Page 117 of Wicked Dreams

Ms. McCaw is in the kitchen when I come down the stairs.

I hesitate for a second, then force myself to keep moving. My head hurts, my stomach is rolling. And now my social worker sits at the table with a mug of coffee, and no foster parent in sight.

“Good morning,” she greets me.

I force a smile. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

She cocks a brow. “I heard you had a late night. Stumbling in with a boy, drunk…”

The blood rushes away from my face. Why didn’t I put that together immediately? She comes to visit right after I seriously fuck up—of course they don’t want me anymore.

Tears burn my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I choke out. “If I could just talk to them—ask them for a second chance?—”

“No one is taking you away.” She circles the table to stand in front of me. “This visit was scheduled with them since last week. Okay? Calm down.”

I exhale.

“But…”

“Ms. McCaw?—”

“To put it plainly: I’m concerned. What’s up with this behavior, Margo? Does it have to do with your fath?—”

“No!” I hurry past her and grab myself a mug. Once I’ve poured and doctored a cup of coffee, I take a seat at the table.

She joins me, watching me with concerned eyes.

“Where are the Bryans?” I ask.

“They elected to give us some privacy, so it’s just you and me. You can be honest. How are you doing?”

I heave a sigh. “Good, I think. It’s weird being back at school, with people I used to know…” I shake my head. Now’s not the time to get sidetracked by thoughts of Caleb. “I’m still getting used to the Bryans being sonice.”

Angela laughs. “From what I’ve heard, they think the world of you.”

“Probably not after last night.” I focus my gaze out the window.

“They know teenagers make mistakes. That includes getting drunk at a party.” She touches my wrist. “Apologize, and things will be fine. Don’t slip again.”

“I won’t.” I sip my coffee. “I do have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“Claire’s phone disconnected, and I haven’t been able to reach her. Could you give her my number if I wrote it down?”

Claire is sixteen, and Hanna is twelve. They’re real siblings, which means… well, there was a higher chance that they wouldn’t get separated. The foster systemwantsthem to stay together whenever possible. I don’t know what happened to them, though.

I knew, at the very least, that I would not be going to the same new home as either of them. There was no way. Two teenage girls are one thing—three are nearly impossible to place together.

Ms. McCaw’s lips flatten. She’s not their case worker, to the best of my knowledge. But she works with her, so… maybe it’s possible.

“I can’t make any promises, Margo. But yes, if you write down how to get in touch with you, I can try to pass it along.”

I smile. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“No promises,” she repeats. “But I’ll do my best.”

We stand, and she hugs me. We’re usually a limited-contact type of relationship, and the moment surprises me. It takes me a second to hug her back.

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