Page 5 of Wicked Dreams

Mascara, concealer to hide the dark circles under my eyes, a shade of pink lip stain on my full lips. I practice smiling in the mirror.

It falls short. I can’t keep the tremble out of my hands.

I add a thick swipe of eyeliner. The bolder the better. It feels a bit like a mask, and instead of smiling, I scowl at myself.

Okay.

I get dressed quickly and meet Robert downstairs. He slides a mug of coffee at me, and I smile at him.

“Figured getting up this early is hard enough without caffeine,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He points out the selection of shoes. “She got a few different sizes because we weren’t sure…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Hopefully one of these will do.”

She got mefourpairs. Too many. I locate their sizes and try on a pair. It’s a perfect fit, and Robert beams.

“We’ll get your classes squared away first. Hopefully you’ll just miss homeroom, and we’ll get one of the kids to give you a tour.” He ushers me back into the kitchen. “Easy day, right? Not too scary.”

Yeah, right. I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t.

We eat cereal in silence.

In the car, a new backpack is waiting for me on the passenger seat. My face heats as Robert explains there’s a case of pens and pencils as well as a few notebooks in there. A calculator, too, for math. Things from the required items list.

I thank him, but…

It’s a lot.

We listen to Robert’s talk radio on the drive.

The high school is a bigger building down the street from the elementary and middle schools, and it looms like a castle at the end of the road. I don’t remember paying much attention to it as a kid, as the others are not as grandiose.

My stomach is a ball of nerves.

Robert turns into the driveway, which then branches off into different parking lots. A little sign for visitor parking right in front, faculty parking. Student parking.

We cross into the shadows of one of the two towers, and I automatically shiver. He parks in the faculty lot. As soon as the engine is off, he faces me.

“I figure I’ll be giving you rides every morning,” Robert tells me. “And we can meet at the car after. If you want to do any sort of sport or after-school activity, that’s fine. Lenora or I can arrange how we want to handle the pickup. But don’t feel restricted, okay?”

I make a noise of affirmation, and then we’re moving. Getting out of the car without delay. I swing the new bag over my shoulder.

I make the mistake of glancing at my phone as we walk up the wide front steps. There’s the text from last night still sitting on my lock screen, and I don’t even have to open it to read its message.

Unknown

You’ll regret coming back.

I shiver.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

Getting alarming texts from an anonymous person hours after my arrival? That’s a fast way to get kicked out of a good home. When things seem too weird, some foster parents bail.

I don’t blame them. I’d bail, too. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to run home and tuck myself back in bed and throw my phone in the trash.

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