Page 2 of Invisible String
The past fourweeks have been a tumultuous blend of heaven and hell. Hell is enduring the suffocating confines of this dreary hellhole with my new foster family. Heaven, on the other hand, is the precious time spent with Rainey, where the world feels vibrant and full of possibilities. I’ve learned to keep my circle tight and exclusive. Having no friends is a consequence of my transient lifestyle, hopping from place to place. It’s safer to keep people at a distance, like figures in a hazy dream, avoiding the heartache that comes with attachment.
Somehow, Rainey has managed to crawl under my skin. Although she does most of the talking and follows me at lunch to eat with me, I don’t let my walls completely down. She knows nothing about me, and I’ll keep it that way. She loves to read, and what I enjoy so much is that she reads to me. The sound of her voice is a lullaby. Rainey stirred up memories I buried as achild. My mom was the last one to read to me. She would dive into all kinds of stories. Some made-up, fairy tales, the Bible, and children's books. I can still hear my mother’s soft voice as she tucked me into bed and narrated various tales. It felt like home when Rainey read aloud, and maybe this is why I like having her in my presence, but I also loathe it because I know what it means. I’m never at a place long enough.
“Hey, shithead, time for dinner.” Andrew barges into my room while I lie in bed. His long, shaggy blond hair falls to the side.
At school, he acts as if he doesn’t know me. To be honest, I’m glad. I’m not the attention-seeker type of guy, and besides, who wants to be around a stuck-up ass?
He slams my door, and I get up to make my way downstairs into the dining area where they eat. This house is enormous. Maybe six-bedrooms. I’ve only wandered into the living room, dining room, and the vast kitchen. Of course, my room. I’m grateful I have my own space and don’t have to share.
“Damn. Watch it,” Andrew shouts, throwing himself on the floor and hugging his knee. Mrs. Peterson comes running toward us.
“Andrew, are you okay?” She kneels next to him.
Andrew scrunches his face as if he’s in great pain, rocking back and forth.
“He-he tripped me on purpose. I have a game tomorrow.”
My eyes widen. Again, I should be used to getting blamed and beaten for it. Mrs. Peterson’s mouth gapes. She stands and takes two steps closer to me. Her hand goes up, and I flinch, covering my face.
“Oh, honey, I wasn’t going to hit you. I was about to put my hand on your shoulder.”
“I didn’t trip him.”
“Then it must have been an accident.”
“Mom, seriously, he’s a liar. He’s a rift rat. I’m your son, and you believe him? How many homes has he been in? No one wants him. His own parents didn’t want him?—”
“Enough, Andrew,” his mother shouts.
The pain in my chest morphs ten times, shattering it.
She helps him up, trying to lift a statue of a guy who’s built like a quarterback. “Let’s be more careful, Max.” Mrs. Peterson groans.
Andrew smirks. I simply nod, taking the heat for something I didn’t do.
He fakes a limp and walks back into the dining room.
Andrew and his parents sit at the table with me. I should be grateful that I’m in a pleasant home, with my own room and a warm dinner. The housekeeper washes my clothes daily, and I smell like fresh, crisp linens. Yet, I don’t belong here. Andrew is an ass, but I’ve been around worse. Mr. and Mrs. Peterson are kind. I don’t understand why they foster kids. It’s not like they need the money.
“How is school going? Are you adjusting?” Mr. Peterson lifts a brow, waiting for a reply.
I would rather eat in silence than chit-chat.
“Good.” That’s the most he’ll get out of me. Adjusting is for someone staying permanently, and that’s not me—no need to adjust. Scooping a spoonful of mashed potatoes, I savor the home-cooked meal, eating like it could be my last.
“I know it’s tough, Max. You’ll get there,” Mrs. Peterson says in a sweet voice.
They turn toward Andrew and ask him about football. He goes on and on talking about his games and snobby girlfriend who’s seeing someone else behind his back. Not paying them any attention, I eat my dinner, relishing this moment, thinking back to when I once sat at a table with my family.
Three months have passed.I go through the motions of school and then home. Rainey continues to get closer to me, like now she’s sitting under a tree with me on our lunch break. I’m surprised she hasn’t given up on me and gone back with her friend Lana. What I like about Rainey is that she doesn’t ask a significant amount of questions. She talks about her brother and sister. It seems like she has a loving family.
Our legs touch gently as she scoots closer. I’ve gotten used to how our legs rub on one another, and a buzz runs through my body.
“What do you think? Do you like it so far? It’s my mom’s book. It’s so taboo.” Her eyelashes flutter.
“Yeah, I do.” I shrug. “Not my type of book, though. I’m not into romance.” She just started reading a book calledThe Thorn Birds.
“You might fall in love with it as we continue reading. I won’t read it at home, only with you. That way, you don’t miss out. My mom said it’s heartbreaking. It’s not a romance.”
