Page 3 of Wicked Dreams

Will any remember me?

Those questions—and dozens more—whirl in the back of my mind while Lenora, Robert, and Ms. McCaw continue chatting.

Eventually, Ms. McCaw stands and brushes off her pants. “Margo, call me if you need anything. Same with you, Lenora and Robert.”

She hands them her card, and then she’s out the door.

We’re left in silence that verges on awkward.

“Are you hungry?” Lenora asks. “Tired?”

I nod. “I think I’m going to lie down, if that’s okay?”

“Of course, honey. I’ll knock when it’s time for dinner.”

As far as new homes go, the first day is always the worst. It’s like learning a new dance, and no one really takes the time to teach you the steps. New schools are the same, except… everyone seems to know I’m the foster kid.

Maybe it’s the clothes? Or the attitude? Somehow, they always find out.

It’s going to be worse tomorrow.

It’s a private school, and some might recognize my name.

There had to have been a story when I vanished. My best friend at the time, Savannah, wrote me exactly one letter a week after I moved schools. It lasted two months, and then they stopped.

She asked me if the rumors about my family were true. Said it was all anyone could talk about. The parents, the kids. Was my mom a coke whore and Dad her dealer?

I didn’t even know what a whore was at that age, much lesscoke whore.

I never answered her letters.

Alone at last, I close my door and flop onto the bed.

Strange to be alone. I used to share a room. Group homes were never quiet.

But here…

There are names I could stalk on social media to prepare myself for tomorrow, but preparation never did me any good.

Instead, my thoughts turn to where my foster sisters, Claire and Hanna, ended up. They were pulled from the home like I was, being split apart without warning.

Hanna, the youngest, went first.

Then Claire.

And me last.

That was the worst. Sitting on the couch with my things stuffed into bags that leaned on my feet, waiting for Ms. McCaw to arrive and take me away.

I fall asleep to that feeling.

When my eyes crack open, it’s dark. I feel for my phone and check the time.

It’s after midnight?

The Bryans didn’t wake me for dinner… Or maybe they tried. I slept hard, the first solid rest I’ve had in days. There were no dreams, no nightmares. Just… sleep.

Giving them the benefit of the doubt, maybe they knocked and I just didn’t wake up for it. It’s better than thinking the alternative…

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