All the nights that I felt the guilt creeping up for the sins I had committed. All the nights of being in the middle of a crowded party and suddenly struck by the sensation that I was out of place. All those nights I knocked on Rachel’s door, walked in and found relief in my sister’s easy acceptance.
And there’s the punch in the throat...Rachel always accepted me for who I was...the bad and the downright ugly...and, in my mind, I repaid the debt by protecting her. I stood up for her. I took on fights for her. I made sure she knew she was never alone.
Standing in her doorway, I can’t find the courage to turn on her light. I strain to listen...to hear her soft voice tell me to come in...to tell me that she loves me...to tell me that it’s all going to be okay.
I hear a voice...a whisper in my mind. The voice doesn’t belong to Rachel, but to Haley, and it only reflects the loneliness inside me: “I’d give anything to go home.”
My fingers grip the edges of the doorframe. “Me, too, Haley. Me, too.”
Haley
Talk about a nightmare come true. I fidget in the seat of our school’s social worker’s office, feeling a little like I’ve been chained to the stake. Government officials give me the creeps. They have the power to destroy the pathetic remnants of my family by forcing separation.
With her blond hair slicked back into a bun, Mrs. Collins sweeps in and closes the door behind her. “Sorry for the delay. I had...well...a thing.” She smiles widely on the word thing. Do they get excited when they ruin families? Is it their occupational benefit?
“That’s okay.” I nibble on a fingernail as my mind searches for the reason for this meeting. It can’t be illegal for us to reside with my uncle, or is there a limit to the number of people that can live under one roof?
Her cluttered office reminds me of my grandfather’s except hers has a woman’s touch with pink polka-dotted curtains and cutesy frames with cutesy sayings on the wall. No wonder the two of them got along.
“Did your grandfather find a volunteer for the gym?” she asks.
“Sort of.” John was searching for a volunteer so he didn’t have to pay anyone to wash the mats and bags, but because West can’t pay gym fees, the two of us have been cleaning after we train on Friday and Saturday nights.
West and I have been training together for three weeks and I’ve been impressed. He does possess raw talent and he’s a quick study, but when I start to contemplate how much he needs to learn to go against Conner, I grow nauseous. There’s no way it can be done.
As if I’m a prisoner searching for an escape, I survey the room again. West, West, West, West. I can’t stop thinking about him. His family asked him to return home and he did, but I can tell by the hurt in his eyes that things aren’t fixed.
Thinking of West causes me to sigh and Mrs. Collins squishes her mouth to the side. She lets it slide as she clicks her mouse and her computer springs to life. “If you don’t mind, I need to send a quick email.”
“Okay.” West and I have never discussed the night he stayed with me. It’s like it never happened and sometimes I wonder if I dreamed it. But the memory of his lips hot against my skin, of his hand on my stomach— My breathing hitches. It definitely happened.
Actually, West did mention that night the first day we trained together after he moved home. He only said, “It’ll be simple. For now. Until I know you’re ready for more.”
For now... Ready for more. My heart flutters. No. No fluttering is allowed. West and I work better together as simple. Not complicated, but the thought of his mouth near mine....
Stop it! Focus on something. Anything.
With her fingers still moving, Mrs. Collins glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”
“No.” Not at all.
She finishes. “You seem a bit nervous. I promise—I’m completely harmless. Though I have one ex-student who claims I can’t drive, but no need to worry. We won’t be leaving the office.” She winks and grins like we’re friends.
Guess I’ve been as twitchy as a rat in a meth lab.
“I pulled you out of class because one of your teachers told me you’re trying to apply for the Longworth scholarship?”
I nod. Is it a crime to ask for teacher recommendations?
“It only pays for books,” she says.
“I know.”
Mrs. Collins opens a file, slips out a piece of paper and hands it to me. “This is the Evans scholarship. It’ll pay for four years of tuition for a person majoring in kin
esiology.”
I sit straighter and handle the paper as if it’s gold. “A full ride?”