Page 8 of I Should Hate You-but I Don't

The juxtaposition of love and hate created an emotional home life. Their warm relationship was constantly shadowed by his refusal to be with her.

Chapter Three

River

—Nine years ago—

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Kenna kicked a rock, following its course over the cracked sidewalk. River lugged a full backpack two yards behind her sister. She wasn't going to let Kenna drag her feet anymore.

"Mrs. Hostin will ground us both if we don't arrive before Mr. Hostin gets home from work." She walked faster, pushing Kenna to keep going.

"I don't care." Kenna jumped off the curb and tried to kick the rock back up on the sidewalk. "We're not going to be there long. Margie will move us just like she did the last time. Nobody wants older kids. They all want a baby."

It was true. She grabbed Kenna's sleeve and tugged her along. She'd even heard her last foster mom tell a neighbor that taking in babies gave her more money each month than taking in older kids.

"We don't even need a stupid foster family." Kenna forgot about the rock and grabbed River's hand. "We could take the bus and go back home."

"Someone else probably lives in our house." She sniffed.

First, her mom got killed as she went to visit her dad at work, and then her dad died a few months later while she and Kenna were at school. Since then, they've already moved three times in the foster care system.

Their mom was an only child. Grandma had died when they were four years old. Their dad never talked about having afamily. They had no idea if they had grandparents or aunts and uncles.

For a while, she was sure Ms. Breo, her old teacher, or Shirley, the lady at the library in her old town, would come to get her and her sister. They had always gone out of their way to help them at school after their mom died.

"We could try and find Ronald—remember Dad's friend?" Kenna walked backward. "We could find him and ask him about Dad."

"Dad's dead," she mumbled. "You know what Margie said. He died, and he's not coming back."

That's what the social worker said when they walked into the principal's office after recess on February 8th. She barely remembered the car trip home, where they were instructed to gather a sack of their belongings before going to live somewhere else with a new family.

"I don't think he's dead." Kenna turned around and walked forward with her. "I think Margie lied."

"I don't."

Kenna grabbed her, refusing to walk another foot. "Don't say that."

"Daddy wouldn't leave us on purpose." Tears blurred her vision. "After momma died, he promised never to leave us."

Kenna wrapped her arms around her. "Don't ever talk about dad to anyone else, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because he's ours," whispered Kenna. "He's not dead to us."

River held on to her sister and agreed, even though Kenna often lied when scared. She was scared, too.

"Come on." She grabbed Kenna's hand. "Let's go before we get in trouble."

At the end of the block, two men stood by motorcycles parked beside the sidewalk. River slowed and whispered, "They look scary."

The men had on black clothes and tattoos down each arm. One of them smoked a cigarette.

Kenna looked left and right, already forming a plan in case they had to run. Her sister was smart like that. River looked across the street to their new foster home in worry. They'd made it in time. Mr. Hostin's car wasn't in the driveway.

"Just keep walking and don't look at them," whispered Kenna.

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