Page 154 of Invisible String
“Oh God, Max, are you afraid of cooties? Is that still a thing at your age, or are you afraid you might fall in love with her?”
“In love? Gross...” My face scrunches into a sour lemon face. Getting to my feet, I walked toward my bed and sink my butt in it. “I think she should take your room, and you can sleep in here.”
“I’m older, so I get my own room. You’re acting ridiculous. You act like you haven’t had girls in homes you’ve stayed at.”
I have, but I’ve never shared rooms. They were much younger.
We just had a growth and development class at school, and I learned more than I needed to know about boys’ and girls’ body parts. Every kid in my class has a crush, girlfriend, or boyfriend, but not me. I don’t have a crush on anyone. Besides, who wantsa bossy girlfriend. That would involve talking and touching. I don’t like either of those.
“You two can make out,” he jokes. “Or she might want to kill you. She might be a bully.”
I groan. That’s the last thing I need, a girl who’s a psychopath in my room.
“Jeez, Max, chill. Your face went ghostly. She might not even come here after all. Anyways, I’m heading to have you-know-what with my girl.” He bites his lip.
God, I want to throw up. Is that all teens think of? Sex.
With one hand behind my head, I lay on my bed, eating my licorice. It’s the weekend, and I want to enjoy it. A knock rapping at the door startles me. I jump up and hide my candy under my pillow. Mrs. Sara is nice, but strict.
“Come in,” I call out, swallowing the rest of the licorice in my mouth. Mrs. Sara stands in the doorway, her blond hair up to her shoulders, and she has a smile on her face. She doesn’t have kids of her own.
“Hey there, what are you doing?” she asks, walking to the empty bed. She begins to strip the sheets and comforter.
“Nothing. I might go play basketball outside.” I stopped playing football after the accident. It reminds me of what happened.
“Great. It’s a nice day, and fresh air is good for you. Max, we’re going to have another person come live with us.”
My stomach sinks. I know what that means, another foster kid. Drake wasn’t joking. I say nothing as I sit facing her.
She’s laying the new, crisp pink sheets onto the mattress. “It’s an emergency placement. She’s your age. I know I’m not supposed to have girls in the same room, but it’s temporary. When I get Drake’s room cleaned, I can move her. I just think she’s better off here. Max, I need you to help me out. She’s going to be sad. Maybe cry a lot. She’s going through a lot. I knowyou’re not a big talker, but since she has to share a room with you, maybe you can talk to her and help her feel better. You two might have a lot in common, sweetheart. Keep an eye on her, would ya?”
Keep an eye on her? Does she mean from Jason?
Mrs. Sara goes downstairs, then returns with two pink stuffed animals. One is a bear and the other a dog. Both are pink and white. “Girls love this stuff,” she says, laying them on the bed. Along with a purple diary.
Mrs. Sara always likes to welcome new kids with a gift. I wonder if she knows her husband treats us like shit? He always acts differently when Mrs. Sara’s around. Every once in a while, you can hear them argue. A lot of those times are when he’s drunk.
“What’s her name?” My fingers tangle together nervously. I rarely talk to anyone. Only certain people. I keep my circle small. Making friends is hard when you move around.
“Sol Mendoza.”
Sol. The name rolls off my tongue like chocolate ice cream. I don’t know why my tummy feels strange. I haven’t even met her. It’s probably the idea that a strange, sad girl will sleep in the same room as me. A foot away. A girl.
“She’ll be here in thirty minutes. Keep an eye on her. She’s fragile right now,” Mrs. Sara says cautiously, peering toward the door.
Before I can ask why, she’s out of the room. I groan, going to the restroom attached to the room.
Double fuck. I have to share a bathroom with her.
I pick up my dirty underwear off the floor, take it to the hamper, and toss a towel over it.
The doorbell rings thirty minutes later on the dot. My body goes still for a second, then I take the steps downstairs and peek from the corner of the kitchen facing the living room.
My heart thudsin my chest. A girl with a yellow dress walks in with who I think is her caseworker. We all have a caseworker. She has brown hair like cinnamon. I like cinnamon. I can’t see her eyes yet, but she has cream skin a little lighter than mine with a tinge of pink on her cheeks. She is holding two suitcases, the ones with wheels. She curls her finger under the lace ruffles on her dress around the waist. We all get nervous when we go to a new home. We never know what to expect.
“Told ya,” a voice whispers behind me.
I glance up at Drake. My nose crinkles at the purple marks on his neck. The last time I asked about them, I thought someone choked him out. He explained what they were. Hickies, I think he said they’re called.
