ELEVEN YEARS OLD
Bella
Colors bounce off the walls in a prism, as the light catches the crystal suncatcher hanging in the window. I blink a couple of times, adjusting my eyes to the brightness. Rolling over to my side, I see the empty bed next to me. I sit up abruptly and notice all of the beds are empty. Each one made perfectly. An old comforter tucked around every corner of the twin-size mattresses. One flat pillow lying centered at the top of each bed.
The sudden realization that today is the day has me flinging off my blanket. My bare feet hit the old wooden floorboards that creak as I hurry over to my armoire closet.
Pulling down my pink poufy dress—my only dress—I hold it out and cringe upon inspection. It’ll have to do. Even if it has been worn so many times that the lace on the hem now hangs in stray strands. The white flowers now resemble more of a crescent moon, and the hole in the armpit reminds me not to raise my left hand today.
I often find myself gawking at Lucy, the neighbor girl, who is the same age as me. She always wears the most beautiful dresses. Rainbow colors, with sparkling gems sewn around the waistline. Cal always makes me feel better by saying, “You don’t want to be like those people. They wear their happiness on the outside, they don’t feel it where it counts.” But there is one dress Lucy wears often. It’s baby pink with a floral lace overlay. She looks like a princess when she wears it, and every time she does, I watch her from across the yard and daydream that it’s me. Living her life, hugging her parents. Cal thinks it’s ridiculous, but there’s not much that isn’t ridiculous to him. Yet, he always has a way of helping me see the bigger picture. No matter what happens, I hope I never lose myself in things.
Cal told me that one day he was going to buy me all the dresses in the world, just to prove to me they don’t hold my beauty.
After I’m all dressed and feeling content with my appearance, I brush my teeth in the shared bathroom and run my fingers through my cedar-brown curls, getting them stuck at the end and ripping through the matted mess.
Quiet baby steps lead me to the top of the staircase as I listen to see if they’re here yet. The laughter of the other kids leads me to believe that I didn’t miss them. If I had, it would be quiet. There would be tears. And, there is no way that Callum would have left, nor let them leave without waking me first. We made a pact, after all.
Part of our deal was that we’d do whatever it takes to stay together. If he is chosen and I’m not, he said he’d moon the visitors just so they didn’t pick him and if that didn’t work, he’d kick the guy in the balls. I told him I’d simply scream at the top of my lungs until they no longer wanted me. I mean, it’s a solid plan. No one wants to adopt brats.
Callum and I came to The Webster House together four years ago. I was only seven years old; he was three years older. We’ve watched so many potential parents come and go during our time here, that we’d almost given up hope.
Only kids come to The Webster House—no babies. The youngest being Elizabeth, or Bibs as we call her. She’s eight now, and I worry that she will still have many more years here. Everyone wants a baby or a toddler. Someone they can mold and hear their first words of “mom” or “dad.” I’m not sure I could ever refer to another with that title. Especially since my only knowledge of a mom is someone who leaves you alone to raise yourself, so she can drink and do drugs, even at the tender age of four years old. Dads are just something I’ve read about as a fictional entity.
I often fantasize about having one. He would be tall, with dark hair, and muscular arms that he would sweep me up in as he plants kisses all over my rosy cheeks. He’d twirl me around in a brand-new baby pink dress as the bottom half catches the wind. I’d be his little girl.
Only, time is passing quickly. My days of being a little girl are numbered. So are the years I have left to build a solid relationship with new parents. Today is likely my last chance. Today, we welcome a family who is looking for a son and a daughter. I’ve heard through the cracks in the walls that they do not want babies or toddlers. They want older kids and they are ready and willing to provide them with a loving home.
Today is the day that Callum and I begin to live—really live. Public school, dances, sports, a life outside of these walls. I’ve always wanted to take piano lessons. I’ve learned a little by teaching myself on the old piano in the dining hall. It’s missing a few keys, but it’s better than nothing.
Tonight, we will celebrate the first day of the rest of our lives. Maybe even with blueberry pie—our favorite.
“Psst.” I hear from down the hall.
I look left, and right, to be sure that the coast is clear. Callum and I have our own secret hiding space. We call it a secret, but everyone knows about it. They just know not to enter. Not only is there a big sign that reads “Keep Out OR ELSE” on the front of the knee-wall door, Callum also uses threats and punishment for all who enter.
Occasionally, we let Mark and Layla in, since they are the same age as us, but they’ve both proven to be tattletales and have shared some of the secrets meant to stay inside the small, squared space. For instance, when Callum broke Mr. Beckham’s window last fall with a curveball. We made a pact that we’d take his wrongdoing to the grave. That was until Mrs. Webster told us that if no one comes forward then we had to spend the entire weekend in our rooms. Mark and Layla broke the pact. They never admitted it, but we knew.
“What are you doing?” I drag my eyes up and down the hall to be sure no one is out here. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I duck my head and enter the crawl space. “I thought our parents were on their way.”
That’s what we call them. Our parents. Because, we just know that they will choose us. We’ve had this planned ever since we learned of their visit over a month ago.
Callum sweeps the air with his hand and walks over to the petite dormer window. He presses his palms against the wall on each side. “They’re late.”
I can immediately tell by his tone that he’s upset.
“They’re still coming, though, right?” I walk to his side, taking notice of his gray slacks that are far too short. His long-sleeved button-up shirt is tucked only in the front and missing a middle button. A pain stabs at my chest. “Cal, tell me they’re coming.”
He shrugs his shoulders, then kicks at the wall. Hard, loud, and frightening. I wince at the sudden shock of his outrage. Most of the kids here are scared of Callum. He’s a bit rough around the edges. I’ve seen his heart, though. He has one in there; he just doesn’t share it with the world. In a way, it makes me feel privileged. Everyone else gets bitterness and a sour attitude; I get the sweet stuff.
In one swift motion, Callum spins around. “Bella,” he grips my shoulders, “promise me, again. Promise me that you will never leave me.”
My body tenses under his aggressive hold. My heart’s racing, palm’s sweating. Something is wrong. “Cal, what’s this about? What happened?”
At first, Callum was like the big brother I never had. The older we get, though, the more grateful I am that he isn’t my brother. The last couple of months I’ve seen him in a different light. When he walks into a room, butterflies free-fly through my stomach and my heart rate excels. I continuously shake off the notion that I could possibly have a crush on my best friend, because this is the same boy who has slept in my bed countless nights due to his recurring nightmares. We’re friends. Nothing more. Nothing less.
It’s also the same boy who beat up Mr. Beckham’s preppy fourteen-year-old son, Trent, because he lifted my skirt once. He literally beat him to a pulp. Blood painted the Beckhams’ well-manicured lawn a dark shade of red.
“I just need to hear you say it. Tell me I’ll always have you.” He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my head in a gentle, yet abrasive hold. Our hearts beat in sync. Rapid and unruly. Shattered pieces meant to mend together. But, I can feel him slipping away, even as he holds me so tightly.
“What did you do?” I know this can’t be good. Callum is always getting in trouble, and if he did something to mess this day up, so help me…I can’t even think about it.
Everything is fine. We’re minutes away from our new life.
“I screwed up. I really screwed up this time.” He pulls away and looks me in the eye. “I’ve always got you, right?” The desperation in his voice slices through my happiness. An uncertainty for our future. The burden of a decision that decides our fate.
The slamming of a car door has us both back at the window. “They’re here.” His eyes close, then open slowly. “I’m gonna need that promise now, Bella.”
I don’t even think. I just feed him the words that he craves. “I promise, Cal. Until kingdom come. It’s you and me. Always.”
