Love Me, Love Me Not Read online

  “It’s okay,” I say quietly, trying to step away from him.

  “No, it’s not. Let me grab some napkins for you.”

  “Really, it’s fine,” I say, pulling back.

  He takes the hint and lets go of my shoulder, but doesn’t stop talking. “You’re bleeding.”

  I wipe under my nose and sure enough, my fingers are covered in blood. My day is just getting better and better.

  “I’ll take you to the nurse.”

  I shake my head. So much for my stealthy walk to the empty table. Everyone in the cafeteria is now staring at me as blood drips from my nose onto the gray tile floor.

  “Seriously, you need a nurse. Here,” the guy says, handing me a stack of napkins. “Let’s go.” He steps to the side and holds out his hand like he wants me to lead the way.

  I push the napkins under my nose but shake my head again. “I’m sure it’ll stop soon.”

  “What if it’s broken? You need to get it looked at.”

  Who is this guy? Is he always so pushy? I glance at his face for the first time and find myself staring into the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen. And they seem legitimately worried.

  “I can make it there on my own,” I mumble, and start to walk toward the exit. Okay, I have no idea where the nurse is, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  He follows me to the door like the stray cats I used to feed at home. “What’s your name?” he asks.

  I pause, surprised he’d even care. “Hailey,” I say, then quickly lower my gaze and dart out of the cafeteria in search of the nearest bathroom, hoping he’ll finally leave me alone.

  CHAPTER 3

  The rest of the day is a bit smoother. My nose stopped bleeding after a few minutes, and I was able to reach my classes early and take a seat in the back. Most of the other students were so busy talking to their friends they didn’t even notice the new girl in stained clothes.

  Eventually, the final bell of the day rings, and I let out a deep breath, one that it feels like I’ve been holding for hours. The first day in my new school is over, and it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Yes, there was geometry and the lunch incident, but no one teased me or called me names. I guess I should be thankful for that. It could’ve been much, much worse.

  I’m wondering what the Campbells, my new foster family, will be like when I reach the front of the building where Sherry is supposed to pick me up. Most of the students are either in the student parking lot or sports fields. Only a few of us are waiting for rides, which is a good thing because Sherry pulls up in her standard government-issued white sedan with yellow license plate. I groan. I might as well have a big, blinking neon sign over my head reading FREAK! FREAK! Even though there are only a few students nearby, I dash to the car, jump in quickly, and yell at Sherry to go.

  “What’s the rush?” she asks, looking out my window.

  I slink down. “They’re going to think I’m a juvenile delinquent or something.”

  “No one will think that.”

  “Can we just go? Please?”

  “No, I need to pick up someone else first.”

  This gets my attention. There’s someone else in foster care at this school?

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Brittany. And there she is now.”

  The back door opens, and a girl about my age slides in. That’s where the similarities end, though. She’s got a nice olive complexion compared with my pale skin. Her eyes are a bright green and narrow, unlike my big brown ones. And her brightly dyed red hair is cut in a sharp line along her jaw and looks nothing like my drab brown strands that hang limp along my forehead and back. Basically, she looks like a rock star while I look like a kid who woke up with no home and no family this morning.

  “I’m Brittany,” she says in a much too upbeat tone.

  “Hailey,” I murmur, turning around and then staring straight ahead.

  “You new to the system?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve been doing the foster-care thing for ten years, so let me know if you need anything.”

  I hear the click of her seat belt, and then Sherry puts the car in drive while Brittany continues her chattering.

  “Why isn’t Joelle picking me up?” she asks.

  “She was called out on a case and asked me to do it instead. I’ll drop off Hailey first, and then take you to your doctor’s appointment.”

  “Can you tell Joelle I have fantastic news?”

  “Sure,” Sherry says, pulling away from the curb. “Care to share that fantastic news with us?”

  I feel my seat jerk backward as Brittany grabs onto it and shoots her head between the two front seats. “We did it! My band got second place in the countywide competition last weekend! It’s the best we’ve ever done!”

  I guess my first impression about her being a rock star was correct.

  “That’s wonderful!” Sherry exclaims, adding to the enthusiasm in the car. “Y’all need to perform at one of our foster-care parties. Joelle has been bragging about you forever, and it’s time we all see this talent firsthand.”

  “Well, we are an award-winning band now.…”

  Sherry glances in the mirror again. “Meaning you want to be paid for the gig?”

  I turn my head to watch Brittany. She flashes a bright smile. “I’m just saying we’re booking up fast. I’m not sure we’ll be able to fit it in.”

  Sherry shakes her head. “We’ll pay you in pizza and soda. All you can eat and drink.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal!” Brittany yells, and sits back in her seat with a satisfied grin.

  “You would’ve agreed without the soda,” Sherry says, turning onto a residential street in a swanky neighborhood.

  “I would’ve agreed without the pizza, too,” she says with a smirk. “So, Hales, what grade are you in?”

  The nickname makes me cringe. I hate it. Only Chase calls me Hales, and that’s because I don’t have the guts to tell him I don’t like it.

  “Twelfth,” I say, staring straight ahead again. “Please don’t call me Hales.”

  “Are you against nicknames in general or just that one?” she asks, completely unfazed.

  “That one.”

  “How about Lee, then?”

  “That’s a boy’s name.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Brown.”

  “Hmmm … I’ve got nothing with that.” She pauses. “Whoa, you’re lucky, Hailey. Looks like you won the foster-kid lottery.”

  I ignore her and concentrate on the road names. I need to make sure I get the address of where I’m staying, so I can tell Chase.

  After three more turns, we pull into a long circular driveway lined with tall trees. In front of us stands a two-story brick house with four fancy columns. A couple of rocking chairs and miniature trees planted in giant urns sit on the front porch.

  “Can I come in?” Brittany asks.

  “Why?” Sherry responds as she parks the car in a spot off the gravel driveway.

  “This may be my only chance to see a house this nice.”

  I glance back at Brittany, who’s sitting on the edge of her seat, craning to look at the mansion with eyes as round as full moons.

  “We have to be quick,” Sherry says.

  Brittany flings open the door and sprints toward the front steps.

  I wring my hands in my lap.

  Sherry rests her fingers over mine, slowing their motion. “Let’s meet your new family,” she says with a smile, but the wrinkles around her eyes give her away. I’m sure she’s worried she’ll be making a trip out here later tonight to pick me up after I somehow mess up this placement, too.

  “Hi there! Please come in,” says a middle-aged woman, opening the front door while we’re still on the walkway leading to the porch. She looks like she just came out of a bank. Her dark, silky hair falls to her shoulders, where it meets what must be a superexpensive suit.

  “Nice to see you again, Sherry. And … which o
ne of you is Hailey?” she asks.

  Brittany points to me and then enters the house. She lets out a low whistle. “Whoa, nice digs. Is that a real Monet?”

  “You like art?” Mrs. Campbell asks.

  “Depends on what it is. That,” she says, pointing into the other room, “I like.”

  “Well, sorry to disappoint you,” Mrs. Campbell replies. “It’s a Meier. She was inspired by Monet but never made it big. It’s still my favorite piece, though. Come on in, and I can show you more.”

  I stand awkwardly in the foyer as Brittany follows Mrs. Campbell like a puppy. Sherry swipes her phone a couple of times and says, “Brittany, we’re going to be late for your appointment.”

  “Just give me a minute,” she hollers from the other room.

  I wrap my arms around my waist and chew on my lip, unsure of what to do. I don’t know anything about art, but maybe I should have followed Brittany. Instead, I’m standing here like an idiot with my thrift-store clothes in their fancy house.

  I’m about to go back outside where it might not feel quite so awkward when Mrs. Campbell returns. “Hailey, please come in. I’d love to show you around.”

  I take a step forward but don’t say anything.

  “This is your home. Gil and I want you to feel comfortable here. Do you have any bags?” she asks, looking around me.

  “No.” All I have is my backpack with some school books, the hygiene pack from Sherry, and a month’s worth of birth control.

  “That’s fine,” Mrs. Campbell replies with a wave of her hand. “You’re what … a size two?”

  I nod.

  “We have some things you can wear for a few days until we have a chance to go shopping. Would you like to see your room now?”

  I nod again.

  “Can you find Brittany and tell her it’s time to go? We’re going to be late for an appointment,” Sherry says.

  “I bet she’s in my gallery,” Mrs. Campbell replies. “I’ll send her your way. Come on in, Hailey.” She gently touches my shoulder.

  We walk along a hallway, passing what looks like an office or library covered in dark wood paneling and furniture straight out of a different century. Next, we pass a dining room with a table that could fit my entire geometry class. Finally, we enter a large airy space with a vaulted ceiling and an inside balcony for the second story. The furniture here is tan and comfy-looking. At the back of the room is a wall of windows that frame a brick patio and pine trees as far as I can see. This room feels much more casual than other parts of the house. Through the railings of the balcony, I catch Brittany’s back as she studies the artwork.

  “Your room is upstairs,” Mrs. Campbell says, leading me through a huge kitchen with shiny appliances and dark cabinets to a staircase.

  When we reach the top, I see Brittany again. She’s staring at a painting of a woman’s face in bright colors.

  “Warhol?” she asks.

  “Yes. My grandfather collected art as well. He purchased this just as Warhol was starting to make a name for himself. When Granddad died fifteen years ago, he left it to me.”

  “Wow,” Brittany says with wide eyes as she momentarily looks at Mrs. Campbell before focusing on the next one. I wouldn’t call it a painting—it looks more like shiny metal twisted into strange patterns. Kind of like a sculpture, but it’s hanging in panels on the wall.

  “Who’s this?”

  “DeRubeis.”

  “I like it.”

  “I do, too. He created a new style all his own. He’s still early in his career, so I’m excited to see where he goes.”

  Brittany continues her tour down the landing, stopping at another painting. “You’ve got, like, your own mini art museum here.”

  Mrs. Campbell laughs. “Well, I am an art dealer. This is my personal gallery, but I have another gallery in town with pieces for sale.”

  My stomach drops a little as I take it all in. What if I break something? What if I trip and spill something on her art?

  “Do you have any Wylands?” Brittany asks.

  “My son does.”

  The word son makes my head snap to Mrs. Campbell. In the other two foster homes, I was the only kid. It never dawned on me I might have to share the house with another.

  “I’d show you, but Sherry is in a hurry.”

  “We can be quick. Please,” Brittany begs, clasping her hands together in front of her chest.

  “Okay, okay, let’s go. Hailey, your room is the first door over there,” she says, pointing to a hallway on the right. “We’re going this way.”

  I look back and forth. I want to go to my room, but I also want to meet her son. How old is he? If he owns artwork, he can’t be too young.

  I decide to follow Brittany and Mrs. Campbell. I catch up with them just as Mrs. Campbell knocks on the door. “Brad, honey, can I come in for a second?”

  A muffled reply comes from inside. “It’s open.”

  When the door swings inward, I find two guys about my age sitting on beanbag chairs with their backs to us, staring at a huge television. They’re frantically pushing buttons on handheld controllers as cars race around buildings in some video game.

  “Brad Campbell,” Brittany says matter-of-factly.

  He turns his head to her voice and stares. It’s those blue eyes. Those vibrant blue eyes from the cafeteria.

  “Hailey.” Apparently he also remembers me and what happened. “And Brittany. What are you doing here?” He doesn’t sound mean, just confused, as he glances between her and his mom.

  “Dropping off your new sister,” Brittany replies. That term causes my face to heat up. I’m not his sister. I’ll only be here until I turn eighteen. Seven more months. Or until they kick me out.

  Brad’s eyes move over to me, and he smiles, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. I lower my gaze to the floor.

  “I’m Brad,” he says. “And this is my friend Adam.”

  “Yo,” the other guy says, continuing to play the video game.

  “Hailey,” I say quietly.

  “And there’s the Wyland,” Brittany says, moving closer to Brad’s bed. Above his headboard is a simple painting of a whale’s tail. It’s actually kind of pretty—much nicer than what was on the landing.

  “I love it,” she replies. “It’s not his usual style. Much more subdued.”

  “Okay, let’s not keep Sherry waiting any longer,” Mrs. Campbell says, ushering Brittany back into the hallway. “Brad, can you show Hailey to her room while I say good-bye?”

  He answers by stopping the game, which makes Adam complain. “Dude! I was kicking your ass!”

  “Because I stopped playing. That’s the only way you can kick my ass.”

  I glance to Mrs. Campbell to see how she reacts to the cursing. Based on her appearance and the immaculate house, I expect her to object, but she doesn’t seem to care.

  Brittany peeks back around the doorframe. “See you Monday, Hailey. Meet me in the cafeteria before first period.”

  My eyebrows inch up a bit at her offer. We barely know each other, yet she’s being super nice. I have no idea why she’s doing it, but I do appreciate it. Maybe school won’t be so bad after all.

  Once she’s gone, Adam grabs his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping on the screen. “How’s your nose feeling?” Brad asks.

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not broken?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’m really sorry about that.”

  “It was nothing.”

  There’s an awkward silence, and I pray he’ll let it go.

  Luckily, he does. “So, what grade are you in?” he asks, standing up. He runs his hand though his hair, causing his bangs to flop back on his forehead and hang over his eyes a bit.

  “I’m a senior.”

  “Us, too. You’re new to our school, right?”

  I nod. “Started today.”

  “Where you from?”

  “Union Pines.”

  “We kille
d you in football last week.”

  I nod again because I don’t know what else to do. When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “I don’t really keep up with football.”

  “Well, you’ll have to start now that you’re part of this family. High school, college, professional—it’s all we talk about in the fall. And I’m sure my parents will drag you to my games.”

  “You’re on the team?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He is the team,” Adam chimes in. “He’s the quarterback.”

  That means nothing to me, so I just nod again.

  “Anyway, welcome to your new home,” Brad says, holding out his hand.

  I stare at it. Does he want me to shake it? Like we’re making some kind of business deal?

  I reach out and lightly lay my palm in his, letting it hang limply as he uses a strong grasp.

  “Thanks,” I say, biting my lip.

  “Sorry,” he says, apparently feeling as awkward as me, as he drops my hand. “I’m not really sure how this is supposed to work.”

  Adams stifles a laugh as he gathers books and shoves them into a backpack.

  “How’d it work for all the other foster kids?” I ask.

  “You’re the first.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, my parents just got licensed last month. I guess we’ll figure it out together.”

  “I’m outta here,” Adam says. “Nice to meet you, Hailey. See you around school.”

  Brad and I head back through Mrs. Campbell’s gallery and to my room. It’s huge compared with what I’m used to. The walls are painted beige and are empty except for a mirror and a corkboard. The bed has a plain white headboard and a striped white-and-navy-blue comforter. There’s a silver floor lamp in the corner, next to a white desk with an alarm clock. It’s pretty but seems like something you’d find in a magazine, not somewhere you’d actually live.

  The tiny room I shared with my mom had a lot more stuff—walls covered with pictures I tore out of magazines of all the exotic places I knew I’d never visit, a bookshelf filled with my projects from art classes over the last eleven years, and a closet overflowing with her work clothes. Although I don’t miss her, it would be nice if I had something from home with me. Even just one of my pictures would make this place feel more like somewhere I belonged.