Page 6 of That Pucking New Girl

Miss Martin leans on the horn, annoyed with the kids that are taking advantage of her and they all scatter.

“No you don’t,” she says, merging out of the car line and toward the exit. “Have I mentioned how much I dislike this school? What happened today?”

“I’m worse than usual, and a kid caught my head when I passed out in Science class. One second I was paying attention, and the next, everything got really dark,” I explain. “Usually I just slump over and that’s that. But⁠—”

“Someone caught you and accidentally brought attention to you,” she finishes. “I have an infusion scheduled tonight. I’m going to have someone come over to the group home to give it to you since things may move quickly after this appointment.”

“I’m going to meet this family?” I ask, knowing by the set in her jaw that I’m correct. Miss Martin told me as much yesterday, but I somehow thought they’d decide against it for some reason.

Nothing is set in stone for me anymore. I really do believe I’m too much trouble to want.

“I think you should,” Miss Martin says. “They have younger children, but they want to adopt an older child. They know you’re going to age out soon. Rachelle, who you’re going to meet, had a rough life growing up.”

“I’m a charity project,” I say before I can take back the words. “I mean, am I wrong? It’s hard for me to trust that anyone would want someone who is seconds from turning eighteen.”

“You’re three months away from that,” she confirms. “Don’t be dramatic, Noor. Rachelle runs a school I also think would be better suited to your needs. They can force the doctors to give you migraine meds too.”

“They have money,” I sigh. “That’s what makes the world go round.”

“It’s not just money. They can advocate in a way I can’t,” Miss Martin says. “No one wants to prescribe you medication for your pain, and you’re the one who suffers.”

“They’ll load me up with everything else though,” I grumble. I’m on antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, and an oral migraine medication that doesn’t work.

Well, I don’t think it does since I have so many despite the medication. Pain has a way of re-wiring your brain so you’ll do anything to keep it away once it hits higher levels.

“Exactly. Rachelle and her family are a little different, but I think they’ll be good for you,” she adds.

“Are they in some kind of religious cult?” I ask, swallowing hard. “I don’t⁠—”

“Nothing like that,” Miss Martin chuckles. “I’ll have her explain because I’ll mess it up. We’re almost there.”

I raise my brow at her through the rearview mirror and she shakes her head. She knows she’s being vague.

“Rachelle and her husband, Jared, want to meet somewhere neutral. The offices at the group home aren’t very private,” she reminds me. “Here’s the cafe.”

Nodding now that I have more information, I pocket my phone in my baggy pants and leave my backpack as I get out of the car. There’s no way I’ll be going anywhere with anyone other than Miss Martin after this, despite how fast she expects things to move. I don’t need to lug my things with me.

This is what I remind myself anyway as anxiety floods my system.

We’re fine. I’m not dying, my heart monitor isn’t beeping, I’m good.

I spend a lot of time self soothing. Sometimes, it helps, others it doesn’t. I feel a little lightheaded, but that’s normal for me. I keep one foot moving in front of the other as Miss Martin and I walk into the cafe. It smells like coffee, which is a scent that always makes me happy. Caffeine can keep my migraines away, so I make sure to drink at least a cup of coffee a day.

Sticking my hands in my pockets, I fidget with my fingers since they’re hidden. I’m seriously nervous about meeting these people, despite my belief that I’ll be too much trouble for them.

“This way,” Miss Martin says, weaving through the tables to where a woman with sleek black hair and large blue-green eyes waits with a tall, brown haired man.

They both seem young, maybe in their late twenties, early thirties? I have a lot of questions. I just have to wait to see if they have answers for me.

“Noor, this is Rachelle and Jared Denton,” my case manager introduces. “I’m going to go sit over there so you can talk.”

Ugh. I wasn’t expecting her to leave me.

Schooling my features, I nod and sit when the people in front of me do. Not knowing what to do with my hands now that they’re out of my pockets, I hide them under the table.

“I’m sure this feels odd,” Rachelle murmurs. “You’re so close to turning eighteen, but I hate the way the system just turns you loose to figure shit out.”

“I’m a little old to adopt,” I snort, used to hearing the way things are.