by Jessica Kapp
“Stop!”
He wiggles his toes in my face to be funny. I contemplate biting him, but chances are his socks aren’t fresh. I stretch my foot to find the bleachers. I’m not quite long enough, so I keep sliding out and let go. My feet hit the metal bench with a clank and I freeze.
Parker drops down without much noise. “Are you trying to wake everyone?” He elbows me lightly in the side and motions for me to move down to the end of the bleachers.
We sit, and though my mouth opens, nothing comes out. I’m not quite sure how to say goodbye. Against my better judgment, I lean my head on his shoulder, and he immediately presses his chin into my crown.
The tightness in my chest eases as we take in the smells and sounds of the sea. On our left and right are concrete walls that stand for safety and security, but out in front of us, beyond the track, is the Pacific Ocean. There’s a chain-link fence along the straightaway closest to the water—a window to the outside, even if we only see the occasional seal and distant boat.
On clear days I can see the California coastline during my laps, and on evenings like this, when the chain-link blends in with the night, it feels open and free.
The trainers want me to run to keep my heart and lungs strong. I run to be near the ocean. To be close to something that feels alive and inviting. I can always count on the ocean to be there.
A good five minutes pass before Parker speaks. “I’m sorry for how I acted tonight.”
“I know.”
“I can’t help but think I’m not good enough or strong enough.” There’s a bite to his words. “I mean, what’s it going to take? I can do two hundred crunches without breaking a sweat. What the hell do these parents want from us?”
I’ve asked myself the same questions a thousand times. Every time a kid leaves the Center it feels like someone else won the lottery, and all you can do is try to smile and be happy for them. But deep down you’re not. You’re dejected. Why wasn’t it you? And each time someone else’s name gets called, the rejection and loss start all over again.
Unlike Parker, I had a family once. My parents were killed in a car accident, but Parker was abandoned at birth. Rejection is all he knows. I try to remember that when I console him.
“Of course you’re good enough. They don’t know what they’re missing.” I rub his arm, noticing his bicep is bigger than my whole hand. All he seems to do these days is lift weights. I want to tell him to slow down, but I hold my tongue. The Center encourages him to build strength, and it keeps him busy while he waits. He’s almost eighteen. The chances of anyone picking him now are as good as me bench pressing more than him.
“I don’t even care if anyone fosters me, I really don’t. But almost all of my friends are gone, and now you’re leaving too.” He reaches out and squeezes my fingers. I try not to cringe, but it feels like he’s crushing me.
“You’ll be out of here soon, and we’ll go to all of the places we talked about,” I say. He takes in a deep breath and I continue. “We’ll go to the beach, and we’ll see a real movie on one of those big screens—no more sitcom reruns. We’ll go bowling and—”
He pulls me in for a sideways hug and my face presses against the armpit of his sweaty shirt. “I’m just a little emotional, that’s all. It’s your last day.”
When he releases me from his grip, the feeling clings to me. I’m scared. I tell myself to be strong for Parker, but also because I don’t want to blow my chance at having a real family.
“It’s just…it seems stupid to foster someone so late,” he says. “I know Ms. Preen says some families don’t want to deal with toddlers, and everyone who’s looking for older kids wants them to be healthy and disciplined, but do you ever find it odd?”
I don’t want to. I want to believe it’s a dream come true, that someone wants me to join their family. I hate that Parker is asking me right now. When I don’t answer him, he keeps going. “And do you ever wonder why no one comes back to visit us?”
“Not really. They’re probably just having a great time with their new family, playing board games, going fishing, that kind of thing. I’m sure that’s what it is.” I sound more certain than I am.
His head bobs up and down as if he accepts what I’m telling him. When he looks at me, the whites of his eyes shine. “You won’t do that, will you? You won’t pretend we never existed. That we never mattered.”
I force myself to hold his stare. “Of course not. I’ll be back. I promise.”
Why do I feel like that’s a lie too?
A bright beam hits me in the eyes, and for a moment, I think Parker’s flashlight is going haywire. Then, I hear a man’s voice coming from the side of the track just a few feet from the bleachers.
“Get down here you two,” says our lead trainer, Tony. He’s big and bald, and the growl in his voice makes my body tense.
We follow Tony back inside. I’m somewhat relieved Parker and I don’t need to climb back through the vent shaft, but when we stop in front of the pool, fear washes over me. My fingers tremble, and Parker grabs my hand as we stand by the edge of the deep end.
“Get in,” Tony points. The gym lights are off and the water is so dark I can barely see the bottom.
Parker takes off his shirt and bends forward so he can sit. Tony gives him a shove and the splash douses my T-shirt and pajama bottoms.
I put my hands out to dive in but Tony grabs my shoulder.
“But I—”
“Not you,” he says, yanking me back.
Parker clings to the edge of the pool. His fear is palpable.
“There’s a time on my stopwatch. Two minutes and thirteen seconds. Let’s see if you can beat it,” Tony says. He puts a hand on Parker’s head, like he’s palming a basketball, and shoves his face down. “It’s go time!”
My heart pounds, and my feet shift forward—ready to jump in.
“Let me take the punishment, it was my idea,” I say. Tony stares at his stopwatch, and a mocking whistle escapes his lips.
Parker’s hands grip the side of the pool as his pointer finger taps, counting the seconds. After one minute, Parker’s tap—and my heartbeat—speed up. He’s struggling. Tony pushes his head down farther, and Parker’s hands come off the edge.
“That’s enough!” I yell.
“Keep it down. I’d hate to have to start over.” Tony says with a calm voice.
I scratch at my palms while I pace. Parker clutches Tony’s arm, and Tony pushes down in response. Parker balls his hand into a fist and hits Tony’s leg.
“Please be done. Please be done,” I beg. The room blurs through my tears.
Tony pulls his arm back, and Parker comes up with a gasp.
I rush to the end of the pool to grab Parker’s arms. I know he won’t be able to get out on his own. He coughs, barely hanging onto the pool’s edge. He rests his head on his forearm. His eyes close.
“A minute and a half,” Tony says. “Time to get you off the dumbbells and back in the water. We’ve got to build your lungs up.” He laughs to himself as he walks away. His shoes squeak when the water hits the glossy gym floor.
And for the first time since my final evaluation, I realize I could leave this place. I could let it go.
Chapter 3
I’ve never handled goodbyes well, and now I’m on the receiving end. Paige is at the front of the line, which stretches along the gym wall and past the one-way mirror, ending at the door that leads to the lobby.
Ending with Parker.
My throat dries as I start the procession of hugs. By the time I reach him, my eyes must be as red as Parker’s face.
“So this is goodbye,” he says like he’s been chewing on the words for hours, trying to make them softer, digestible.
I nod. “Only for a while.”
A smile pulls at his lips a second before he envelops me. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.” I squeeze him as hard as I can, knowing I can’t hurt him. At least not physically.
“Don’t forget about our pact,” he whispers in my ear.
When he lets go, I stare at his chest, unable to meet his eyes. I know he thinks everything will change when we see each other on the outside, but there’s this knot in my stomach that says it won’t.
I muster the courage to look up, trying to memorize his features before I go: high forehead, sharp nose. It’s not the face of someone who makes my heart swoon, but I promised him I’d give him a chance—give us a chance. I’m on the verge of opening my mouth when Ms. Preen taps her foot.
“Let’s go. They’re waiting,” she says, shooting me an impatient glare. I give Parker one last hug and step into the hall that leads to the lobby.
His words follow me out. They permeate my brain. I even catch a whiff of his smell on my fuchsia tank top. The blend of barbells and protein bars is embedded in the Hawaiian flower design as if he’s determined to stay close to me.
If I’m being honest with myself, I wish he were coming. I could use a friend’s hand to hold when I meet my parents in this ridiculous outfit. Sadly, it’s the nicest one I own. The tank hasn’t faded to a dull pinkish-purple yet, and the shorts smell more like lemon detergent than sweat. I thought Ms. Preen might surprise me with something new to wear, something more appropriate, but she doesn’t seem to care how I look.
I slip off my vinyl backpack to get into the car. Ms. Preen scowls at the bag in my lap.
“What?”
“I told you not to bring anything.”
“It’s just undergarments and my heart medication.” I stop there, omitting the fact that I also packed my toothbrush and my favorite sneakers. They’re the only things I own; the contents of my life weigh no more than seven pounds.
She pokes at a lump with a tentative finger as if my stuff is contaminated.
“They’re just shoes,” I say, feeling guilty I didn’t leave them for Paige.
“You have shoes on.”
I want to tell her that my flip-flops don’t count, but she’s lost interest in the conversation. She reaches up to touch her forehead, and her fingers roll over the ridges. She must not have slept well. I know the feeling.
She takes some cream out of her purse. The jar is small, about the size of a coin, and the paste looks white and sticky. She dips two fingers in and rubs the lotion on her forehead until the lines vanish. When she goes to put it back, her cell phone rings. The ringtone is flirty, two beats serenading each other. She gets out of the car to answer.
The mouth of her purse is open. I shouldn’t snoop, but I want to see what’s inside—if the contents will reveal anything about my family, anything to fill the void that consumes me right now. There’s a magazine called Be Your Best begging me to pick it up. I pull it out and skim through it quickly, taking in the smiling faces. That will be me soon. Happy. There are also dozens of ads for pills and creams. Be smarter than your computer, one ad reads. Remember how it feels to be sixteen, another says.
Ms. Preen’s silhouette paces outside the door, and I strain to hear her conversation. The words are muffled, but I make out ‘military candidates’ and ‘immune testing.’ Maybe she thinks the kids at the Center are army material. I wonder if that’s what happens to those of us who aren’t fostered.
I turn my attention back to her purse, surprised to see at least a dozen pill bottles inside. Is she sick? I pull a few out. The drug names are long, with letters jammed together, practically unpronounceable. I take out my medication, popping the top off my pill bottle. I spill some of mine on the seat and lay a few of hers beside them to compare.
Why does she have so many? Is she taking pills to dull the pain from an injury? Maybe that’s why she’s such a grouch.
It’s quiet outside and I hitch a breath, shoving the bottles into her purse as the door cracks open. Before she ducks her head to sit, I slip my bottle into my bag and swipe the pills from the seat, clutching them in my palm so tight I am afraid they might crumble into white dust.
Ms. Preen seems oblivious when she sits. I flip my hair over my shoulder to hide the vein pulsating in my neck. I’ll have to find a way to put her pills back later or dispose of them when she’s not looking.
The car starts to move and I shift in my seat, putting my hand in my pocket so I can let go of the pills.
When she hasn’t said anything for at least five minutes—I know because I’ve been counting in my head—I crack my knuckles.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she snaps. Almost immediately, her posture relaxes. “I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?”
“No. I guess not.” I finish cracking the last two, but I’m still fidgety.
Ms. Preen glances at me with suspicion and I spit out a question, one that should be simple for her to answer. “What are the names of my foster parents?”
She glares at me. “Don’t worry about that right now.”
“What am I supposed to call them when I see them?” It feels like I swallowed a gallon of pool water. I’m sick and confused at the same time. All I’m asking for are their names.
Ms. Preen flicks her hand at me like she’s swatting at a fly. “Sir and ma’am.” Then she looks away.
Maybe she doesn’t know the answer. After all, she didn’t know my name. To her, I was the redhead. Still, if it’s Ms. Preen’s job to connect foster kids to families, shouldn’t the answer roll off her tongue?
I suppose I’m no better though. The names of my real parents faded from my memory years ago. I don’t remember their faces or even the accident that took their lives.
“A drunk driver ran a stoplight,” one of my trainers told me. “T-boned their car going eighty miles an hour.”
They both died on impact. I was almost seven.
I jump in my seat when the driver taps the barricade between us.
“Are we there?” I ask, my heart speeding up.
“We need to stop by the hospital first,” says Ms. Preen.
“What for?”
“Test results.”
“Can’t the hospital mail them?” Doesn’t she realize how much I want to meet my new family?
Ms. Preen glares at me, her lips in a tight red line. The kind of slash our teachers made through incorrect answers. “One of the tests came back…”
“Came back what?”
Ms. Preen takes a breath and her eyes meet mine. “It came back abnormal after a second analysis. They just need to double check something.”
“All right.” I rub my nose. I used to think I could tell when someone was lying to me when my nose itched. Our nutritionist told me it meant I needed to eat more vegetables.
Ms. Preen reaches in her purse and holds out a piece of candy. “Eat this. You’ll feel better.”
I peel off the plastic wrapper, pop the candy in my mouth, and begin to chew. It’s soft and delicious. I don’t want to swallow, but Ms. Preen is watching.
The car stops, and I sit up and smile as if I’m about to go on display, which is not far from the truth. Maybe my foster parents will be waiting for me in the hospital lobby when the test is done.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
I try to move my lips, but my brain feels like it lost the connection with them. My eyelids feel heavy. So heavy. There are two Ms. Preens now. Both of them are grinning, but their eyes are narrow, devious.
The back seat beckons me to lie down, and I move her purse out of the way. My arm jerks and it falls onto the floor. I hear a clatter of pill bottles. I’m too tired to worry about picking up the contents right now. Instead, I press my head into the bend of my arm. The seat smells like Ms. Preen’s perfume, a thousand flowers drowning in alcohol. It stings my nose.
Suddenly I’m on my back, and it feels like I’m drifting out of the car. I try to move my hands, but I’ve lost the ability to communicate with my body. I want to sleep, and yet I have this strange feeling that’s a bad idea.
Chapter 4
My eyes pop open and I awake in a panic. I’m lying in a hospital bed. Is the test
over? How did I get here? Where are my foster parents and Ms. Preen?
There’s a bank of fluorescent lights above me, spotlighting me like a canvas. I can see some medical equipment on my left. I can’t move my neck, but the objects look shiny and sharp in my periphery.
Where the hell am I?
I try to yell for help, but my mouth doesn’t cooperate. One of my fingers twitches and that’s all I can do. I’m the living dead, only I know I’m not dead because I can feel my heart in my throat.
Why can’t I move?
Voices murmur outside the door, and I shut my eyes when it opens. The agitated whispers belong to two males. I peek. They’re standing at the foot of my bed and are too young to be doctors. One’s wearing medical scrubs, the other a lab coat. They’re grumbling about how many minutes they have left.
“Is she the one?” Lab Coat asks.
“Looks like it,” Scrubs answers. “Why haven’t they prepped her yet?” He tugs on the side of my tank.
“Not sure, but they probably will soon. Let’s get her out of here,” Lab Coat says.
Who are these guys and where are they taking me? A flood of instinct bubbles inside me, trapped with nowhere to go. My eyelids flutter when they start to wheel me out of the room. The gurney is headed toward the end of the hall, and my heart skips when I see the blurred red letters of an exit sign. Are these the people the Center warned us about? The ones who sell organs on the black market? Panic surges through my body.
They’re kidnapping me.
I focus on my hands, bending my fingers. Good. Movement is coming back.
Lab Coat glances down and stares at me for a few seconds before looking forward again. He’s taller than the blonde on my right, who uses his hand to guide more than to help push.
The outside smells like decay, and when I peek again, I see a dumpster and a van parked in front of it, the rear door open like it’s ready to devour me. My breath quickens.