by S. M. Koz
“You’re in my geometry class,” Abbie says, shaking my hand. “God, I hate that subject.”
“Me, too,” I agree with a smile.
“You’re a senior?” Michelle asks.
I nod.
“And in geometry?”
I nod again, but more slowly this time. I don’t like where she’s going with her comment.
Confirming my thoughts, she says, “That class is usually for freshman and sophomores, like Abbie.”
“That’s not true,” Adam replies. “There are plenty of juniors and seniors in there.”
“But they’ll be way behind in college,” Michelle says, tipping her head as though she’s letting me in on a big secret.
I remain silent because as much as I’d love to go to college, I’m sure Chase is right. There’s very little chance of that ever happening, so it really doesn’t matter what level of math I master before graduation.
“Anyway,” Abbie says, breaking the tension, “Adam mentioned you’re living with the Campbells now.”
I nod again.
“We all live in the same neighborhood, but the Campbell’s house is the nicest, so we spend a lot of time there. It will be fun adding someone new to the mix. It’s kind of boring with just the four of us.”
“That sounds like fun,” I say to be polite. Adam and Abbie seem nice, but I’d prefer to spend as little time as possible with Michelle.
“We’ve got to get going if you want ice cream before your curfew,” Adam says to Abbie.
“Want to come with us?” Abbie asks me. “My brother can drop you off afterwards.”
“Oh, no, I can’t,” I reply. In addition to having no money, I don’t want to deal with Michelle’s evil eye that has been on me nonstop since she was introduced.
“Okay, next time, then. Tomorrow is movie night at Brad’s house. We’ll see you at seven!”
After they leave, Gigi and Gil tell me that there’s no use waiting for Brad because the coach is very long winded. By the time he showers and they have their post-game review, we could be home and in bed.
I’m glad we don’t have to wait. It’s been a long day with lots of changes. What I really need is a good night’s sleep.
I follow Gigi and Gil out, but stop suddenly at the gate when my eyes land on a familiar figure lurking in the shadows under the bleachers.
Chase.
Chapter 6
HAILEY
I pause, contemplating what to do. I don’t want to talk to him, and I certainly don’t want him talking to Gigi and Gil. I have no idea what he’d say to them. Can I just ignore him, though? I’m still undecided when Gigi and Gil go through the gate. Gigi turns around and asks, “Are you coming, Hailey?”
“Yes,” I proclaim, straightening my shoulders. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see him. I do sneak one last peek, but he’s unmoved. It looks like he has no intention of talking to me or the Campbells, either. I let out a relieved sigh and say a prayer that this will be the last I see of him for a while. Sherry was right—he’s definitely a negative relationship.
The rest of the night is uneventful. We return to the Campbell’s house and I fall into a deep sleep within moments of climbing into bed. I’m used to sleeping on a sofa, not a queen-sized bed that makes me feel like I’m floating on clouds. It’s weird how you never know what you’re missing until you get it. I had plenty of complaints at home, but my sleeping situation never made the list. Now I realize it should have. I wake up feeling more rested than I have in years.
When I roll over and look at the clock, I’m shocked to see it’s already eleven. Everyone’s going to think I’m super lazy. I jump up, throw my sweatshirt from last night over my tank top, and step into the hallway. Glancing past the gallery, I see that Brad’s door is closed. Maybe he’s a late sleeper, too.
Tiptoeing downstairs, I find every room I pass empty. When I get to the kitchen, there’s a note from Gigi and Gil on the counter, saying they had to run some errands and Brad was working out. They indicated I should help myself to breakfast. They probably didn’t realize I’d be waking up closer to lunchtime.
I open the fridge door, but it feels weird, like I’m snooping, so I close it. I try the pantry door, but it’s the same feeling. My fingers tap against the doorknob. I’m starving. I have to eat something. I open the pantry a slit and spot a box of granola bars in the front. My hand darts in and I grab one in record time, as though my skin will spontaneously combust if I’m not fast enough.
Satisfied that I have enough nourishment for a few hours, I slip back into the living room. I suppose I could watch TV. The only problem is I don’t see a television. I wander around the downstairs, but don’t find one anywhere. I’m about to give up and go back to my bedroom when a thumping beat begins pounding through the walls and floor. I follow the sound to a mostly-closed door and wonder if I should go through. I knock in case it’s Gil and Gigi’s bedroom, even though they’re not here. When no one answers, I scoot my foot so the door opens a little wider. That reveals even louder music, now with lyrics, and a staircase. It must be the way to a basement.
Descending the carpeted steps, the music grows louder the farther I go. At the bottom, I’m dumped into a wide room with a sofa in the shape of a horseshoe, a bunch of bean bag chairs, the most gigantic television I’ve ever seen, a pool table, and a ping pong table. There’s also a miniature version of their upstairs kitchen in the back of the room. To my left is a hallway with two other rooms, one of which seems to be the source of the music.
I walk in that direction and peer in the open doorway. Standing in the middle of the room is a shirtless Brad with sweat beading up on his muscles. Muscles that are much more noticeable today than yesterday. He bobs his head in time with the music as he lifts weights, alternating between his left arm and his right.
My eyes migrate up his back to his dark hair that’s soaking wet and curling around his ears. Opposite him is a mirror, which gives me a nice view of his striking blue eyes. They have to be contacts. I’ve never known anyone to have eyes that shade of blue before.
And they’re intense. He’s focused on what he’s doing, staring at his own body with each movement. Sometimes his brow furrows and then moments later, it levels out as a hint of a smile appears. It’s as if he’s critiquing every little movement he makes, even though they all look the same to me.
Without warning, he drops the individual weights on the floor, grabs a long bar with weights attached to each end, holds it squarely on his shoulders, and then squats. Repeatedly. I feel my face redden as my eyes wander to his backside. I’m used to Chase’s non-existent butt, not Brad’s well-defined, muscular one.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, turning around and leaning against the wall. I cover my eyes with my hand as if that will block the images in my mind. I have to get it together. Brad is my foster brother. Brother. I cannot be thinking about his butt. Or his eyes. Or his muscular arms. This time, it might not be Chase getting me kicked out; I might do it all on my own.
“Hailey?”
No, no, no. Did he see me? I want to crawl into a hole and die. This is so embarrassing. I’m a guest in his home and I was gawking at him during a workout.
“Hailey?” he asks again.
I’m tempted to make a run for it, but as soon as I take a step, he appears in the doorway.
“Hey,” he says. “You’re up.”
I feel the heat rising in my cheeks and can’t imagine what he’s thinking.
“I was looking for a TV,” I reply lamely.
“Over there,” he says, pointing to the television that’s bigger than some cars.
“Right.”
“You look cute in that shirt. It was mine from middle school.”
My face gets even redder with that comment.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asks.
“Yes.” I hold up my half-eaten granola bar as proof.
“That’s not breakfast. I’ll be done in a few minutes, then we can make lunch together.
How’s that sound?”
“Um … fine,” I reply to end this conversation. I need to go dunk my face in a bowl of ice to get it back to its normal color.
“Want to keep me company while I finish up?”
Oh, god. Then he’d really see me gawking at his body. I definitely can’t do that. “I should probably shower. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
He strolls back to the weights and I make a beeline for the safety of my luxurious bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m freshly shampooed and buffed, my complexion no longer looks like a tomato, and I’m ready to face him again. I wander to the kitchen and find him at the counter with a variety of meats, cheeses, breads, and condiments laid out in front of him. He’s got one sandwich on his plate and is working on a second.
He barely looks in my direction before saying, “Help yourself.”
I take a piece of wheat bread, add a slice of American cheese, and then a couple pieces of turkey. He finishes making his second sandwich and then pushes the condiments my way. I shake my head as I flip the halves together.
“No mayo?”
“No.”
“Mustard?”
“No.”
“What do you want? We probably have it.”
“Nothing.”
“You eat sandwiches plain?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because it will be as dry as cardboard.”
I smile at his comment. I guess it could be true, but after eating mayo and mustard alone for meals sometimes, I have no desire to ruin this lunch with tastes that bring back such awful memories. I’ll take cardboard.
“So, what’s you deal?” Brad asks, leaning against the counter. He gnaws off some off his sandwich and eyes me, waiting.
“I’ve got no deal,” I reply. There’s no way I’m getting into what landed me here. He wouldn’t understand. He’s got wonderful parents, loads of money, and great friends. A perfect life. Mine is the exact opposite.
“Everyone has a deal.”
“What’s your deal, then?”
“I’m a textbook only child. I’m spoiled rotten, a classic over-achiever, selfish, and have an insatiable need for instant gratification.”
My jaw drops open. Literally drops open. Who is that self-aware? And who shares that kind of stuff with a stranger?
“Dad’s a psychiatrist,” he says with a shrug. “And I’ll be one, too, someday.”
His comment makes me smile. “By your choice or his?”
Brad points his finger at me. “Ahh … you’re pretty insightful yourself. So, are you an only child?”
I notice he fails to answer my question, which probably gives the answer away. I nibble on my lunch for a moment to decide how I want to reply. After swallowing, I say, “Kind of. I’ve got a half-sister, but I never see her.”
“Same mom or dad?”
“Mom.”
“Is she in foster care, too?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How’s that work?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
He wipes crumbs from his mouth and says, “I’m pretty smart. I bet I can keep up.”
“She’s been living with someone else since she was born.”
“Who?”
I shrug.
“You don’t know?”
“She was kind of adopted as a baby.”
“That doesn’t seem hard to explain. Adoptions happen all the time.”
“I don’t think it was totally legal.”
“Oh,” he says, drawing out the word. He takes a drink of Gatorade then continues, “Actually, I don’t understand. Your mom gave her baby away to someone?”
I nod. I don’t want to get into the specifics. Knowing my mom traded her baby for a new phone and carton of cigarettes will just make me seem like even more of a loser compared to him and his perfect life. I always hold out hope that her pimp threatened her and that’s why she did it. Surely, not even she is so cold that she’d hand off her baby to unknown people for a couple hundred dollars’ worth of stuff.
“How long ago?”
“Ten years.” That was when things really started to go downhill. Until then, my mom was able to keep things mostly okay. Sure, we never had three-course meals, but we usually got at least two decent meals a day. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that’s also when she started using more regularly.
“And you haven’t seen your sister since then?”
I cringe at the term sister. I’ve never really considered her that. “No.”
“Don’t you want to find her?”
“It’d be impossible.”
“No way. With social media, we could find her.”
I shake my head. Anyone who buys a baby on the black market probably isn’t on the up and up. I can’t imagine her home life is any better than mine. I don’t need to see that firsthand.
“Well, if you ever want me to help, I’m happy to.”
“I don’t, but thanks.”
Brad stuffs the rest of his lunch into his mouth. After a couple minutes of silence, he swallows and asks, “What about your dad? What’s his story?”
“No idea.”
“Not part of your life?”
I push crumbs around my plate. “He was more of a temporary sperm donor.”
“You’re a test tube baby?”
“What?” My head jerks up to see him analyzing me. “No,” I mumble, “more like a casualty of my mom’s job.”
“Oh, shit.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity. Anyone with half a heart … a quarter of a heart …. hell, an eighth of a heart would feel the same way. It’s not fair to you.”
“That’s pity.”
“Yeah, maybe it is,” he concedes. Pushing against the counter, he hauls himself up and sits facing me. “Sorry, but come on. Knowing that has had to have such a profound effect on you. You can’t tell me it hasn’t shaped who you are.”
“Okay, Mr. Future Psychiatrist, you can stop right there. I’m fine. It’s life. Some of us are dealt a good hand,” I say, motioning around the room, “while others are dealt a crappy hand. Nothing I can do about it other than try to make the best of a bad situation.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He gathers both our plates and tosses them in the sink. “Want to go to the mall today?”
“The mall?” I ask, surprised by his change of topic.
“Yeah. It’s Mom’s birthday next week and I need to get her something.”
“Um … okay. I guess so.”
The squeak of a door interrupts us, followed by a thud and jingling of keys. Seconds later, Gigi and Gil enter the kitchen.
“All fixed,” Gils says, tossing Brad the keys.
Brad snatches them out of the air and thanks his dad.
“You’re sure it didn’t happen at the game?” Gil asks.
“Positive. I would have noticed, plus the rims would’ve been damaged if I had driven home like that.”
Gil sighs and says, “You’re right. I just don’t like the idea of someone breaking into our garage and slashing your tires.”
Blood runs cold in my veins with those words. It couldn’t be Chase. He wouldn’t do that, would he? Yes, of course he would. How would he even get here, though? Did he follow us home last night?
“What happened?” I ask in what I hope is an innocent, curious tone.
“It looks like someone got into our garage and specifically targeted Brad’s car. All the others were fine.”
“Did they steal anything?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. Well, I don’t know. We haven’t checked.”
“Shit,” Brad says. “I left my iPad in there last night.”
He runs out of the room and Gil shakes his head. “There’s no reason to be afraid, Hailey. This is a very safe neighborhood and nothing like this has ever happened b
efore.”
Until I came along, I think. I always bring trouble with me. Should I tell them? Probably. Will they kick me out if I do? Most likely.
Maybe this was a one-time thing. Chase made it clear last night that he didn’t want me staying here. Maybe this was a warning to me for not calling him and walking off with Adam. If I convince him that I’m still his, maybe he’ll back off.
“I need to make a call,” I say suddenly. “Do you have a phone I can use?”
Chapter 7
BRAD
“That little shithead,” I mutter under my breath. He took my iPad, all my CDs, and even the jack from the trunk. Basically, anything that wasn’t bolted down is gone. I kick one of the new tires on my X1, wishing I had done more last night.
When I scared his scrawny ass in the drive as I pulled up, I assumed he’d bolt. I didn’t expect him to confront me and accuse me of fucking Hailey. Actually, if he had said that, it wouldn’t have been so bad. The words he used, especially about her, were much cruder as he staked his claim on her. It’s beyond me why a guy would talk about his supposed girlfriend that way. Or why a girl would put up with such a jackass. I thought I had scared him away by threatening to call the cops, but it appears that was only a ploy to get me inside, so he could slash my tires.
The real question is if I should tell my parents what I know. For as much grief as I give them, they’re actually fairly understanding. But I’m not sure if even they would be willing to welcome Hailey into our home knowing she has a thug for a boyfriend. Call me crazy, but I don’t want her to leave just yet. I kind of like her. She’s real … and broken. Maybe it’s just my inner knight in shining armor rearing its ugly head, but I feel like she needs someone on her side.
Dad would have a field day with all of this. He’d say she’s not my project, and I can’t fix all the wrongs in the world by protecting her. Just like I couldn’t save all the stray dogs by donating my five-dollar-a-week allowance to the shelter when I was six. This is different, though. I don’t want to fix all the wrongs in the world, just make things a little better for her. No one deserves to have a prostitute as a mom, some random john as a dad, be severely malnourished, and have a complete dick as a boyfriend. She didn’t get dealt a crappy hand; she got dealt the shit that lies beneath the crappiest hand.