant before twenty, living off welfare and food stamps, couch-surfing among a small circle of dirtbag friends. Mr. Serrano’s stupid statistics kept me up at night. The statistics freakin’ haunted me, because once I aged out of foster care, they wouldn’t just be some threat. They’d be my life.
“I also talked to Chief Duffy at the firehouse.”
I opened my eyes.
“He says you’re a fine firefighter with a keen eye and a strong heart.”
I—um, wow. I blinked away the tears that suddenly filled my eyes. I didn’t know what to say to that. That was almost gushing, and Chief Duffy did not gush.
“He thinks you’d make a fine civil servant—in the police or fire service in a town that would pay for the job.”
Mr. Serrano’s mention of the word town ignited a whole new panic sequence. I couldn’t drive. I didn’t have a car. I didn’t have money to buy a car. How could I find a job in such a mythical town if I couldn’t get
there? Long Island wasn’t exactly a mecca of public transportation. There was only one solution—I’d have to leave.
The thought was like a kick to the solar plexus.
Mr. Serrano clicked a few more things on his computer screen, and a second later, the local community college website appeared. “My suggestion is this.” He tapped his screen.
“Nursing school?”
He nodded. “Chief Duffy mentioned that all of the volunteers are trained in life-saving skills, which tells me you already have an interest and probably an aptitude for the kind of work that might make others squeamish.”
I thought about that for a minute and decided he was right. I had no issues with blood and guts, like Gage did. I smothered a snort. He nearly puked during our last motor vehicle extraction drill, and that was all staged.
“It won’t be easy, but you could finish the nursing program at the community college in two years, before you age out of your current foster arrangement. With a license and two-year degree under your belt, you’ll find a job fast. It won’t be a glamorous high-paying job, but it sure beats slinging burgers at minimum wage. You’ll be able to afford rent, though again, not something extravagant. If you land work at a university hospital, you might even receive tuition reimbursement benefits. Do you know what that means?”
I shook my head.
“It means your employer will foot some of the bill for you to continue your education and get another degree—your four-year or maybe a master’s. Those credentials, of course, greatly improve your odds of getting the higher-paying jobs.”
I stared at the screen, studying the course outline. It was four semesters. I’d be twenty years old and still in foster care—maybe even still with the Becketts, if I didn’t step a pinky toe out of line.
“If you hate nursing, big deal. You still have a job and a degree you could always use for something else. You could save your way toward a car or a move to a city with a paid fire service. Or you could join the police department. The state police force earns the most, but a few of the counties pay well too. You’ll have benefits and security, and Amanda, those are worth more than the salary.” Mr. Serrano shifted his chair to look me straight in the eye. “I love teaching and love guiding students like you toward solid life plans, but the truth is I worry all the time about losing this job because of things like budget cuts and political changes that alter the state aid we receive for critical programs. You find a job in nursing or civil service, and you wouldn’t have to worry—at least, not as much. Do you understand?”
Wouldn’t have to worry. I wasn’t sure if I knew what that felt like. It was probably something like believing in Santa Claus.
I leaned forward. “What do I have to do?”
Mr. Serrano’s lips twitched. “Well, as I said, your grades are good but could be better. You did well on the PSAT but should take the ACT and SAT. You should know I talked to Mr. Beckett. He and his wife agreed to keep you until you age out.”
My eyes popped at this news.
“He said that?”
“Yes, he did. He said you haven’t been any trouble at all. As long as that continues, I see no reason why Mr. Beckett would change his mind.”
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes with a sigh. The weight that rolled off my shoulders was so heavy I was kind of surprised I didn’t float to the top of Mr. Serrano’s office now that it wasn’t holding me down.
He smiled and held up a finger. “I’m going to give you some homework. Kids complain all the time that school never prepares them for the real world, like balancing a checkbook or understanding a simple job application.” He pulled open a wide drawer in the cabinet behind his desk, rifled through some files, and started pulling out brochures and flyers and stapled sets of documents. “I want you to read all this. The library has several programs you should attend. There are also some websites you should visit that provide all sorts of advice and guidance for transitioning out of foster care. And finally, there are some after-school jobs you should consider applying for. You need income, and you need to establish credit as soon as possible, so when the time comes for you to sign a lease, you’ll have a credit rating and references.”
A lease? Credit? Holy crap. Panic was creeping up the back of my neck again, its long bony fingers about to squeeze. But I took the stack of papers Mr. Serrano had thoughtfully put into a big manila envelope and slid it into my backpack. I’d read them. I would read every freakin’ one of them.
I would not be one of the statistics.
And that meant I had to stay far away from Reece Logan.
***
Monday afternoon, behind the school, I watched Reece race Max up and down the bleachers, trying damn hard not to be impressed with his lightning-fast progress and failing miserably. They’d done four laps, and even Max was sucking wind, but Reece would have done more if I hadn’t stopped him.
“Okay, Logan, that’s enough.” I waved him back down. He handed Max the five-pound hand weights and joined me at ground level, chugging half a bottle of water. “That was good. Really good. How are the leg muscles?”
“Bananas help,” he panted.
“Good. What else have you done today?”
“Uh, this morning, I did some weights in my basement for about half an hour.”
“Okay, let’s hit the rope.”
“Copy that, Captain.” He grinned and hurried ahead. I grinned back before I remembered I was seriously pissed off at him.
“Wait up a minute.”
He stopped, turned, and waited for me to catch up. I watched his eyes drop to my body and tried not to be happy about it, because I wasn’t, damn it. Not one bit. “About the other day. After the alarm sounded.”
Dark eyes stared into mine with a glint, but the jerk didn’t say a word.
I sighed loudly. “Reece. The kiss.”
“I remember.” His voice was suddenly deep and raspy.
“Well, you need to forget it. That can’t happen. Ever. Mr. Beckett was seconds away from walking in on us. If he sees that, you know what’ll happen to me?”
His eyebrows lowered, and he shook his head.
“They can ship me back, Logan. Kick me out.”
“Back? Back where?”
“Into the system. Maybe I’ll get sent to a different foster home. Odds are it won’t be in this town. But it’s more likely I’ll get stuck in a group home until I age out. Know anything about group homes, Logan?”
He shook his head.
“They’re a tiny step up from juvie.” I held up my fingers, less than an inch apart.
He swallowed hard, his eyes solemn. Okay, so I was laying it on a bit thick, but he needed to know I wasn’t kidding around.
Reece took a step closer. “You really like living at the Becketts’?”
I nodded. “It’s been the best so far.”
“Do you miss your mom?”
“Um,” I stammered, the shock of his question like a punch to the gut. And then I thought about that. Did I miss Mom? “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I raised my hands, then let them fall. “Every time I think of her, all I feel is mad. And feeling mad kind of makes you forget everything else.” I liked feeling mad a hell of a lot more than feeling sad. “She wants to see me.”
Oh God, blurt much? I had no idea why I told him that.
“Will you go?”
“What’s the point? So she can tell me what I already know?”
“What’s that?”
I couldn’t suppress my frustration. “Oh, how sorry she is, and she never meant to hurt me, and how things will be better when she gets out—like I’d believe a word of that.”
Reece angled his head, studying me for a moment. “But what if it’s true? I mean, wouldn’t that change things? You’d have your family back.”
My family back… There was something in his tone th
at made me think of Matt—something final. He didn’t get it. But I did. My mom might not be dead, but my family wasn’t something that could be repaired. “Like I said, what’s the point?”
He rolled his eyes. “To know where you stand. To know somebody loves you,” he elaborated.
I snorted. Love. “Love is a friggin’ lie, Logan! Fiction. A fantasy!” I waved my hands in the air. “Love is how my mother ended up going to prison and how I ended up—” The look in his eyes pinched my heart. He pressed his lips together, looking like a kicked puppy, and suddenly, all I could think about was his lips on mine, and that made mine start tingling and—crap! “Logan, take my advice. You want to know where you stand? It’s wherever your feet stop. Simple. And love? Do whatever you have to do to avoid it.” Crap, crap, shit. My eyes burned, and my voice cracked, and I’d had enough. “Forget about the tug rope today. Go meet Bear.”
He studied me for a minute and finally nodded, jogging off to the school’s main entrance. The library would be open for only another half hour, so I hoped Bear was prepared.
Logan needed all the help he could get.
“He’s really improved.”
I whipped around at the sound of that deep voice and found Max standing against the fence that bordered the field. “Yeah.”
“So why do you look so miserable?”
Sighing, I shook my head. “Ever want something you know you’ll never get?”
He laughed. “Yeah. A Maserati.”
My lips twitched. Max might be a conceited jerk sometimes, but he was funny. He pushed off the fence and started coiling my rope.
“What’s going on, Man? You got a thing for Logan? Is that why you look like you’re gonna cry?”
A thing for Logan? Holy crap.
“He…ah, hell, he gets inside my head, Max. I feel bad for him. All that crap with John?”
Max’s lips tightened. “Yeah, well, maybe he wouldn’t have so much crap with his dad if he hadn’t taken the car without a license.”