I closed the book and took a deep breath. So far, almost everything Jase had written was accurate. Unbelievably, he had nailed every moment of that fateful night, right down to my complicated feelings. There were only a few subtle differences. My father was more of a sloppy drunk than an angry one, and “the whiskey monster” was Jase’s name for him, not mine. My dad was verbally abusive and neglectful, but he was rarely physically violent, with the exception of the few times he lost control. But nothing compared to that last night I lived under his roof.
That night changed my whole life, and it was the main reason I refused to look backward. But whenever I had been forced to talk about it during therapy sessions, I always got lost in my own memories and feelings. I never really thought about how Jase had felt in that situation, how that night might’ve impacted him deep down inside. But clearly, it had. It did. I wondered if writing those scenes was somehow cathartic for him.
Leila, whose name was actually Lisa, obviously had been a heroin addict, though the book tried to make her addiction seem harmless and less urgent. I wondered if Jase was trying to protect her by lightly skimming over the facts. She had tried to provide for her sons, but by the time they were teenagers, she was pretty far gone. Her arms were covered in track marks, and she spent most of her money on drugs. There had been a lot of unsavory characters in and out of Jase’s house—we could only imagine what for.
Reading Jase’s book was like reading the story I would’ve written myself if I ever followed Cara’s advice to start a memoir. The entire experience was strange. It was like my memories had come to life, complete with every sensory detail. Each page transported me back to that ugly place in Ohio where Jase and I had been stuck for our entire childhoods.
Yet the idea of the book still made me angry, not grateful. I kept going back to the opening pages before the text, looking for a dedication, but there was nothing. He was going to drag me all the way through my painful past, steal my story, and not even dedicate the damn book to me.
Later that night, Trevor came over with a pizza. We sat at the breakfast bar and ate in awkward silence as I waited for him to bring up our conversation from the night before. He had been begging me to share a part of my past with him for so long, and finally I had opened up to him. But nothing had really changed between us, and now I felt further away from him than I had before.
“So . . . what did you do today?” I asked through a mouthful of food.
“Just PT, then I grabbed some beers with the other assistant coaches. You?”
“Nothing much. Laundry.”
Trevor laid a greasy slice down on his plate and paused. “Emi, are you still feeling emotional about that thing you told me last night?”
That thing? “I opened up to you about some very traumatic things and you’ve barely acknowledged that. You know I hate revisiting my past, and this book I’m reading isn’t helping. So yeah, I’m feeling pretty shitty.”
“What book?” he asked, totally missing the point.
I felt something snap inside of me, and before I knew it, the words were tumbling from my mouth. “I’m reading a book about me, Trevor. My first love wrote a whole book about our childhood, from my perspective, and it’s a huge hit. And now he’s a bestselling author. And you know what? I’m more than just upset about it; I’m fucking devastated and confused because I don’t want to relive those awful memories, and I certainly don’t want anyone else profiting from them.”
He was looking right at me now, his eyes wide with shock. “What the . . . Where the hell did you get this book? Let me see it.” No apology for his insensitivity. No sympathy for what I was going through. Typical Trevor.
“No way.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mostly about my relationship with another guy.”
“If he was from your childhood, weren’t you guys just kids?”
“I mean, I haven’t seen him in twelve years, but our connection was very . . .” I swallowed nervously. “Intense.”
He crossed his arms and gave me a skeptical look. “I’m not going to be jealous of your juvenile relationship, Emi. I just want to know what he wrote about you.”
Suddenly, I regretted telling him about Jase and the book. “Just let me finish reading it. It’s personal, that’s all.”
“The whole world can read it, but your boyfriend can’t?” He rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit.”
I didn’t respond, and he didn’t push. He wasn’t wrong exactly, but I didn’t need to justify myself. It was personal. If he wanted a copy, he’d have to buy it himself.
We sat in silence as we finished our dinner, then we moved to the couch so Trevor could watch football while I curled up into a ball and continued reading. He assumed his standard position as he slouched against the cushions, his feet kicked up on the coffee table, his hands clasped together behind his head. It struck me that there was something wrong about his casualness. We had just had a fight, yet his body language suggested that nothing had happened. Like he had moved on.
To the untrained eye, we looked like the picture of intimacy, but there was nothing intimate here. Our relationship was lazy. He should have been rubbing my feet, and I should have been practicing full disclosure, but instead we were as far apart as we could be in every sense of the word. It was easier that way.
From All The Roads Between
On the way to the foster home in New Clayton, Paula gave me all the pertinent details of my new life. Mr. and Mrs. Keller were in their sixties and had been foster parents for over thirty years. I would be the oldest of five foster kids in their home, which sounded kind of great to me—I loved the idea of having little kids around to play with. By the time we pulled up to the old, yellow, three-story Victorian, I had stars in my eyes. It looked like a dollhouse.
Paula thought the Kellers would be a great match for me, and I couldn’t agree more. I was so excited to meet my new family.
The door opened, revealing a stout woman with heavy frown lines at the corners of her mouth and gray hair permed and styled into a short crop. Mrs. Keller opened the door and then immediately turned around and yelled, “Sophia, up to your room!” Her thunderous voice made me step backward off the porch step. “Leaving already? You just got here.”
“I . . . I . . .”
Paula spoke for me. “Hi, Mrs. Keller. This is Emerson. She’s fifteen and loves to read.”
“What happened to your face, child?”
“My—my . . .”
“She was just removed from the home she shared with her abusive father,” Paula answered for me.
“I know all that. I heard the story. I want to hear her speak. In this house you can speak, Emerson, as long as it’s with respect. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“He was one of those paper mill boys, wasn’t he? None of them are worth a damn, are they? Well, come on in—what are you waiting for?”
Paula put her arm around my shoulder and walked me into the house. “Mrs. Keller,” Paula said, “can I see where Emerson will be sleeping?”
“Sure can. Follow me.”
The house smelled of citrus wood cleaner. It was tidy and quiet for a house with four children. I held on to the freshly polished wooden banister as I made my way up the stairs behind Mrs. Keller and Paula.
Paula, a thin, fit woman in her thirties, was out of breath by the time we got to the third story, yet Mrs. Keller, with her rotund body, barely even broke a sweat. Once we reached the landing, Mrs. Keller led us to a small room in the attic space beneath the pitched roof. It was immaculate. You could see the vacuum passes in the carpet, and the single bed under the window was draped with a pristine pink chiffon and lace comforter.
“Fit for a princess,” Paula said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “This is amazing.”
“You’ll be expected to keep this space tidy,” Mrs. Keller said.
Paula turned to me. “Why don’t you get your suitcase? I’m going to ask Mrs. Keller a few questions in the meantime.”
“Okay.”
On my way downstairs, I spotted a little girl peeking at us from around the corner.
“Hi,” I called out to her. To my surprise, she came out and stood before me. “Hi, I’m Sophia.” She had long, perfectly combed blonde hair that framed her angelic face.
“I’m Emerson.” I held my hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
I had never heard a child talk that way. “How old are you?”
“I’m eight. How old are you?”
“I’m fifteen. I’ll be sixteen in July.”
“Only three months away. Lucky you.”
“Yep. Do you like it here?”
“Yeah, I love it.”
“How old are the other kids?” I asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few pairs of feet. Then I heard the sound of pitter-pattering, coupled with the glorious sound of children giggling. “Come out, you guys,” Sophia called out before turning back to me. “They’re really excited to meet you.”
From behind the stairs came three little boys, all around the same age. “The twins are Brandon and Daniel. They’re five. Thomas is six.”
“Hi, Emerson,” they said, almost in unison.
“Hi, guys.”
They ran up to me and hugged my legs.
Sophia smiled. “They’re really sweet, but they can be a pain in the butt too. And they eat a lot.”
“I think I’m gonna like it here. How are the Kellers?”
“They’re great. You just have to follow their rules.”
“Of course,” I said. That sounds totally reasonable.
“I mean they have a zero-tolerance policy. They’re very good to the children they foster, but they don’t get attached. A lot of the older kids don’t last long here because they get into trouble.”
I wondered what these rules entailed, but just then, Mr. Keller appeared in the hallway. “Emerson, I’m Mr. Keller.” He shook my hand. He was wearing a plaid Pendleton shirt and Dockers with a perfect crease down the front of each leg. He had a well-groomed beard and a kind face.
“Hello,” I said.
“Kids, go finish your chores and let me have a word with Emerson.”
Three pairs of feet scurried away, but Sophia kept looking back at me as she walked up the stairs.
“We run a good home here, Emerson, but you should know we don’t take a lot of teenagers because we don’t like putting up with the drama. Okay?”
“I understand.”
He didn’t waste any time before laying out the expectations. “Your social worker said you’d focus on schoolwork, do your chores, and follow the rules. Can we count on you to do that?”
“I will, I promise. But what are the rules exactly?”
“Only school- and church-affiliated extracurricular activities. Homework and chores must be done before dinner. You’re expected to attend church and Bible study on Sundays. And respect for all members of the house is required. We don’t tolerate any talking back.”
“So . . . no social life?”
He blinked at me for ten uncomfortably long seconds. “Is that all you got out of that?” Before I could answer, he said, “Judging by the look of your face, you’re in need of a safe place to live. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Follow the rules and you’ll get that here,” he said, and then he walked away.
I wondered if they would let me call Jackson. I thought he qualified as a non-school-related extracurricular activity.
Paula was coming down the stairs as I headed up. “I think you’ll be comfortable here. It’s a nice place and these are good people,” she said.
“Am I going to be able to see Jackson?”
“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Keller. But, Emerson, it’s very hard to find good foster care these days. Please respect their rules.”
“I have to be able to see him, Paula. He’s the only person I have. He saved my life.”
“You’ll have Sophia and the three boys and Mr. and Mrs. Keller. They’re very involved in the community church. I’m sure you’ll meet new friends here in New Clayton.”
“Sophia and the boys? They’re little kids.” My head started pounding and my hands felt clammy. We were facing each other on the second-story landing. I set my suitcase down and braced myself against the banister. “I have to be able to see him. I have to be able to talk to him. Paula, you don’t understand.”
“I understand. I was fifteen once.”
“No!” I raised my voice and then noticed Mrs. Keller standing at the top of the stairs, wearing a skeptical look.
“Don’t mess this up,” Paula whispered, and then she brushed past me and headed toward the door, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll call tomorrow to check in.”
I was dizzy. I took small, deliberate breaths and then buckled over and dry-heaved.
“Don’t go spilling your guts all over the carpet, missy,” Mrs. Keller’s voice said as she hovered above me.
I fell to my knees, dry-heaved again, and then passed out.
Mr. Keller was carrying me up the stairs when I came to. He never looked down at my face; he just set me on the bed and left the room. Mrs. Keller came in a moment later with a cold washcloth and a glass of water.
“Don’t drink too fast or you’ll heave it right back up. You’re likely still dealing with the concussion your father gave you. We’ll watch you close. You’re gonna be fine.”
“I’ll be sick without him,” I said, my voice pained. “I’ll die without him.”
“You don’t need that sad excuse for a father. You’re safe here. You’ll get used to it, I promise,” she said as she dabbed antibiotic ointment on my lip and forehead.
“Not my father—my friend.”
“You’ll make friends here.” Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Keller had made eye contact with me since they’d carried me up the stairs.
“Will you at least let me call him?”
“We’ll see, Emerson. It’s important that you focus on fitting in here first. For now, just get some rest.”
I slept for almost ten hours straight.
It was dark in my attic room when I woke up, but I could see a mop of bright blonde hair sitting in a small chair in the corner. “Sophia?”
“Yep, it’s me.”
I was groggy and had a hard time focusing. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”
“It’s my watch. We were all taking half-hour turns, but Mrs. Keller said the dark would make your head feel better. I was going to read to you, but I couldn’t find my book light.”
“Do you like to read?”
“It’s pretty much my whole life.” I loved her enthusiasm.
“When I’m feeling better we’ll have to go to the library and pick out some books I think you’d like.”
“I would love that.”
“So . . .” I said.
“So . . . can I turn on the light now?”
“Sure.”
She hopped off the chair and turned on a dim floor lamp in the corner. “You look a lot better, Emmy,” she said as she scanned my face. “I hope you don’t mind the nickname. I just love it.”
“It’s nice, Sophia, thank you.”
“You can call me Sophie.” She laughed. “Brandon calls me ‘Soapy’ ’cause he still can’t make the f sound.”
“That’s funny.”
“Yeah.” She looked around. “You hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
“Well, come on, then.”
“Wait, Sophie, do you know how I could make a phone call?”
“Hmm. Umm. I guess you’ll have to ask Mrs. Keller. I’ve never called anyone before.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since I was two,” she responded immediately.
“Oh.” I tried to hide my surprise. Sophia and the Kellers seemed too cordial to have been living together for seven years. “What happened . . . when you were two?”
“What do you mean?” She tilted her head and smiled.
“Why did you come here?”
She pinned her shoulders to her ears and laughed. “I guess nobody wanted me.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Why are you here?” Her eyes focused on my stitched lip.
How was I supposed to tell an eight-year-old the truth? “Well, we don’t get to choose our parents, Sophie. All we can do is remember that sometimes their actions have nothing to do with us.”
“I guess, but if they loved me, wouldn’t they have come back for me by now?”
“Maybe they’re lost. People get lost all the time, especially grown-ups. My dad is lost. That’s why he did this to me.” She looked confused. “Most of the time people who are lost don’t ever find their way back.”
“That’s really sad, Emmy.”
“Yeah. Such is life, my friend.”
Poor Sophia. I could tell she hadn’t ever experienced love. Not with her parents, not while living in the big yellow house with a revolving door of teenagers and children, and certainly not with the Kellers and their “rules.” They projected an illusion of warmth with their home cooking and hand-stitched quilts, yet underneath the façade was an institutional rigidity, as if they were running an orphanage where children would be fed and cared for but never loved. Love was such a key ingredient in molding humans, yet it was inaccessible to kids inside of the system.
I followed Sophia down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the three boys were helping Mrs. Keller make biscuits. “Emerson, so glad to see you feeling better,” Mrs. Keller said as she wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron. “Sophia, why don’t you show Emerson how to set the table.”
“Mrs. Keller, before I do that, I was wondering if I could use the phone to call my friend.”
She went to the sink and began rinsing the dishes. With her back to me, she said, “Haven’t we discussed this already? Go with Sophia and set the table.”
I did as she said, and then I ate chicken and dumplings and biscuits around the big oval table with the rest of the children. Mr. and Mrs. Keller ate at a separate, smaller table. There was a healthy amount of chatter among the children, but the adults kept quiet. All I could think about was Jackson. How I was eating a delicious homemade meal while he was probably eating cereal for the third time that day. I was scared to press the issue of calling him, but I was more scared of losing him.
In the middle of the night, I snuck down to the kitchen, took the phone from the charger, and went back up to my bedroom. I was the only one on the third floor, so I actually had privacy. I dialed Jackson’s house number. It was two in the morning, but he picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hi.”
“Emerson? Why are you whispering?”
“It’s two in the morning, and the Kellers don’t want me to call you.” My voice started to crack.
“Why?”
“They’re really strict,” I said.
“Can’t be any worse than your dad.”
“No, it’s different. They’re good people, they just have rules.”
“What kind of rules?”
“I’ll try and call you every night, but I don’t think we’ll be able to see each other until I settle in here and earn some trust.”
“Are they nice to you?”
“Yes, I’m totally safe. There are healthy, happy little kids here. The little girl is adorable.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“As long as you’re safe. Paula called me and told me she dropped you off in New Clayton.”
“Why?”
“She wanted me to know that she found you a really good home. She asked me to keep my distance.”
“Keep your distance?!” I whisper-shouted.
“Shhh, Em. Don’t get yourself into trouble just to call me.”
“What are you saying, Jax?”
“Nothing at all. I just want you to be safe. You could be farther away, living with assholes. It could be worse.”
“It’s only been a day, and I’m already sick of people telling me to stay out of trouble. I’ve done nothing. Talking to you doesn’t make me a bad kid. That’s just ridiculous. I’m going to find a way to call you no matter what.”
There was a long silence. “Fuck, I miss you so bad,” he said.
“I miss you too. Don’t worry, I’m going to call you and I’m going to see you again soon.”
“I keep thinking about our kiss . . .”
“Yeah?”
“How sweet you tasted.” I sucked in a sharp breath. No one had ever talked to me like that before. “The sounds you made when I kissed your neck.” His voice was rough, strained.
“Jackson, what are you doing?”
“Thinking about how badly I want to kiss you . . . and touch you.” His voice was low.
My heart was pounding. “You’re sleepy.”
“Nope, not sleepy at all. Em, do you touch yourself when you think about me?”
I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. Jackson and I hadn’t ever talked about this kind of stuff. “Um . . .”
He laughed quietly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
“That’s why I’m embarrassed.” It’s unusual for kids at that age, especially a boy and a girl, to talk openly about these things. We were learning about ourselves together. We didn’t have any grown-ups in our lives to guide us. Jax and I were raising each other.
It wasn’t about what he was doing or what he was curious about. It was the fact that he could say it to me, the person he was fantasizing about, and he knew it would be okay. It made me love him more.
“I just hope you think about me. I miss you, that’s all,” he said.
“You’re basically all I think about, dork.”
“Ha! There’s my girl. So, you start at your new school tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Please stay away from the Hunter Hoovers of the world.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.
“Okay.”
There were a few seconds of silence before I whispered, “Good night.”
“Night, Em.”
We hung up. I fell asleep with my hands splayed across my belly, imagining that I was lying next to Jax and he was holding me.
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up to the smell of French toast and bacon. Before even opening my eyes, I was already smiling.
“What are you smiling about? You almost got busted. I saved your butt.”
I opened my eyes to find a serious Sophia. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Keller and I came in here this morning with your laundry, and I found the phone sticking out from under your bed. I hid it in my shirt and put it back, but it was a close call.”
I sat up and put my hand to my chest. “Oh shit.”
“Watch your mouth,” she whispered. “Mr. Keller has no tolerance for bad language.”
“It seems like Mr. and Mrs. Keller have no tolerance for anything.”
“Look, this place is all I’ve ever known.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ve heard a lot of stories from the kids who have been through here, and I don’t want to know what’s out there, okay? Mr. and Mrs. Keller are strict, but they’re not mean, and I think they care about me. I don’t want to mess this up. What’s the saying . . . you know, about the devil?”
“Better the devil you know?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“You’ve been here a long time, so I can see why you’d feel that way. Thanks for covering for me—you didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t want you kicked out the first week. You’re the only one who wants to hit the library with me.”
I slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans from a folded pile on the dresser. “What time do we leave?”
Sophia looked at the clock. “Seven fifty sharp. Mr. Keller will drop you off first, then me.”
“What about the boys?”
“Mrs. Keller homeschools them.”
“How come?”
“Thomas is autistic, and the twins are really behind because they were neglected.”
“Oh.” Aside from their insane rules, Mr. and Mrs. Keller seemed like angels. What they were doing was good. And I was sure they had good reasons for their rules. But for me, I just couldn’t imagine not having Jackson in my life. They didn’t know how much we needed each other.
As I brushed my hair in the dresser mirror, I noticed Sophia behind me, watching with curiosity. “What?”
“Who did you call? Last night?” Her voice was soft, hesitant.
I turned around to face her. “My boyfriend.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Her face flushed. She moved to my bed and plopped down, wearing a giddy smile. “What’s he like? What’s his name? Oh my god, do you kiss him?”
I went toward her with the brush. She was dressed and ready for school, but she still had a swirly nest of bedhead just above the back of her neck. As I brushed out her hair I told her all about Jax like we were long-lost sisters. “He’s tall, with nice muscles.” I giggled. “He’s a really good swimmer, and he’s a great writer. He has golden-y brown hair and eyes, and his skin always has this glow to it. He’s very handsome.”
“And the kissing? Tell me about it, please. I’m dying. Oh my god, I’m dying to know what it’s like.”
“Girls!” Mrs. Keller’s voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs.
Sophia popped up and darted for the door. “Breakfast!” She turned in the doorway. “We gotta get down there. Promise you’ll tell me after school?”
“Promise.”
At the bottom of the stairs was a brand-new backpack and sweater. “Will that do?” Mr. Keller asked from where he was standing statue-like near the front door.
“Yes, it’s great, thank you.”
He nodded. “Better get in there and get your breakfast.”
We inhaled our French toast at the large oval table while Mr. Keller shouted out a minute-by-minute countdown. Thomas repeated Mr. Keller several times, his voice like a little robot’s.
“Ten minutes till the van leaves. Ten minutes, girls,” Thomas said over and over as he picked off all the dark parts of his toast and set them aside on a little napkin.
At the three-minute warning, Thomas jumped down from his chair and came up to me, his face inches from mine. “Three minutes till the van leaves. Three minutes, Emerson. You better go.” He looked terrified even though he wasn’t making eye contact. Brandon and Daniel sat quietly on the other side of the table. Their shaggy hair and transfixed gazes as they watched Thomas melt down made the twins look like they were in one of those “big eyes” paintings. Two little ragamuffins with giant alien-like saucers for eyes.
Daniel blurted out, “He does that because he doesn’t like it when people are late.”
“It’s okay,” I said, and then I lifted Thomas’s chin so that his eyes were more level with mine. “Thomas?”
“Yeah.” He still wouldn’t let his eyes meet mine. They were darting from the ceiling to the floor to the walls around me.
“Will you look at me?” He did, but he looked extremely uncomfortable when he did it. “Everything is going to be okay. Sophia and I are going to make it to school on time.” I smiled.
A brief look of serenity flashed in his eyes. He smiled back and then looked at the floor and muttered, “Okay, but now you only have two minutes. You better go.”
We all laughed except for Thomas, who went back to picking at his toast.
At the one-minute mark, Sophia and I were walking out to the Sprinter van in the driveway. “Have a good day at school, girls,” Mrs. Keller called from the doorway.
Mr. Keller was already in the driver’s seat. He didn’t say anything until we were pulling into the driveway at New Clayton High. “You’ll go to the office up that path for your schedule, Emerson. Your guidance counselor will walk you through it.”
“Okay, great.”
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “After school you’ll walk straight to the library in the center of town to meet Sophia. She gets out after you, so wait on the steps until she gets there. Mrs. Keller will pick you girls up at four p.m. Make sure your homework is done by then.”
“Got it, Mr. Keller. Thanks for everything. ’Bye, Sophie.”
“’Bye.” She leaned over and whispered, “I want to hear about the kissing later. Don’t forget.”
“I’m sure you’ll remind me.”
We laughed. I jumped out of the van, and right before I closed the door, Mr. Keller looked back at me and said, “Remember the rules, Emerson.”
“I will.”
I WAS THROWN into life with the Kellers, a version of foster home Stepford robots, with Daniel and Brandon, the precious, neglected, doe-eyed twins, and autistic Thomas and his pieces of toast, and Sophia—sweet, sweet Sophia. Then there was me, Emerson, the new girl at New Clayton with her new backpack, her new purplish sweater, and her new bruised eye, and a stitched lip to match.
I wasn’t even going to try to make friends on my first day at New Clayton High. I didn’t know how long I’d be living with the Kellers; on the drive over, Paula had told me they would look for family members who might be able to take me in. I thought that was hysterical, considering my own mother had abandoned me.
As other high schoolers rushed past me, I stood at the top of the walkway on campus and wondered, Who am I? Will I ever know? Will this shitty-ass life and my shitty-ass parents define who I am? Will I ever feel normal?
Thankfully, I had been way ahead in my classes at Neeble, so most of what I heard on my first day at New Clayton was review. The day went by in a blur.
After school, I did as I was told and walked to the library to wait for Sophia. As soon as she saw me, she ran from the corner, her heavy backpack swooshing back and forth behind her. When she was about twenty feet away, she called out, “The kissing! You’re going to tell me about the kissing!”
“Shhh, Sophia, not so loud.”
“What? You can’t get into trouble here; we have until four to do whatever we want.”
“That’s only about an hour.”
“Well, I got my homework done at lunch, so we can talk and look for books and you can tell me about kissing Jackson.”
I huffed. “Well, if you want to know the truth, Jackson and I only really kissed a couple of times.”
This did not deter her. “What was it like? Tell me, tell me!”
I closed my eyes and thought about our kiss. Tingles ran through my body. “Well, it’s like this. He closes his eyes and tilts his head, and I do the same, and our lips touch, and, well . . . that’s all you need to know at your age.”
She looked up to the sky, enchanted. “Wow. I totally want to kiss a boy.”
“When I was your age, I thought boys were gross. I even thought Jackson was gross.”
“You knew him when you were eight?”
“Yeah, I’ve known him my whole life.”
“So he’s like your brother?”
“No! That’s disgusting. He was the boy next door, then he became my friend, and then we became more when we got older.”
It occurred to me then that I might be able to use the hour after school to call Jackson or meet with him. I brightened at the thought. “So does Mrs. Keller pick us up at four every day?”
“Yep, like clockwork. It’s so we have a quiet place to study. The boys get antsy and loud in the afternoon.”
Sophia and I went into the library and checked out some books. I finished up a few geometry problems, and then we waited on the steps until the Sprinter van pulled up with Mrs. Keller at the helm and the three boys in their booster seats across the first backseat bench.
“Mrs. Keller, can I sit in front?” Sophia asked.
“Sure.”
I slid into the far backseat. It felt like I was riding the school bus again, but Jax wasn’t there to hold my hand. Mrs. Keller and Sophia talked about school. Although I think the Kellers tried very hard to maintain a sense of reserve and formality, I could sense a bond between Mrs. Keller and Sophia. It made me happy for her. She deserved it.
Later that night, Sophia told me more about the Kellers.
“They have a son, Liam. He’s a hotshot lawyer in New York. I guess Mrs. Keller tried to have another baby for a long time but couldn’t. That’s why she does this.”
“Does Liam ever come to visit?”
“On holidays and stuff, but he doesn’t really hang out with the foster kids.”
“What about money?”
“What about it?”
I was thinking about how I could get money to call Jackson after school. “Do the Kellers give you an allowance?”
She laughed. “Yeah, right!”
