Her cheeks flushed pink. “I’m glad.”
No one looked up when we walked into the cafeteria together. I slid into a seat at a table in the back near the windows and Juliet sat across from me.
I had an insane urge to pull her into my lap. I was convinced having her warm body weight pressing into me and wrapping my arms around her would keep every bad thing in my life at bay.
To keep myself focused and out of trouble, I asked about our English assignment—writing a personal narrative—and she shyly handed over a couple of stapled-together pages.
“What about yours?” she asked.
I hesitated. With all the chaos at the home, I hadn’t delved too deep with my essay. It was too damn depressing to relive all my defining moments.
Finally her pleading eyes convinced me to hand it over. Mine was scribbled in my blocky handwriting because I still hadn’t gotten access to the computer at the house.
The defining moment in my life was the death of my mother. Before that my mother and I lived in an apartment not far from my two aunts. We didn’t have a lot, but life was good. I never doubted that I was safe and loved.
Fearing what was coming next, I swallowed hard and continued.
Everything changed one night when my mother went out with her younger sister to celebrate her birthday. Neither of them made it home.
My aunt woke me in the morning. I’ll never forget the blank look on her face when she said my mother had gone to heaven and wouldn’t be coming back for me.
Safety, comfort, security all disappeared in an instant. I packed a few favorite toys and clothes to stay with Aunt Susan and her husband until they could “figure out something else.”
Except for cousin Debbie, they were the only family I had left, so I wasn’t sure what there was to “figure out.” Where did they want me to go? Where did orphaned girls end up when no one wanted them?
It was a short ride to my new home and I remember looking at the familiar house in an unfamiliar way as we pulled into the driveway.
This was a new start to my life. In a way, the old Juliet died with her mother. New Juliet had to learn to accept a fresh start. I promised myself I’d behave so my aunt and uncle wouldn’t have a reason to send me away…
“Juliet,” I breathed out when I finished, stunned by her words.
“It’s bad, right? Too maudlin?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but no. It’s very powerful. Raw.”
“I think she was looking for a positive life-changing event.” She glanced down and flicked the pages in her notebook. “But I don’t have one of those. I haven’t decided how to finish the assignment yet.”
“That’s because your story isn’t written. You still have a long road ahead of you.”
“I hope so.”
She tapped my pages on the table. “This is good. You’re really talented,” she said. I’m pretty sure it was the first time anyone said I was good at anything other than getting into trouble.
The compliment sucked in a way because my piece was completely superficial and lacked any real emotion. I wrote about how learning martial arts changed my life. The dull, predictable type of essay the teacher probably had in mind. I hadn’t sliced open a vein and bled all over the pages the way Juliet had.
“Is it true?” she asked.
“Mostly. One of my foster homes, the dad taught martial arts, so I learned from him.”
“Was it a good home?”
She seemed so genuinely concerned, I actually wanted to talk about it, something I hadn’t done in a long time.
“Yeah, they were nice people. Probably the best home I’ve been in.”
“What happened?”
“They had a baby.” I shrugged as if the memory didn’t sting. “My time was up.”
“Do you still keep in touch—”
I shook my head, cutting her off. “No, that’s discouraged.”
“That’s so sad.”
Her mouth turned down. She seemed so damn distressed by my story. Maybe I should’ve kept it to myself. I’d never thought of my situation as happy or sad.
It was all I knew.
Chapter Ten
Roman
The rest of the day wasn’t as exciting as my morning. I did manage to stay out of trouble. Doug and his friends avoided me.
Actually, everyone except Juliet acted like I had a contagious disease. Maybe word had spread that I was one of the kids from the group home. I didn’t dwell on it because I didn’t care.
Before our last class of the day, I found Juliet waiting for me, just as pretty as she’d been first thing this morning.
“We have to stop meeting this way,” she teased, stepping aside so I could chuck my books in the locker before we headed to art class.
I liked art. Maybe not as much as Pip enjoyed it, but I could draw a decent portrait if I had a worthy subject.
Juliet would be worth drawing.
Hell, my notebook already contained half a dozen doodles of her long hair, secret smile, and perfect profile.
It was a small, advanced art class taught by a somewhat eccentric middle-aged guy—Mr. Broom. I’d joined the class right before they started a section on photography. A subject that interested me, but I’d never had the luxury of exploring. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to have a flip phone. While all my peers were busy snapping selfies and fucking around on social media, I was busy with therapy sessions, learning house rules, protecting myself, and chores.
There was an extra fee for this part of the class and I’d have to ask one of the counselors or my caseworker to approve it. I usually avoided asking for anything, but I didn’t want to drop out of the class.
We sat two to four kids to a table and naturally I sat right next to Juliet. So close our legs touched from thigh to knee. A thrill ran through me at the contact, and she peeked up at me as if she sensed it too.
After the opening lecture, Mr. Broom strolled through the room, passing out magazines that demonstrated different styles of photography.
Mr. Broom stopped by my table and leaned down. My whole body tensed, afraid I was already in trouble.
“Your fee has been taken care of, so you don’t need to worry about it, Mr. Hawkins,” he said quietly before straightening up and walking away.
It was a relief, but it also bothered me. Who paid it? The school? Mr. Broom? He didn’t even know me. My social worker? She barely seemed to know where I was half the time.
It was a mystery I couldn’t solve, but I was grateful that for once in my life something wouldn’t be a big deal. Grateful he went out of his way not to embarrass me, allowing me to avoid the shame of being the poor orphan begging for scraps.
We took the magazines home, and I was supposed to decide what subjects moved me. People, nature, animals, objects?
After class, I wanted to talk to Mr. Broom, but he was surrounded by students, so I followed Juliet into the hallway instead.
“What did he say to you?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Her face fell as if she expected to share things with me and I’d disappointed her. “I’ll tell you on the way home,” I added.
The way home. On the way to her home. I didn’t have one.
“Oh, I can’t wait until we get an actual camera. And we’re going to develop the film ourselves. That will be so much fun!” Juliet skipped ahead of me, hair flying behind her. I jogged to catch up to her, grabbing her hand to slow her down.