Page 9 of The Breaking Point

TEN YEARS AGO

The boy my dad had brought home earlier that morning was acting weird.

It wasn’t the first time my parents had fostered kids. They usually fostered younger kids, though. This time, they brought home a boy who they said was only two years older than me, but he looked way older than that.

Dad said his name was Brady. When I’d introduced myself, Brady had just looked at my outstretched hand like I’d tried to give him a bomb.

Now, I watched him from my bedroom window on the second floor. Maybe because he seemed so mysterious. Or maybe because, even at twelve, I found something about him fascinating.

My bedroom overlooked the back of the house, where our pool was, where Brady was now. Normally, Ben and I would be swimming all day, every day, during the summer, but Ben was too busy to hang out with me anymore.

And I wasn’t about to wear my swimsuit around this new boy. The mere thought made me blush in humiliation.

Brady was big for his age. When Dad had said he was fourteen, I’d been shocked. He looked so much older!

“He’s never lived with a family longer than six months,” Dad had said to me quietly when Brady was unpacking in his new bedroom. “So he might not know how to act around us.”

Brady had stayed in his room the entire morning. I’d listened outside his door until Ben had told me to stop being a pest.

Now, Brady sat at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, but that was it. After a few minutes, I was about to go back to reading my book when Brady started wading into the water.

Then he kept dipping his head down, like he wanted to go for a swim. But then he’d stand back up. He kept doing this. Was it some strange exercise routine?

Dad had said Brady might act weirdly around us. But as far as Brady knew, nobody was watching him.

When Brady bent down one last time, hesitated, and then slapped the water like it’d personally offended him, I jumped. I must’ve made a noise because somehow Brady turned to see me sitting in my window. He scowled up at me and then pointed at me, yelling, “Stop staring at me!”

I was used to Ben, so boys getting annoyed with me wasn’t new for me. I opened the window and yelled back, “I’m coming down!”

I changed into my swimsuit—a boring blue one-piece—and hurried to the pool. Brady sat on the edge again, and he didn’t even acknowledge me when I sat beside him.

“Why were you watching me?” he finally asked.

I folded my arms around my knees. “I wasn’t watching you for that long,” I said.

“Bullshit. I saw you.”

I stared at him. “You knew I was watching you?”

“It’s not like you were trying to keep hidden,” he said mockingly.

“You know, it’s not nice, how you’re talking to me.” I lifted my chin. “And this is my house.”

Something dark crossed Brady’s expression. “Whatever. Do what you want.”

I waited for him to explain himself, but I could tell he wasn’t going to unless I prodded him.

“Did you want to go swimming?” I asked.

He snorted. “I don’t even have swim trunks.”

“But you were in the water.”

“Yeah, so?” At my look, he sighed. “Fine. I was trying to swim.”

“Trying?”

“Yeah, trying. Because I don’t know how to fucking swim.”

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