by S. M. Koz
“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” he says, grabbing my shoulder to steady me. “I didn’t see you.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble, trying to race away.
“No, it’s not. Let me grab some napkins for you.”
“Really, it’s fine,” I say, pulling back. He takes the hint and lets go of my shoulder, but doesn’t stop talking.
“You’re bleeding.”
I wipe under my nose and sure enough, my fingers are covered in blood. Just great. It gets better and better.
“I’ll take you to the nurse.”
I shake my head while wondering what I’m supposed to do now. So much for my stealthy walk to the empty table. Everyone in the cafeteria is now staring at me as blood drips from my nose onto the gray tile floor.
“Here you go,” the guy says, handing me a stack of napkins someone else handed him.
I push them under my nose and start to walk toward the exit.
“What’s your name?”
I pause, surprised that he’d even care. I glance back in his direction and see his face for the first time. He’s got the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re gorgeous, but don’t look natural with his dark hair.
“Hailey,” I mumble, then quickly lower my eyes and dart out of the cafeteria in search of the nearest restroom.
The rest of the day is a bit smoother. My nose stopped bleeding after a few minutes and, I was able reach the rest of my classes early, introduce myself to the teacher, and take a seat in the back before the other students showed up. Most of them were so busy talking to their friends when they arrived that they didn’t even notice the new girl in huge, stained clothes in the back.
Eventually, the final bell rings and I let out a deep breath, one that it feels like I’ve been holding for hours. The first day in my new school is over, and it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Yes, there was the lunch incident, but no one teased me or called me names. At this point, I’ll take what I can get.
I’m wondering what the Campbells, my new foster family, will be like when I reach the front of the building where Sherry is supposed to pick me up. Most of the students are either in the student parking lot or athletic fields. Only a few of us are waiting for rides, which is a good thing because Sherry pulls up in her standard government-issued white sedan with yellow license plate. I groan and figure I might as well have a big, blinking, neon sign over my head reading “Freak! Freak!” Even though there are only a few students nearby, I run to the car, jump in quickly, and yell at Sherry to go.
“What’s the rush?” she asks, looking out my window.
I slink down. “They’re going to think I’m a juvenile delinquent or something.”
“No one will think that.”
“Can we just go?”
“No, I need to pick up someone else.”
This gets my attention. There’s someone else in foster care at this school? I’ve never met anyone else in my situation.
“Who?” I ask.
“Brittany. And there she is now.”
The back door opens and a girl about my age slides in. That’s where the similarities end, though. She’s got a nice olive complexion compared to my practically translucent skin. Her eyes are a bright green and narrow unlike my big, brown ones. And her brightly-dyed red hair is cut in a sharp line along her jaw and looks nothing like my drab brown strands that hang limp along my forehead and back. Overall, she looks like a rock star while I look like a kid who woke up with no home and no family this morning.
I turn around in annoyance.
“I’m Brittany,” she says to my back in a much too upbeat tone.
“Hailey,” I murmur, staring straight ahead.
“You new to the system?”
I nod.
“I’ve been here for ten years, so let me know if you need anything.”
I hear the click of her seatbelt and then Sherry puts the car in drive, while Brittany continues her chattering.
“Why isn’t Joelle picking me up?” she asks.
“She was called out on a case and asked me to do it instead. I’ll drop off Hailey first and then take you to your doctor’s appointment.”
“Can you tell Joelle I have fantastic news?”
“Sure,” Sherry says, pulling away from the curb. “Care to share that fantastic news with us?”
I feel my seat jerk backward as Brittany grabs onto it and shoots her head between the two front seats. “We did it! My band got second place in the county-wide competition last weekend! It’s the best we’ve ever done!”
It seems my first impression about her being a rock star was correct.
“That’s wonderful!” Sherry exclaims, adding to the enthusiasm in the car. “Y’all need to perform at one of our foster care parties. Joelle has been bragging about you forever and it’s time we all see this talent first hand.”
“Well, we are an award-winning band now …”
Sherry glances in the mirror again. “Meaning you want to be paid for the gig?”
Brittany flashes a bright smile and winks at me. “I’m just saying we’re booking up fast. I’m not sure we’ll be able to fit it in.”
Sherry shakes her head and says, “We’ll pay you in pizza and soda. All you can eat and drink.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal!” Brittany yells and sits back in her seat with a satisfied grin.
“You would’ve agreed without the soda,” Sherry says, turning onto a residential street in a swanky neighborhood.
“I would’ve agreed without the pizza, too. But you know us foster kids—we have to get what we can, when we can. Isn’t that right, Hales?”
The nickname makes me cringe. I hate it. Only Chase uses it and that’s because I don’t have the guts to tell him I don’t like it.
“Please don’t call me Hales.”
“Are you against nicknames in general or just that one?” she asks, completely unfazed by my request.
“That one.”
“How about Lee, then?”
“That’s a boy’s name.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Brown.”
“Hmmm … I’ve got nothing with that.” Without missing a beat, she then completely changes the conversation by saying, “Whoa, you’re lucky, Hailey. Looks like you won the foster kid lottery.”
I ignore her and concentrate on the houses around me, as well as the road names. If I can get ahold of a phone, I’ll need to tell Chase exactly how to get here, which won’t be easy since we’re at least 20 miles from home.
After three more turns, we pull into a long circular driveway lined with evergreen trees. In front of us stands a two-story brick house with four fancy columns. A couple rocking chairs and miniature trees planted in giant urns sit on the front porch.
Brittany asks, “Can I come in?”
“Why?” Sherry responds as she parks the car in a designated spot off the gravel driveway.
“This may be my only chance to see a house this nice.”
I glance back at Brittany, who’s sitting on the edge of her seat, craning to look at the mansion with eyes as round as full moons.
“You have to be on your best behavior,” Sherry says.
Brittany flings open the door and yells over her shoulder, “I’m always on my best behavior,” as she sprints toward the front steps.
I’m much less enthusiastic and wring my hands in my lap.
Sherry rests her fingers over mine, slowing their motion.
“Let’s meet your new family,” she says with a smile, but the wrinkles around her eyes give away her nerves. I’m sure she’s worried she’ll be making a trip out here later tonight to pick me up after I somehow mess up this placement, too.
Chapter 3
HAILEY
“Welcome, please come in,” says a middle-aged woman who looks like she just came out of a bank. Her dark hair falls in silky sheets to her shoulders where it meets what must be a super expensive suit.
“Nice t
o see you again, Sherry. And … which one of you is Hailey?” she asks.
Brittany points to me and then moves to the left side of the foyer so she can see into an adjacent room. She lets out a low whistle and says, “Whoa, nice digs. Is that a real Warhol?”
“You like art?” Mrs. Campbell asks.
“Depends on what it is. That,” she says, pointing in the other room, “I like.”
“Come on in and I can show you more.”
I stand awkwardly in the foyer as Brittany follows Mrs. Campbell like a little puppy. Sherry swipes her phone a couple times and then yells, “Brittany, we’re going to be late for your appointment!”
“Just give me a minute,” she hollers from somewhere deep in the home.
I’m about to go outside and sit on one of the rocking chairs when Mrs. Campbell returns. “Hailey, please come in. I’d love to show you around.”
“I don’t know anything about art.”
“Not the art, silly. This is your home. Gil and I want you to feel comfortable here. Do you have any bags?” she asks, peering around me.
“No.” All I have is my backpack with some school books, the hygiene pack from Sherry, and a month’s worth of birth control. I don’t say anything more about my lack of belongings because I really don’t want her to know that my superstar mom locked the few pieces of clothing we shared in a closet the day Sherry took me away. She wouldn’t even give me underwear to take with me. She said that if Sherry wanted me then she could buy me clothes.
“No worries,” Mrs. Campbell replies with a wave of her hand. “You’re what … a size two?”
I nod, embarrassed.
“There are some things in your room that you can wear for a few days until we have a chance to go shopping. Would you like to see your room now?”
I nod again.
“Brittany!” Sherry yells.
“I bet she’s in my gallery,” Mrs. Campbell says. “I’ll send her your way. Come on in, Hailey.” She gently touches my shoulder, encouraging me to step into the pristine palace.
We walk along a hallway, passing what looks like an office or library covered in dark wood paneling and furniture that looks straight out of a different century. Next, we pass a dining room with a table that could fit my entire geometry class. Finally, we emerge into a large airy space with a vaulted ceiling and an inside balcony for the second story. The furniture here is a neutral color and looks nice and comfortable. At the back of the room is a wall of windows that frame a brick patio and pine trees as far as the eye can see. This room feels much more casual than other parts of the house. Through the railings of the balcony, I catch Brittany’s back.
“Your room is upstairs,” Mrs. Campbell says, leading me through a massive kitchen with shiny appliances and dark cabinets to an understated staircase. Well, understated for this house. It’s not like my mom and I ever lived anywhere other than a trailer, so I probably shouldn’t comment on staircases anyway.
When we reach the top, I see Brittany again and she’s staring at a picture on the wall. It looks like a very blurry garden.
“Monet?” she asks.
“Yes,” Mrs. Campbell replies. “It’s my most prized piece.”
Brittany continues her tour down the landing, stopping at another picture. “How long have you been collecting?”
“Since college, so … about twenty years.” To me, she says, “This is my personal gallery. I’m an art dealer and have another gallery in town with pieces for sale.”
I have to admit that I’m a little nervous in this house. What if I break something? What if I trip and spill something on her most prized piece? Oh my god … what if Chase sees any of this? He would have no problem lifting one … or twenty of these paintings.
“Do you have any Wylands?” Brittany asks.
“I do not; however, my son does.”
The word son makes my head snap to Mrs. Campbell. In the other foster homes, I was the only kid. It never dawned on me I might have to share the house with one of their own.
“I’d show you, but Sherry is in a hurry.”
“We can be quick. Please,” Brittany begs, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.
“Okay, okay, let’s go. Hailey, your room is the first door over there, she says pointing to a hallway on the right. “We’re going this way.”
I look back and forth between, contemplating what to do. I want to go to my room, but I also want to meet her son. How old is he? If he has his own artwork, he can’t be a child. I don’t have any siblings. What’s it like living with another teen?
I decide to follow Brittany and Mrs. Campbell. I catch up with them just as Mrs. Campbell knocks on the door. “Brad, honey, can I come in for a second?”
“It’s open,” is the muffled reply.
When the door swings inward, I find two guys about my age sitting on bean bag chairs with their backs to us and staring at a massive television. They’re frantically pushing buttons on hand-held controllers as cars race around buildings in some video game.
“Brad Campbell,” Brittany says matter-of-factly.
He turns his head to her voice and stares. It’s those blue eyes. Those vibrant blue eyes from the cafeteria.
“Hailey.” Apparently he also remembers me and what happened. “And Brittany. What are you doing here?” He doesn’t sound mean, just confused, as he glances between us and his mom.
“Dropping off your new sister,” Brittany replies. That term causes my face to heat up. I’m not his sister. I’m just a house guest for a while until … Okay, I don’t actually know for how long. Will my mom get her act together? Do I want her to? Not really. So, I guess that means I’m here until I turn eighteen. Eight more months. Or until they kick me out for something.
Brad’s eyes move over to me and he smiles, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. I lower my gaze to the floor.
“I’m Brad,” he says. “And this is my friend, Adam.”
“Yo,” the other guy says, continuing to play the video game.
“Hailey,” I mumble.
“And there’s the Wyland,” Brittany says, moving closer to Brad’s bed. Above his headboard is a simple painting of a whale’s tail. It’s actually kind of pretty—much nicer than what was on the landing.
“Okay, Sherry’s waiting. You need to go,” Mrs. Campbell says, ushering Brittany back into the hallway. “Brad, can you show Hailey to her room while I say goodbye?”
He answers by turning off the television, which draws a complaint from Adam. “Dude! I was kicking your ass!”
“Because I stopped playing. That’s the only way you can kick my ass.”
I glance to Mrs. Campbell to see how she reacts to the cursing. Based on her appearance and the immaculate house, I expect her to demand perfection from her son, but she doesn’t seem to notice his choice of words.
Surprising me, Brittany darts back into the room and wraps her arms around me in a hug. “See you Monday. Meet me in the cafeteria before first period.”
I nod as she and Mrs. Campbell start their trek back downstairs.
“How’s your nose feeling?” Brad asks.
“It’s fine.”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“It was nothing.”
We stand in awkward silence for a moment and I pray he’ll let it go.
Luckily, he does. “So, what grade are you in?” he asks, standing up. He runs his hand though his hair, causing his dark bangs to flop back on his forehead and hang over his eyes a bit.
“I’m a senior.”
“Us, too. You’re new to our school, right?”
I nod. “Started today.”
“Where you from?”
“Union Pines.”
“We killed you in football last week.”
“I don’t really keep up with football.”
“Well, you’ll have to start now that you’re part of this family. High school, college, professional—it’s all we talk about during the fall. And I’m s
ure my parents will drag you to my games.”
“You’re on the team?”
“Yeah.”
“He is the team,” Adam chimes in. “He’s the quarterback.”
That means nothing to me, so I just nod.
“Anyway, welcome to your new home,” he says, holding out his hand.
I tentatively shake it and he says, “This is awkward. If we’re siblings, we should hug.” He wraps his arms around me and I find that to be even more awkward.
He must agree because he drops his arms and says, “I’m not really sure how this is supposed to work.”
Adams stifles a laugh as he gathers books and shoves them into a backpack.
I ask, “How’d it work for all the other foster kids?”
“You’re the first.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, my parents just got licensed last month. I guess we’ll figure it out together.”
“I’m outta here,” Adam says. He fist bumps Brad and then looks at me. “Nice to meet you, Hailey. See you around school.”
After saying bye, we head back through Mrs. Campbell’s gallery and to my room. It’s huge compared to what I’m used to. The walls are painted beige and are empty except for a mirror.
“I think there are some clothes in the closet,” Brad says. “My mom … our mom, I mean, is a neat freak so they’re probably organized by size.” He opens the door and then says, “Make that gender and size.”
I notice that the left side does indeed contain boys’ clothes while the right has girls’. I guess she planned ahead, not knowing what kind of misfits they’d be taking in.
“Well, you probably want to get settled, right?”
I don’t have anything to get settled, but it will be nice to have a little alone time after this very long day, so I agree.
“Dinner’s promptly at five tonight since there’s a game. Every other night it’s seven. Don’t be late. It’s one of my dad’s … our dad’s… shit, I swear I’ll get that right, sorry…. pet peeves.”
“It’s okay. He’s not my dad. She’s not my mom. They’re your parents.”
“No, no,” he says, shaking his head and waving me off as he steps back into the hallway. “I’m happy to share,” he yells over his shoulder.