Page 115 of Wicked Games

At the beginning of the project, Caleb was simple in my mind: vicious. The devil incarnate. A bully barely holding on to his demons. The slant of his mouth reflected that, but the closer we got… I painted over it, determined to start it again. Perhaps not a smile, but something similar.

A smirk?

He has moments of softness and kindness. He has demons, but there’s light in him. He’s a liar and a jerk and sweet and the most heartbreakingly beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.

How do I paint a liar’s lips?

How do I paint the devil’s eyes?

Len enters the dining room, where I’ve been hunkered down since school got out an hour ago. “I hate to interrupt, but you have a visitor.”

She tips her head toward the front of the house.

“Who?”

“Go see for yourself.” She takes my brush from my fingers and sets it down. “This will wait a little while. Go on.”

I exhale and stand, sweeping invisible lint off my thighs. I walk through the kitchen, toward the front door, and catch a glimpse of my mystery visitor in the living room.

My foster sister sits on the couch, her leg jiggling.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurts out, throwing her arms around my shoulders. “I was cruel to spring that on you at your Fall Ball.”

I hug her back tightly, leaning into her. The vanilla scent surrounding her is familiar. It brings back memories—most of them good.

“You don’t have to apologize,” I tell her.

“No, I really do. I’ve felt guilty ever since, but I couldn’t bear it if you spent one more night with that monster.” Her attention goes over my shoulder, then back to me. “Can you come with me? Maybe go for a ride?”

“You have a car?” Something dark flutters in my chest.

“My foster parents taught me how to drive.” She bounces on her heels. “Isn’t that cool? I just was able to get my permit last week! It’s kind of against the rules, but they don’t mind if I take the car out by myself. I just have to promise to be careful.”

It stings like lemon dripped into a fresh cut.

Luck of the draw. It’s always that way with foster care. Kids either get lucky or…not.

And I’m not saying I’m unlucky—I’m just saying…

I have a flash of Caleb dangling his keys out in front of me. An offer to teach me to drive. I sat behind the wheel and didn’t even touch the gas pedal.

Without a doubt, I know I can’t get in the car with Claire. It’s not the principal of the matter, it’s the raging jealousy. I don’t want to see what kind of car her foster parents let her drive. She wouldn’t brag. Her excitement is genuine.

But that doesn’t make it easy to swallow.

“Let’s sit on the sun porch,” I offer. “It’s warm this time of day.”

Lenora lets out a slight exhale behind me. I suppose I’m not the only one who was uncomfortable with that offer.

“Fine,” Claire huffs.

I roll my eyes, and we go to the sun porch on the side of the house. It’s a three-season porch generally, with big glass windows all the way around, but like I said: this time of day, when the sun’s been heating it all afternoon, it’s pleasant.

I sink into one of the cushioned wicker chairs, and Claire mimics my movement.

“How are things besides learning to drive? How’s Hanna?”

Her face softens, and she grabs my hand. “I’m sorry, Margo. I just feel awful that I gave you that clipping and told you I recognized Caleb, then left.”

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