I’ve been in this foster home for almost a year, and I’m still not used to all of it. It’s just me and my foster brother Huxley, who’s eight. And although my foster parents are pretty nice, most of the other people around with a lot of money are just douchebags to me. They look at me like they can smell the difference between us, like they can see I don’t come from money like they do, that I just accidentally got thrown into a family who does. I’m not the same as any of them.
Even with the new intimidating environment, I’ve still tried to come out of my shell more lately at my new school. I have two newkindafriends, Katie and Harper, who we hang out with a lot, who we’re supposed to go hang out with tonight, apparently. Even though, honestly, I’m not really looking forward to it. I just want to crawl back under my sheets and rot away.
The wave of sadness hits again as I step into the shower, and I let the water wash away all the tears I’ve been holding back. For some reason, breaking down under the stream of hot water feels more freeing. I don’t have to wipe away the reminder that I’m broken. I can just watch it circle down the drain.
“You should be here,” I whisper to the ceiling. “We should be celebrating today together, waking up in that apartment you promised we’d be in.” I try to keep my sniffles quiet so Simone doesn’t think she needs to check on me. “We wereso closeto getting out. I still don’t understand what went wrong, why you couldn’t come to me, why you had to keep turning to drugs. I swear I’m never touching them. I’m never gonna do that to the people who love me.”
My grief is never just sadness…it’s anger and hopelessness and fear all wrapped in one, fighting for center stage.
“I’m mad that you left me. I’m mad you weren’t there to protect me. It got so bad in that house after you left. That last night I was there still haunts me. I still have nightmares about Miles’s hands around my neck, about the police in the driveway, about being removed from another home once again. You were supposed to be there to stop him. You werealwaysthere to stop him.”
I sink down onto the floor of the shower, letting the water pour over me. “I miss you so much it hurts. You haven’t even been showing up in my dreams lately. I wake up every day mad that I didn’t get to talk to you. Ireallyneed you to show up. I need to see you, talk to you, hear your voice, hug you again.”
I hear a knock at the door, but don’t respond. “Hey, Lyd, you okay? You’ve been in there for a long time.”
I push the pain back down and stand up. “Yeah,” I call out. “I’m…I’m getting out now.”
“I have an outfit picked out for you,” she calls back.
I roll my eyes. “It better not have any color in it.”
I hear her scoff from the other side of the door. “I’m offended that you think your best friend doesn’t know you better than that.”
I push the grief all the way down and put the mask back on that I’ve created for everyone else around me.
When I get out, I force myself to put on theactuallycute outfit she put together—a long-sleeved, black mini dress, lace stockings, and black platform boots.
If someone were to ask me what my favorite color is, I would tell them black, obviously. It’s all I ever wear, and it kinda matches my personality. But if someone were to ask me to be truthful, I would say pink…because it reminds me of Simone, and she’s my favorite person.
“You look…hot, Lyd.”
I feel anything but hot, but I force a smile for her. I don’t want to ruin the night for everyone else. I just want to push through and fake it…maybe even forget for a little.
When we pull up, I look around at all the massive houses in the neighborhood. Every single house on this street is three or fourtimesbigger than mine. This one has lights strung up across the yard, music pulsing from inside, and people spilling out onto the lawn and onto the front wrap-around porch.
Everything smells like booze and preppiness as we walk up. I stick out like a sore thumb…I always have, though. The music gets louder as we walk in the front door. The bass is heavy—loud enough to rattle the furniture and drown out any of my hesitation. Simone bounces beside me, practically glowing, curls pulled half-up, and her glossy lip gloss catching every moving light.
“Okay, deep breath,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “You look hot. Act like it.”
I tug at the hem of my dress. “I feel like I stick out. Everyone here is so preppy and bright…like you. You always fit in.”
“Stop that. You’re the coolest girl I know. I wish you’d let more people see that.”
We step inside and are instantly swallowed by the noise—people everywhere, dim lights, air thick with the smell of perfume, sweat, and the unmistakable scent of weed somewhere in the mix.
Katie and Harper spot us, waving us over from a leather couch where they’re squished between two guys from school. Harper jumps up to hug Simone, and Katie throws her arms around me with a warmth I’m still not used to.
“You guys took forever,” Katie says. “Simone, where’s that cute boyfriend of yours?”
“Eyes off my man,” she says playfully as she scans the crowd. “But, I don’t know. He’ll probably be here soon.”
We all head into the kitchen together, weaving past bodies and shouting over the music. Simone hands me a cup without even looking back, and I take a sip—cheap vodka, maybe? It burns enough that I know it’s liquor and not beer. I honestly never drink much. I hate not feeling in control. But sometimes, like tonight, when the grief feels a little too loud, and when my sister’s death circles my throat like a noose, a cup or two helps loosen the rope.
After drinking and talking for a while, Tyler shows up, sneaking up behind Simone and making her squeal like a little girl. They’ve been dating for over a year now—after Tyler finally got the balls to ask her out.
He kisses her neck and whispers something that makes her giggle.
“I’m gonna steal her for a bit,” he tells us with a smirk. “Hope you don’t mind.”
