Again, Gwen simply nodded.
They marched up another set of stairs that led to the narrow third floor of the house. This landing was definitely smaller, jut a square of floor that divided three doors. Theresa Langley gestured to the door directly in front of them as they left the stairs. “Bathroom.” Then she turned to the right and pushed open the door that already stood partially open.
Gwen could feel her jaw loosen, but she wasn’t about to give these women the satisfaction of seeing the surprise on her face. But surprised she was. It was a large room, with wood floors that were probably original to the old house and two sets of closet doors—room enough for ten times the possessions Gwen carefully tended and carried with her from place to place—a line of bookshelves on another wall that already held dozens of books, most of them classics if the binding told her anything. Directly across from the door was a French casement window that opened like doors. They were slightly at odds with the Victorian style of the house, but allowed an amazing view of the skyline beyond them. It was as though someone knew…just knew.
In the center of the room, its headboard pressed back against the farthest wall, was a massive bed with a soft, white canopy draped delicately over its four-posters—another nod to the classic feel of this entire house, not just the bedroom itself.
Gwen was afraid to step over the threshold. This couldn’t be her room. There had to be some mistake.
“The bed has fresh sheets,” Theresa Langley said, gesturing into the room. “And I heard that you’re quite the voracious reader, so a picked a few classics from the library downstairs that I thought you might enjoy. If you don’t, or you’ve already read them, don’t hesitate to go down and switch them out.”
Gwen shook her head. “There must be some mistake.”
“Gwen,” Mrs. Miller said, moving closer up behind her, “don’t be rude.”
Theresa Langley tilted her head slightly. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Gwen admitted with a sigh. “But there’s only one bed.”
“Do you need more than one?” Mrs. Miller asked with a clear note of irritation in her voice.
But Theresa Langley knew. She studied Gwen for a moment before a light of something that would have looked like pity on anyone else’s face filled her expression. She laid a hand gently on Gwen’s shoulder.
“It’s all yours,” she said quietly. “Don’t you think it’s about time?”
Tears rushed to Gwen’s eyes despite her determination not to show these people any emotion other than quiet acceptance. But how could she not respond to this?
She’d never had a room all to herself before.
Chapter 2
It only took Gwen a few minutes to unpack her suitcase. She owned exactly two pairs of jeans, three blouses, a half dozen pair of underwear, two bras, and eight pairs of socks. Along with those, she had three books she’d purchased with her own money, copies of her three favorite books: Great Expectations, To Kill a Mockingbird, and her secret indulgence, a worn copy of The Fault in Our Stars.
That was about the extent of Gwen’s possessions. There wasn’t a lot of sentimentality in foster homes, and, if there was something that was irreplaceable among her possessions, it would likely get stolen.
Gwen put her clothes away in the long closet that seemed just as barren with her clothes in it as it was before. She left her books in the suitcase, sliding it under the bed.
Just in case.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, surprised by how soft the mattress was. She ran her hand over the soft, painted wood of the bedside table, her fingers brushing the new alarm clock that announced the time beside the small reading lamp with a cute white lampshade. It all had the feel of money, something Gwen had only seen in the homes of the few friends she’d made over the years. That was another thing she didn’t do a lot. There was really no reason to make friends in school or among the other kids in the foster homes. She had no idea how long she would be there. It would be just her luck to be moved on the moment she met someone who really mattered.
The window, with its bright white sash and lovely skyline view, was calling to her. She stepped toward it almost cautiously, her fingers again itching. This time the itch was for the cool pane of glass, the rattle of a breeze she knew would exist just on the other side. She made that itch wait, delaying gratification in a way that had become habit in her life of constant upheaval and uncertainty. She moved slowly, as though there was a snake waiting at just behind the thin curtain someone had pulled aside at some point, her eyes stuck to that lovely skyline, that skyline that could have been any city in any part of the world. From a distance, it could have been Paris, London, it could have been the ancient ruins of Rome.
A part of her almost wished it was.
The window sill was wide, wider than it looked from across the room. She could almost sit on it. Her mind was filled instantly with an image of herself sitting in the open window, a good book in her hands. It made her soul soar just a little bit.
There was a handle in the center of the window. She laid her hand on it, resting her forehead against the cool pane of glass as she looked down not only into the side yard of the house that had just become her temporary home, but into the side and back yards of the house next door. The neighbors had a pool. At that moment, a pretty blonde with impossibly long hair was floating on her back in the middle of the clear, blue water of the pool as though she didn’t have a care in the world.
A teenager growing up in this neighborhood of evident wealth? She likely didn’t.
The handle seemed to move without Gwen willing it to do so, slipping down until the latch let go and the window swung outward. Gwen gasped as she was pulled out with it, catching herself only because the window sill slammed up against her thighs with a bruise-inducing impact. She let go of the window and felt nature come into the room, a breeze brushing against her cheeks as a few early fall leaves drifted past her.
That sense of wellbeing that always came when she was near anything that could be called nature washed over her even as her thighs began to throb. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the feel of the sun washing over her face. It felt so good, almost like she imagined a mother’s touch would feel.
“I always preferred the view out of that window. You wouldn’t be interested in switching rooms, would you?”
Gwen hit her head on the window frame as the sound of Cei’s voice pulled her back into the room.
“What?” she mumbled, her hand going to the spot on her forehead, wondering if she would have a bruise there, too. Been here less than an hour and she was already sporting three new bruises. Things were going really well.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s fine.” Gwen hobbled to the bed, sinking down into its softness as her body began to wonder what it would feel like to settle her entire body against that amazing mattress. “Which room is yours?”
He gestured with the roll of one perfect shoulder. “The one across the hall.”
“Yeah?”
“Didn’t Theresa tell you?”
Gwen shook her head and then groaned as the movement caused pain to stab through her sinuses. “Is that what you call her?”
“Theresa?”
“I wasn’t sure if it was Ther—that, or Mrs. Langley.”
“If you called her Mrs. Langley, she would be deeply offended. She likes to think we’re all buddies here or something.”
Gwen bit back a groan. One of those. She’d had so many different kinds of foster parents—the military commanders, the parental types who wanted to discipline the crap out of everyone, the ones who didn’t give a care what the kids did with their free time and the ones who monitored every moment of the kids’ time, scheduling them down to every second of their day. And then there were the ones who wanted to be your friend, the ones who thought that all these kids needed was a little love and understanding. Personally, Gwen preferred the ones who didn’t ca
re. At least they left her alone with her studies and her books.
“It’s not so bad here,” Cei said. “I’ve been in worse places.”
“How many foster homes have you been in?”
Cei shrugged. “Too many to count. But I’ve been here just over two years.”
“What’s Mr. Langley like?”
“Tony?” Cei smiled, a smile that made Gwen’s stomach do a little flip as a dimple appeared in his cheek. “He’s a college professor. History. Makes for interesting dinner table conversations.”
“What kind of history?”
Cei shrugged as he settled down onto the bed beside her. “Medieval. Early British history. He’s kind of fascinated by really old battles, weapons, and political struggles.”
“Exciting stuff.”
Cei leaned forward, as though he was trying to see what kind of shoes she was wearing—Converse knockoffs—or something. “Like I said, I’ve been in worse places.”
“The other kids are pretty nice?”
“Yeah. Tommy and Richie can be irritating from time to time, but they’re eleven, so that’s expected. Melanie has been here the longest of all of us, so she’s always worming her way out of chores. And Anna…she’s new, so I’m not too sure about her.”
“Yeah, Mrs…Theresa said that about Anna.”
“She was dropped off about two weeks ago. She shares a room with Melanie downstairs.” Cei twisted his head a little so he could see her face. “You might hear about that. Melanie had her heart set on moving into this room when they announced you were coming. But Theresa insisted you were older, so you should have the single room.”
Gwen reached up and ran her fingers through her long, auburn hair—hair she hated because the natural curls made it frizz on the few occasions she actually wanted it to do something almost feminine—wondering if she should make the switch with Melanie anyway to avoid trouble down the line. But, again, she had never had a room to herself before. She really wanted to know what that was like.
Maybe she could switch with Melanie tomorrow.
“They said you came here so you could go to Dewey High.”
Gwen began to shake her head, then realized he was teasing her. That smile was back, along with that dimple, as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.
“Do you go there?”
He inclined his head slightly. “Quite the honor, they told me when I began last year. ‘Not everyone is lucky enough to get into DuineEirimiúil Academy, Mr. Crewe.’” He said it all in a deep, slow voice that sounded very much like Dean Michaels, the head of DuineEirimiuil.
Gwen couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’ve met him,” Cei guessed.
“Twice.”
Cei’s eyebrows rose. “You must have been quite impressive on the entrance exam.”
“No, I was just too old. It took two interviews to convince the man it wouldn’t be a waste of his time to let me spend my senior year there.”
“You shouldn’t downplay your test results. They must have been pretty good for him to give you the time of day.”
They had been. Near perfect scores. But Gwen wasn’t going to tell Cei that. It was hard enough being known as the smart kid in a foster home. It would be worse if they knew she had been told—by Dean Michaels, no less—that her test scores had placed her at near genius levels.
She stood and crossed the room, standing at the window again. She could still see the girl in the swimming pool. She was no longer floating on her back but had dragged one of those inflatable lounge chairs into the pool and was balanced perfectly in the center like a movie star from the ‘40s. She even had cat’s eye sunglasses to complete the look her polka dotted bikini began.
“I think I can guess why you would prefer this view.”
“It actually has a view. The window on the other side of this floor is about six inches wide and looks right at the dark stucco wall of the Rodriquez house next door.”
“And it doesn’t hurt that there’s a great view of a bikini clad girl next door.”
She glanced back at Cei just in time to see him shrug. She ignored the heavy weight of disappointment that simple gesture laid on her shoulders. She turned back to the window, twisting so that she could see anything but the girl. That was when she noticed the narrow rail that was attached to the side of the house. She leaned farther out the window, wishing she was double jointed, or something, as she tried to see where it went.
“Hey, is that a widow’s walk?”
Cei came up behind her, pressing his chest to her back as he leaned forward to see what she was referring to. “I guess. I don’t really know.”
“I bet it is. Do you think I could reach it from here?”
“I wouldn’t try it. We’re like twenty feet off the ground.”
But Gwen already had her foot on the window sill. She pulled herself up with her hands on either side of the window frame, taking a second to balance herself as she tried to figure out how she could get around the wide window that just happened to open out at the wrong angle.
“Gwen,” Cei said from behind her. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“It’s fine.”
She slipped closer to the edge of the window sill, holding onto the gutter that ran along the roof’s edge behind her. The sharp edge of the aluminum threatened to cut into her fingers, but the angle allowed her the extra few inches she needed to see around the window. She smiled when she saw what she had been looking for.
“Do they teach gymnastics at Dewey High?”
“What?” She could hear the confusion in Cei’s voice even as she felt his hands wrap around her ankles.
“Do they teach gymnastics? Have you ever seen anyone walk on the high beams before?”
“I’m more into team sports.”
An image of Cei playing one-on-one basketball—shirtless, of course—flashed through Gwen’s head. It almost made her miss her first step as she wrested her ankle from Cei’s grip. But she didn’t. She grabbed the edge of the window, taking the chance that it was anchored well enough to hold her weight—and it was—using it to swing herself out to step onto a narrow, wrought-iron ladder.
“Gwen! You really shouldn’t—”
Gwen laughed as she climbed the ladder and clambered over the low railing of the widow’s walk. It was impossibly high up there. She could see the entirety of the old neighborhood, the other houses that ranged from Victorian to ranch to the occasional Tudor style. And she could see over those, see over the tops of trees toward the massive buildings that were part of the Texas Tech University campus.
“This is amazing,” she muttered to herself as she moved along the narrow walkway of the widow’s walk that was partially hidden behind the angles of the roof, staring at the city she had lived in most of her life—in nearly every neighborhood—her eyes resting on the interstate that would someday take her far away from here.
“Amazing,” she whispered again.
“You have no idea how strong this structure is. You could fall—”
“Be a little more adventurous,” she said, nearly laughing aloud as she watched Cei make his way cautiously toward her. “What is life without a little risk?”
“Yeah, well, I would prefer my risks be a little closer to the ground.”
“Not me.”
Gwen stood at the far railing and let herself dream for a moment. Most of the foster kids she’d grown up with dreamt of finding their parents or running off with one boyfriend or another. Some thought about college, but very few. Most of them had no ambition for themselves because no one had ever told them that they could do anything they wanted. But Gwen…she was different.
Gwen was going to Cornell to study pre-med. That was, of course, assuming she got in. She had also applied to Northwestern, John Hopkins, and Columbia, but Cornell was her first choice. She had the next ten years of her life planned out—undergraduate school, medical school, then a residency—all as far from Lubbock, Texas as possible.
S
he was getting out of here. She had no reason to stay, no desire to find her parents. She had no one to think about, no one to impress. All she had was herself. And that was all she wanted.
“Can we go back down now?”
Gwen glanced over her shoulder and caught Cei studying her from a deceptively casual stance from across the narrow walkway. He was leaning against the rail, picking at something on his nails as though he didn’t have a care in the world. But his color was a little off, his face a little pale, and the tension in his shoulders made them seem broader than they really were.
“Are you afraid of heights?”
He glanced over at her. “I’m afraid of falling from a great height.”
“No one asked you to follow me up here.”
“Yeah, well, if I’d let you come up here alone and Theresa found out, she’d make me do dishes for a month.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“There’s no dishwasher.”
Gwen laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She’d been in foster homes that fed fifteen kids and had no dishwashers. This, this little house with this small group of people—the dishes would be a breeze, dishwasher or not.
Cei looked up, clearly not amused by her. He made an impatient gesture toward the ladder that led back down to Gwen’s bedroom. She sighed, but she didn’t object. The last thing she wanted to do on her first day here was to get the hot guy she had to share a bathroom with in trouble.
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