AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And with that stark realization, the high I’d felt only moments ago disappears entirely, leaving me cold and trembling on the floor for a whole new reason.
“You can do it,” I murmur, giving Clover an encouraging nod, lightly tapping on the paper. “Try it again.”
She huffs a breath, sinking deeper into her chair. Reaching up, she massages her temples, letting her fingers trail across her scalp with a grimace.
“Another headache?” I ask softly. Her gaze darts up, a sad, dejected look in her big brown eyes. She tugs her lip between her teeth and shrugs. “Clover—” I start, a bit of a warning in my voice.
“It’s fine, Miss Evie.” She waves me away, turning back to her math homework.
Sighing, I push to my feet and step around the back of her chair. My fingers glide gently over her head, and she cringes again. Her long, thick dark brown hair is braided so tightly, it’s pulling against her scalp. It’s hurting her.
Anger and frustration fill me so rapidly, I’m surprised I’m able to choke it back down.
Leaning in, I murmur, “Let me.”
Without giving her a chance to shove me away or refuse, I quickly untie the end, frowning at the heavy weight of her long locks. I uncoil the braid, giving her head a much-needed break so she can focus on her studies.
“There,” I smile, squeezing her petite shoulders. “Much better, right?”
She releases a shaky breath, her eyes scanning the small room in the back of the church we reserve for Sunday school and tutoring. There’s only one other student here today, a little boy named Douglas who’s curled up on a bean bag with his picture book.
Seeing him, she relaxes even more and gives me a grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
With a nod, I drop back down in my seat, taking her in. Clover is nearly seventeen, but you’d never know it based on the way she carries herself. She’s wise beyond her years. Quiet. Reserved and respectful. She’s a bright girl with an even brighter future.
If only her foster mother agreed.
Willa is a horrible woman. I know it’s not very Christian of me to say that, but I don’t care. Besides, if Jesus took one look at this sweet, innocent girl in front of me and the Hell she’s been through, I’m sure he’d agree with me.
Shaking those thoughts away, I lean forward and dive back into helping Clover with her math. She’s a brilliant girl, but the foster system and lack of consistency has left her with gaps in her education. It’s frustrating.
As much as I wish I could, I can’t control what goes on in her home. And even though Willa is a raging bitch with a penchant for borderline abusive clothing, painful hairdos, and a strict curfew, Clover assures me she’s safe with her. Well cared for and looked after, if not lonely as hell.
A little while later, I’m helping her pack up her backpack when she pauses, textbook clutched in her hands as she stares up at me. I’m not a tall woman by any means but Clover is tiny. She may be wiser beyond her years, but she doesn’t look it. She looks so young, sometimes I forget how old she really is.
Her doe eyes are wide and unblinking as her tan cheeks turn pink. She’s just so dang cute.
“Yes?” I drawl, my lip twitching.
Clover’s fingers tighten around her book as she shifts awkwardly. “Umm,” she whispers before clearing her throat.
Her gaze skims the empty room, no doubt buying herself a moment's distraction to gather herself. We both already know we’re alone. Douglas was picked up an hour ago, and the church is utterly silent, apart from the sounds of her shifting uncomfortably.
Tilting my head to the side, I grip her elbow, bringing her attention back to me. A heavy ball of worry forms in the pit of my belly. She’s not just nervous—she’s terrified.
“Clo, what’s going on, honey? Are you okay? Do you need something?” Oh, God. Please don’t tell me Ms. Willa has finally done it. Finally crossed that line. I suck in a breath. “Are you hurt or a—”
“Will you teach me how to flirt with boys?” she blurts, her cheeks staining a deeper blush as she gawks up at me, like she can’t believe she really said it.
I freeze, unsure what to do or say.
Did I hear that right? Surely, I misunderstood because there is no way—
“Please, Miss Eve? I just…” She brushes off my hand and gathers the textbook in one arm, letting the other flap anxiously as she begins to pace. “I’m almost seventeen-years-old, and I’ve never been kissed or asked on a date. I’ve never danced with a boy or, heck, I’ve never even held anyone's hand.”
She shoots me a look, her eyes dropping to my own hand which is still suspended in the air between us as my mind fritzes.
