Page 72 of Roaring Flames

Lissa’s voice immediately reaches me. “THIS IS BULLSHIT!”

I quicken my pace.

My foster family is in the kitchen. Hale leans against the counter with his arms folded over his chest. He looks tired, his eyes underscored by dark crescent moons. I swear his hair has more gray in it than when I last saw him.

Gerry stands beside his husband, in front of the stove, cleaning up whatever breakfast they had this morning. Every once in a while, the giant will brush his fingers against Hale’s in a reassuring caress.

Jake and Seth both sit at the counter, watching the exchange like it’s the most interesting match of volleyball they’ve ever seen in their lives. For once, Seth doesn’t have his headphones on.

And then there’s Lissa.

I remember when I first met my younger foster sister and new roommate. The only word I could think to describe her was pink. Everything she wore was pink. She had pink nail polish on. Pink lipstick. Pink headband. Pink fake highlights in her hair.

The girl standing before me is unrecognizable.

She wears a dark hoodie that’s three sizes too big and obscures her body from view. She would have to roll up her sleeves numerous times to actually use her hands. Black leggings and a pair of Converse shoes complete the look.

God, what the hell happened in the few days I’ve been away?

Guilt niggles at me, as does a wave of self-loathing. I know it shouldn’t—I did nothing wrong—but I can’t help but wish I’d been here for Lissa. She’s been through something traumatic, and I’m the only person here who can possibly understand what she’s going through.

Lissa’s eyes flick to me and harden. Her upper lip peels away from her teeth in a snarl. “Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. When did we decide that it’s acceptable to run away from our problems?”

“Lissa!” Hale scolds, but Lissa simply scowls at him, unrepentant.

“Why can’t I stay here for this conversation?” she demands, stomping her foot. “You’re allowing Jake to stay?—”

They are?

“—but why can’t I?—”

“Because it’s not your time to know yet,” Seth says calmly, his attention fixated on the cord of his headphones.

Hale pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s begging for patience. “Lissa, please. Now isn’t the time?—”

“It’s never the time.” She throws her hands up in the air. “Sometimes I wonder if you even want me here.”

“Don’t say that,” Gerry scolds, finally whirling away from the stovetop to face his youngest foster daughter. “You know that we love you?—”

“Yeah. Okay.” Lissa scoffs and reaches for her backpack. That, too, is no longer a bright pink. It’s black and covered in stickers of skulls. “Whatever.”

“Lissa—”

“Save it.” She holds a hand up to stop Hale’s protest.

Surprisingly, Hale obeys, though his face falls.

“I suppose we’re taking the bus this morning?” she asks.

“We need to talk to Izzy and Jake…” Gerry begins placatingly.

But Lissa ignores him and stalks towards the kitchen doorway. She doesn’t spare me, or anyone else for that matter, a second glance.

Seth doesn’t immediately follow after her. He remains where he is, his glasses slightly askew and his messy brown hair flopping across his forehead.

He tilts his head to the side as if he’s listening to something no one else can hear. “She won’t be angry forever.”

Hale offers him a tired smile. “I know, Seth.”

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