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I’d had more foster families than I could count. With the final one, the moment I turned eighteen, it was goodbye, so long, sayonara.
“How could you not? Weren’t you close?”
She sounded like she didn’t even understand how that was possible, which was just great. With her happy childhood and close relationship with her parents, she was the worst person I could possibly open up to.
“It wasn’t a great situation.” I shrugged, hoping my blasé attitude would hide the lump in my throat. “It’s not something I like to dwell on.”
“We don’t have to dwell on it.”
We walked to the end of the retail strip, then turned our steps back through the woods. We kept chatting, but my mind was still on my foster families.
Some had been all right—decent people who wanted to make a difference. There had been one who would’ve been okay with keeping me until I was eighteen. They were always nice to me. The problem was that they got pregnant with their own first child, and suddenly there was no more room in the house for a motherless teenager.
Most of the foster parents hadn’t been particularly caring or kind. They’d been in it for the paycheck, which meant they spent as little as they possibly could on me. I’d had nothing but worn-out clothes and holed-up shoes for most of my life. I’d scrimped and saved my earnings from a part-time job to buy a laptop for school, and then one of my foster siblings had swiped it all. And when I spoke up, I was the one who was sent to another home.
My foster siblings might have been even worse than the parents. Most of them were troubled kids, drinking and drugging and having sex as early as they possibly could. Some had undiagnosed mental health issues, but some were just plain awful. I’d never forget walking into my bedroom and finding my “brother” in the middle of an overdose. I’d screamed and wailed, seeing his purple face, convinced that he was dead…
It was a miracle that I’d survived my adolescence and turned out a reasonably functional human being. The problem was that now I couldn’t relate to the healthy adults around me. Someone like Chelsea could never understand where I was from, what I’d been through.
“So we all decided we’d go on vacation at least once a year,” she was saying. “We’ve done Daytona Beach and Miami, and we want to do Cancun next.”
“Where’s that?”
She gave me an odd look. “Mexico.”
We came to the edge of the forest. We’d have to cross the road, and then we’d be parting ways. My stomach was starting to grumble, and I thought longingly of the meals in my freezer. Wednesday was shepherd’s pie night.
“Well, this was nice,” I said. “We should do it again sometime.”
And I meant that. Even if Chelsea and I had different upbringings, she was sweet, and it was easy to make conversation with her. Considering how few other people I knew in town, I could definitely use a friend.
“Yeah, we should.” She gazed at me intently, lingering as if she didn’t want to leave. “Um, Tara…”
“Right, my jacket.” I’d almost forgotten.
“That, and also…” She gave it back to me, then hesitated a moment longer.
With a sudden movement, she came toward me. Her arms wrapped around me and her strawberry scent filled my nose. Her lips pressed to mine, sweet and soft, making blood flood up to my head. My arms hung limply at my sides. What was happening? What was shedoing?
As soon as I could make sense of the moment, I stepped away and out of her grasp. “What was that?” I demanded.
“I’m sorry!” Her eyes were shocked and hurt. “I just thought…”
“You know what?” I said slowly. “I think I should go.”
8
Chelsea
I drained the rum and Coke in one huge gulp. “And then she said she had to go,” I wailed.
Lora, Ivy, and Deanne were seated around Ivy’s kitchen table, and Ivy patted my back soothingly. I’d texted them all to get together in our group chat. We didn’t usually hang out on Wednesday nights, but I’d told them it was urgent.
Ivy poured more rum into my glass, and Deanne followed up with the Coke. I was the only one drinking, and I didn’t even care. I needed the alcohol to get me through this humiliation.
“Since when is she into girls, though?” Deanne asked Lora quietly.
Lora shrugged. “She’s been thinking about experimenting.”
