Page 19 of Fostering Chemistry
It was fun. At my old foster home—the one I left after high school—everybody would do their own thing in the evenings: homework, watching stuff on their phones. Me included. But it was nice to watch a show with someone. To talk about what was happening and discuss why the hell the blue team was in St. Louis.
“Oh, I think they figured it out,” Aaron said.
I leaned forward, elbow propped on the couch arm, eyes squinting at the screen. “Yes, judging by the look of horror, I’d say you’re right.”
“That’s okay. I think they can get a train. Or they could go to the next stop and do an extra task as a penalty.”
“Have they ever done that before?”
“Yes, in season three.”
“This is getting good. Too bad we don’t have popcorn.”
Aaron slid to the edge of the sofa, poised to get up. “That’s easily fixable.”
“I was kidding. We don’t need popcorn.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Do we have any?”
“Yes. I’ll go get it.”
“Okay. I’ll pause the episode.”
He stood and padded toward the kitchen, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood. My leg felt cold. He’d been sitting pretty close to me—close enough that our arms and legs had brushed against each other a couple of times.
It was nice. Nothing sexual or anything, just… nice. To be here with someone, talking with them, having them so close. I wasn’t used to that, and I was enjoying the evening.
Until another one of my roommates came in.
“Hey, Mia.”
Raymond breezed into the room and plopped down on the sofa next to me—just as close as Aaron had been, but not nearly as welcome. His cologne hit my nose a beat later, a little too strong and a little too… smug? Or maybe it was just his personality.
“Aaron was sitting there,” I lied. He’d actually been on the other side.
“Sorry,” Raymond said, though he didn’t sound it. He scooted over about eight inches, then leaned back like he owned the place. Yeah, because that was totally enough room for Aaron.
“What are you watching?”
I told him about the show, trying to make it sound as boring as possible so he wouldn’t stay.
Which maybe wasn’t fair of me. He was my housemate. A former foster kid like me. But something about him rubbed me the wrong way.
Turns out, he was just getting started.
He shifted, angling himself toward me and resting an arm along the back of the couch. “You know, you’d be prettier if you smiled.”
I had to work to keep my jaw from dropping. “Did you seriously just tell me that?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I heard that girls hate that.”
“Gee, I wonder why.”
“So no, I wasn’t telling you that for real. Even if it’s true.”
I stared at him, unblinking. He grinned like he’d said something clever.
