by Celeste, B.
Oliver scoffs. “They are not. How do you even know what that shit tastes like anyway?” He winces, side-eyeing River. “Sorry. I mean stuff. Don’t swear. Mom and Dad don’t like it.”
Another nod.
I nudge him. “Trying to corrupt your sis already?” The joke makes River tense again, which makes me feel bad. Clearing my throat, I redirect the topic. “Their turkey sandwiches are pretty good. Nothing fancy, just deli meat, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. I wouldn’t get their salad.”
Oliver shudders in agreement. “Yeah, the salad bar is known for bugs.”
River’s eyes widen.
I nod. “One time Principal Ackerman was scooping out some lettuce and found a couple dead flies in it. It wasn’t the first time.”
She looks pale. “Gross.”
Oliver and I both smile. “Yep.”
Nervously, River lifts her eyes to meet mine. Her hair cascades around her face, blocking out everyone around us, kind of like blinders on a horse. “I … like turkey sandwiches.”
Drumming my fingers against the edge of the table, I push up. “I’ll go grab—”
Oliver stands. “Nah, man. I’ve got it. They have fruit too, River. Want some of that?”
She swallows. “Um …”
“I can go,” I tell Oliver, assuming her hesitancy has to do with being alone with me. Can’t blame the girl, so I’ll do what I can to make her comfortable.
Oliver puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s my treat, dude.” He looks at River. “Do you remember what I said earlier?”
Her eyes bounce between us. “Y-Yes.”
His smile reappears. “Good. Now, I’m going to get us some halfway decent sandwiches and drinks. River, you good with water?”
She nods. He doesn’t bother asking what I prefer because he already knows. Walking away, he weaves through the crowd, gaining attention from a few giggling preteens a few tables over. I chuckle and settle back down across from River.
Curiosity strikes me. “What did he tell you earlier?”
She shifts in her seat, yanking at the ends of her sweater sleeves. “That … you’re family.” She takes a small breath, still not making eye contact with me. “And that family can be trusted.”
My eyes dart to Oliver, who’s schmoozing up one of the older lunch ladies. His charm obviously works, because she laughs and shakes her head with a big smile on her face. Oliver’s a people person, and definitely a ladies’ man.
Emotion clogs the back of my throat. “Well then,” I murmur, trailing my eyes back. “Not sure what to say to that.”
We sit in silence for a short moment.
“Did you like the book?” She gives me a strange look which makes me clarify. “The Scarlet Letter, I mean.”
She wets her lips. “Not really.”
Her honesty makes me grin. “No? Did you finish it?”
She nods.
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
Her shoulders rise.
“Impressive,” I murmur, nodding in praise. Hawthorne isn’t for everybody. Most classic literature isn’t. “Do you like reading?”
There’s a pregnant pause. “Sometimes.”
“Have any hobbies?” I don’t want to push her, but it seems like this is progress. Even if she doesn’t answer.
Her eyes go to Oliver, who’s still waiting to pay. The tray he holds is piled with food, probably more than he’s supposed to have per meal. Perks of having charisma.
To my surprise, she says, “Drawing.”
So, she’s an artist. “That’s cool. I can’t draw worth a shi—uh, crap. I’m sure Bridgette and Robert can give you some materials if you’re into that. They’re supportive of hobbies.”
She’s back to silence, and I’m cool with it.
Oliver is back in no time, passing out our lunch. He throws a small bag of baked potato chips at me along with my sandwich and diet Coke. He and River both have sandwiches, apples, and water.
“So,” Oliver says smiling. “Let’s talk.”
4
River / 13
Robert has a flat screen television installed in my bedroom when I’m at school. All because Oliver told him I should have one like he does. I’ve never seen one as big as the one in their media room, but this one isn’t much smaller. Fifty-five inches, according to Robert.
Most of my time at their house is spent in the dining room doing homework. Bridgette tells me all the time I can go downstairs to the media room and watch TV or hangout in my room, but I feel like that’d be hiding. Oliver told me I don’t have to hide here, so I don’t. I’m trying to put in effort, so little by little I’ll be more comfortable.
On Friday night, Robert and Bridgette ask if I want to go with them to some event in town. They’re both dressed in fancy clothes, fancier than usual. Bridgette is even wearing diamonds around her neck that look expensive. I’m about to tell them yes, because I feel like I have to, when Oliver butts in and tells them we have plans.
Bridgette seems especially thrilled over our make-believe plans. She claps her hands and tells us to have fun and then ushers Robert out the front door. I’m about to go upstairs when Oliver stops me.
“You don’t have to do that.”
I turn slightly.
He tips his head in the opposite direction. “I didn’t just tell them that to get you out of going. But trust me, you’ll be glad I did. Charity galas are boring. Don’t tell them I said that though.”
My lips threaten to rise, so I force away the emotion threatening to leak through my protective shell. I like Oliver. Not because I feel like I have to as his new sister, but because he actually puts effort in. He sat with me every day at lunch so I’m not alone, and Everett joined us three times during the week.
Oliver told me to trust him and I … well, I don’t not trust him. That’s a step in the right direction. I’ve always gotten along with people closer to my age. I’ve lived with a wide range of age groups—from toddlers to teens. The older kids were usually about to age out of the system. We got along because we understood each other, the fear of the unknown.
But Oliver’s nothing like those kids. I worried about what it would be like to be around the son Bridgette and Robert always spoke so highly of. He’s put together, with a lot of achievements. I’m lucky I haven’t been to jail yet for robbery or assault. The victories aren’t comparable.
He starts toward the kitchen. “I’m going to heat up some leftover Chinese from the other night. Want some?”
My stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. He laughs and waves me to follow, so I do. I sit at the stool by the counter and watch him dig through the plastic containers. I’ve had takeout before, but Darlene cooked us Chinese food from scratch. Except the cookies, she admitted she got them from the store because she didn’t know how to get the little wrappers inside. Everything she made is way better than I’ve ever had before.
He remembers what I ate, pulling the sesame chicken out first and then starts dumping it onto a plate along with some sticky rice, dumplings, and veggie stir fry. By the time he’s done, there’s no room left. He pops it into the microwave to heat up and then fixes his own plate.
“Did you get a fortune cookie before?” He stops scooping out the rice and grabs something from the counter behind him. I flinch when a tiny object is tossed at me, barely catching it before it smacks me in the face.
“I …” I fidget with the wrapper, staring at the little piece of paper peeking out from the folded cookie. “I don’t really like them.”
“Why not?”
Worrying my lip, I set it down. When I was eight, my foster mother smacked my hand away from a fortune cookie. I just wanted to know what it tasted like, I didn’t know anything was inside. She told me some random person shoved the tiny piece of paper inside the cookie to mess with people like me, the naive child with hopes and dreams that would never come true. She said it was a pointless addition to the dessert, and I should just throw it away.
I settle
on, “They’re not real.”
He shrugs, opening one up for himself. “So? They may be lame but they’re kind of fun to read. You know, in a cheesy way.” He cracks open the cookie and pops half of it into his mouth. His nose scrunches. “Except this one. This one sucks.”
“W-What does it say?”
“It says ‘it’s raining outside.’” He makes another face and tosses the paper into the garbage. “First off, that’s not a prediction. It’s an observation. And it’s not even right.” Pointedly, he gestures toward the large window that, sure enough, shows the setting sun in the clear sky.
My fingers twitch to open mine. When the microwave goes off, he turns around to grab it, giving me time to open the cookie and crack it open. I don’t eat it right away, just pull the fortune out.
Brighter days are ahead of you.
My lips twitch as I set the paper down on the counter. I mimic Oliver and crunch down on half of the cookie, my face twisting over the sweetened cardboard taste in my mouth.
Oliver laughs when he sees my face. “I take it you’ve never actually had one before?”
I shake my head.
He passes me a napkin. “You don’t have to eat it. It’s cool.”
What does he want me to do, spit it out? I know better than that. It’s rude. I swallow and stick out my tongue in disgust. Replacing my plate in the microwave with his own, he turns around and sets my steamy dish in front of me.
“We don’t have to sit in here to eat.” He grabs two glasses, a couple napkins, and some silverware from the drawer by the sink. “Mom and Dad don’t mind if we eat in the media room when they’re not here, as long as we clean up.”
He wants to go downstairs?
My body stiffens and I don’t know why. Oliver won’t hurt me, so being alone with him shouldn’t bother me like it does. And the questioning look he shoots me when he sees my pale face makes me feel bad.
“What’s wrong?”
I force myself to take a deep breath. “Isn’t the media room … yours?”
His brows pinch. “Nobody really has a claim on it, I just use it the most. Dad, uh, Robert goes down there a lot too. You just haven’t seen him do it yet.”
Oh.
When the microwave dings, he grabs his plate and sets it on the counter. Then he fills both our glasses with milk, because he says Chinese can’t be eaten without it. It sounds kind of gross, but I go with it. As if his hands aren’t full enough, he grabs a glass container of trail mix that someone bought from the store and gestures for me to follow him.
The media room is as big as I remember. I haven’t been down since last weekend, when I bumped into Everett. I just wanted to return the book I found when I explored the house after everyone went to bed. It’s not mine and I know what happens when people get caught stealing.
Everett didn’t seem to mind though. It surprised me, even if it shouldn’t. Oliver told me Everett is practically my brother, just another family member I can count on. It’s not that easy though. It never will be.
Trust isn’t something that comes naturally. It’s trial and error. But in the system, you can’t afford the error part. Someone told me a long time ago that trust is like an eraser; it gets smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left. I don’t want it to disappear, so I don’t use it much.
After settling on opposite ends of the couch with our food on the large glass table, Oliver turns the television on. He asks me if there’s anything I want to watch, and I tell him anything is fine. Honestly, I don’t want to watch sports. But I know he loves them, so I’ll be fine if that’s what he chooses.
Instead, he picks a cartoon I’m familiar with on Cartoon Network, making me smile before I can stop myself. Saturday morning cartoons used to be a must-watch whenever I lived somewhere that had cable. It used to be the only time I ever got to watch them. Even though it’s a Friday, it’s nice to see something from my past that isn’t tainted.
We eat in silence while we watch a marathon of cartoons one right after the other. By eight o’clock, Oliver is sprawled across one side of the sectional and I’m tucked into the other.
He offers me the trail mix he brought down, saying he’s too full to eat anymore. I think he’s lying, because I’ve seen him eat three times as much in one sitting before. But I don’t turn his offer down, because I saw little M&M’s mixed in with the assorted nuts and raisins.
“Mom does the same thing.” Amusement lingers in his tone, making me glance up from my concentration on the food. I’ve picked out most of the candy-covered chocolate and a few almonds.
“She does?”
He nods. “It drives Dad mad, because he has a sweet tooth and usually doesn’t eat anything else in it. I think it’s why Mom does it.”
My lips part in surprise. “To make him mad?”
He shakes his head. “More like to tease him. They’re old high school sweethearts. I guess they’ve always been that way.”
I ease back into my seat, focusing on the M&M’s in my palm. One by one, I pop them into my mouth and refocus on the television. Oliver glances at me every so often but doesn’t ask a lot of questions. I’m glad. Talking isn’t my favorite thing to do, especially if it’s about myself.
Sometimes I’ll answer. Like when he asks me what my favorite color is. I tell him green. His is black, but I don’t tell him that’s not really a color. We sit in silence for a little while before he shoots off another one. What’s my favorite movie? I don’t have one. I don’t watch movies. He seems shocked but doesn’t press. He just tells me his is The Hangover. I don’t bother telling him I have no clue what that movie is.
After a little while, we just watch the show without any other questions. He must have run out of things he thinks are safe to ask. I want to tell him nothing is safe, but I don’t.
“Shit,” Oliver mumbles, sitting up and nearly dropping the leftover trail mix onto the carpet. He catches it in time, another slur muttered under his breath, and then looks up at me. “I forgot I told a few buddies we’d hang tonight.”
His dismissal isn’t obvious, but I take it as one and gather up my dirty dishes.
“Where are you going?”
I stop. “To my room?” My tone is questionable, because I’m not sure what he wants me to do. Doesn’t he want me to leave him alone to be with his friends?
He frowns. “It’s cool. I’ll just tell them to come over Sunday for game day. Everett is probably already almost here though. Mind if he sticks around?”
Why is he asking me? It’s his house.
He gets up and takes the dishes from me, piling them on his. “Rhett’s cool, River. But if you’re still not comfortable with him, I’ll tell him to come over another time. It’s fine.”
My cheeks redden over the thought of him turning down his own friend. He shouldn’t have to because of me. And he’s right, Everett is cool. Or cooler than most people I know.
“It’s fine.”
One of his brows quirk. “You sure?”
I nod.
He studies my face for a second before tipping his head once. Whatever my tight expression looks like must be believable. I guess it is. I don’t want to be broken forever, never trusting. Oliver seems like someone worth risking being hurt over.
If he trusts Everett, maybe I can too.
Someday.
He picks up all our dishes. “Why don’t you chill, and I’ll go run these upstairs? Did you want anything else?”
When I shake my head he leaves me alone, nothing but the commercial in the background filling the room. I sit back down and curl my legs under myself, grabbing the throw pillow from the corner and hugging it to my chest. The material is rough, not really cuddle-friendly, but it works. I used to have a white stuffed elephant named Ellie that I’d carry around with me everywhere. Whenever I was left alone, I’d hold Ellie tight in my arms and tell myself it’d be all right.
It usually was. Usually.
Not even ten minutes later, footsteps come down the sta
irs. I expect them to belong to Oliver, not Everett. When Everett sees me curled up on the couch, he gives me a lazy smile and waves.
“Hey.”
I swallow. “H-Hi.”
He drops down in the spot Oliver had vacated and picks up the trail mix. When he sifts through the nuts and raisins, his nose scrunches. “Did Bridgette get in here again? Man, I really wanted chocolate tonight.”
Something that hasn’t happened in a long time occurs in the next moment. I laugh. Not loudly, of course. In fact, it’s barely a giggle. More like a high-pitched squeak, short and abrupt.
Everett’s eyes snap up at the noise before his lips spread into a wide smile. “Was that your laugh?”
I bury my head into the pillow.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, a boyish, lopsided smile appearing on his face. “It’s cute.”
That makes my face burn hotter. Cute? I’m not even sure what my real laugh sounds like. It’s certainly not like the one from the few shows I’ve seen; not like the women I see on the street or in school who look like the happiest people alive when they laugh with others. Their laughs are loud and warm and friendly.
“Anyway, it’s good to hear.” His voice is light, casual. It makes me glance at him through my lashes. His eyes are a striking shade of mint green, kind of like the girl’s eyes in the York Peppermint Patty commercials. I’ve never seen anyone in person share the same shade. Unlike the girl, he’s tan, lean, and his arms are wide with muscle like some of my old foster fathers used to look like. He’s not scary like them though. “Oliver worries about you, you know. He wants you to be happy. Your whole family does.”
My mouth dries up. He uses that word so easily, and it makes me wonder what it’s like to have one. A family. I mean, I have one now. I’ve had plenty of them in retrospect. None of them were permanent though, and I want this time to be different. He’s right, they want me to be happy. Nobody else has wanted me to be anything but quiet before.
I force myself to say, “I know.”
He nods and doesn’t say anything else until Oliver comes back down. He’s holding two glasses of something green and fizzy, Mountain Dew I think. I don’t like the taste of it, it’s too sweet for me. Oliver loves the stuff though. I heard Darlene tell him there’s soda running through his veins instead of blood.
