“I know.” Damn, I felt inadequate. What would Juliet say? Somehow, she always made the shitty stuff in my life seem fleeting.
He turned his hopeful, puppy eyes on me. “Maybe I can come with you? Like, you could adopt me.”
“Shit, kid. If I thought they’d say yes, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
At least that seemed to comfort him. I held out my hand and helped him up off the floor.
“How’s Juliet?” he asked.
I’d finally relented and shared a little about her with Pip. Nothing important. I liked Pip and would do what I could to protect him, but I didn’t trust him not to betray my secrets if things got rough. He just wasn’t made of strong enough stuff to lie for me, and it probably wasn’t fair to expect him to, either.
“She’s good. We had a lot of fun today. Fletcher Park is pretty. You’d like the view.” I didn’t share any of the R-rated details. Everything about those stolen moments with Juliet belonged to me alone.
“You think…” he gazed at the small bedroom window, “you’re gonna marry her after you get out of here?”
“Once I have a job and can afford to, yeah, I want to marry her,” I admitted.
His eager puppy dog eyes returned. “Maybe the two of you could adopt me? A married couple would have a better chance.”
Damn he was smart. The gentle pleading in his tone almost undid me. By the time Juliet and I were settled, he’d be aging out of foster care himself. “That would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?” I carefully sidestepped the question and clapped his shoulder. “Come on, finish your homework. You have to set the table tonight.”
He groaned but got to work.
My body and mind clashed with the desire to seek out Squire and punch him in his smug face for plotting with Evie. I’m not proud of it, but I wanted to shake some damn sense into Evie as well. I was sure she arrived with baggage and damage of her own that led her into making stupid decisions. And while that was sad in its own way, my sympathy ended where her problems started to interfere with my life.
Pip and I went downstairs early. I wanted to talk to counselor Mike about my options for finding an after-school job. And Pip had talked Judy, the counselor we’d dubbed “house mom,” into buying cloth napkins he wanted to fold into swans. To bring some culture to our dinner table, he’d said. Judy was too amused to say no, and I’m pretty sure she’d used her own money to purchase the napkins.
Pip and his napkin-swans saved my ass.
“Help!” a voice I recognized as Janet’s screamed from the top of the stairs.
The girl screamed for help once or twice a week, so no one exactly jumped to attention.
Mike groaned and nodded at Judy as she power-walked by to see what the emergency was.
Thuds and bangs bounced over the ceiling above our heads. A few minutes later Judy rushed down. “Where’s Roman?”
I leaned over and waved at her. “Right here.”
“What’s going on?” Mike asked. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“How long has he been down here?”
Mike shrugged and glanced at the clock. “I dunno. Twenty or thirty minutes.”
Her mouth flattened and she marched away without explaining.
Panic tightened my chest. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t know,” Mike answered.
I swallowed hard. I wasn’t a tattletale. Snitching on other kids always seemed wrong. But this was self-preservation. “Listen, when I got home, Pip was upset.”
“He’s always upset about something,” Mike said.
“Yeah, I know, but this was different. He said Evie and Janet were talking about getting me in trouble.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “That girl is always up to no good.” His jaw settled into a grim line. “I clocked you in when you got home from the field trip, Roman. You’ve been with me for the last half hour. You’re good, kid. Besides, I know you wouldn’t mess with either of those girls.”
“I wouldn’t.” I hesitated. “I have a girl at school I’m into. Evie’s jealous.”
His face transformed into a broad grin. “Yeah? Good for you. Just don’t get her into trouble.”
I assumed that was code for “don’t get her pregnant,” especially when he slipped a handful of condoms out of his desk drawer and passed them to me.
“Uh, thanks.” I shoved them in my pocket and looked away.
I coughed to cover up the awkwardness. “So, what are my chances of being allowed to get an after-school job?”
“So you can work with your girlfriend?”
“No. She doesn’t have a job.”
He nodded. “I can talk to Ms. Simpson and see what she says.”
My overloaded caseworker wasn’t easy to get in touch with, but she’d probably answer Mike’s calls quicker than she’d ever answer mine.
“Your grades are good,” he added. “You haven’t caused any trouble at the house. She might approve a couple hours a week somewhere.”