Love Me, Love Me Not Page 25

  “You made it!” Brittany says, hugging me. “I was worried you were going to flake on me.”

  “I wanted to, but Sherry wouldn’t let me. So, any tips for getting through this?” I ask, motioning to the room quickly filling with soon-to-be foster parents. This is their final class before they’re eligible for their licenses.

  “Yep. Tip number one: Never let them inside your head. After all the training they’ve gone through, they already feel sorry for us. Don’t give them any more reasons to…”

  “Pity us?” I offer.

  “Yes!” both Brittany and the other foster kid say at the same time.

  I nod. I totally get that. “What’s tip number two?”

  “There is no tip number two.”

  “That’s it? Just one tip?”

  She smiles. “That’s all you need to know.”

  While we’re grabbing pizza and soda, I glance at the door and my heart sinks to my stomach, immediately eliminating my hunger. Gil and Gigi walk through, all smiles as they shake hands with other parents. At least Brad’s not with them.

  I take a long sip of Coke and then follow Brittany to a table at the front of the room. I pick at my crust, still not interested in eating.

  And then Brad strolls through the door.

  Crap, crap, crap.

  His eyes survey the room until they land on me. He starts to walk in my direction, so I push my chair back and stand, ready to race out of the room.

  “Thanks, everyone, for joining us tonight,” Joelle, Brittany’s social worker, says. I stop and sit back down as Brad takes a chair next to Brittany. After everyone is seated, she continues, “On our panel tonight we have two foster families and three teens in foster care. We’d like this to be an informal session, so please feel free to ask questions of either the social workers or our panel. This is your chance to get real-world answers to your burning questions.”

  She then introduces us and opens the floor to the foster parents-in-training.

  “What do the children in your care call you or what do you call your foster parents?” a woman in the front row asks.

  “Mom,” Brittany answers. “I’ve been with her for almost three years, so she seems like Mom to me.”

  I glance down the table at Ms. Gonzalez. She smiles at Brittany and adds, “We decide together. I’ve been called Mom, Grandma, Aunty, Betty. It really depends on the situation.”

  “How do your foster kids and biological kids get along?” a man in the back asks.

  Brittany turns to me and smirks. I kick her under the table.

  “Brad and Hailey, would you like to take this one?” Joelle asks. Sherry nudges Joelle with her elbow and shakes her head, but it’s too late. Everyone is looking between the two of us, separated only by Brittany.

  Brad clears his throat. “Um … well…,” he says, unusually flustered. “It was a little weird initially, although part of that could’ve been because I’ve always been an only child. We quickly got into a routine and became friends. Good friends. Great friends, actually.” He leans back in his chair and looks at me. “More than friends, really. Do you have anything to add, Hailey?”

  “Nope,” I reply. Don’t let them inside your head.

  “What do you do for punishment?” someone in the middle asks.

  Gil raises his hand, indicating he’d like to answer. “I think that really depends on the age of your placement. Obviously, what works for toddlers won’t work with teenagers. Our experience is with a teen, and we treated her like we do our biological son. She lost her allowance for a few days when she didn’t follow one of our rules.”

  “But,” Gigi says, “we also made a very big mistake. We had some bad things happen and reacted emotionally in the moment by terminating the placement. It was the wrong thing to do, and we’ve regretted it for weeks. I—I worry we’ve irreparably damaged our relationship. And as much as these kids need you, I think you’ll find that you need them, too. I—I…” She takes a deep breath before finishing, “I wish we could have a do-over.”

  Brittany finds my hand under the table and squeezes. I feel about a million pairs of eyes on me, so I focus on a piece of fuzz on my shirt.

  Don’t let them inside your head.

  My stupid eyes betray me, and a couple tears drip down my cheeks.

  “This is for the teens,” someone asks. “What’s the worst part of being in foster care?”

  “Constantly moving around,” the other foster kid says. “I’ve been in five homes and three different schools over the last year.”

  “Aging out,” Brittany says. “Other kids have parents around for most of their lives. We only get them until we’re eighteen, and then we’re all on our own.”

  Everyone looks at me, waiting to hear my answer. I still feel wetness on my cheeks, so I wipe it away while I think about my response. I know what the worst part is, but do I want to share that? “I … I guess it’d be feeling something for your foster family. Then it hurts even more when they bail on you. Because everyone bails on us sooner or later.”

  A few women in the audience draw their hands to their mouths, and I realize I’ve said too much. I let them inside my head.

  “Maybe you need to give them a second chance,” Gil says from down the table. “Foster parents aren’t perfect. Sometimes we need second chances as much as the children do.”

  “And maybe you shouldn’t ignore all the attempts we make to apologize,” Brad adds. “We fucked up, we know we fucked up, but you won’t even give us the chance to tell you that.”

  Jaws drop open at Brad’s words, but my lips reluctantly lift a little. He did mess up. And so did his parents.

  “Okay,” Joelle says with a clap of her hands. “Let’s take a quick break. We’ve made some improvements to our children’s playroom. I’ll give you a tour.”

  She ushers everyone out except me, Sherry, and the Campbells.

  “All righty,” Sherry says, looking between the four of us, “it’s time for y’all to talk. Gil?”

  He meets my eyes and says, “We’re really sorry for the way we behaved, Hailey. It was a terrible situation. We were incredibly stressed and jumped to conclusions. We never would have treated Brad that way, and we shouldn’t have treated you any differently.”

  “We should’ve believed you,” Brad says, angling his body toward me. “If you said you didn’t help Chase, then you didn’t help Chase. I should’ve believed you. That’s the bottom line. You never gave me a reason not to, yet the moment you needed me the most, I let you down. I hate myself for what I did.”

  “Easy for you to say now that you know it wasn’t me,” I say, tracing the edge of the table with my thumb.

  Confusion is written across all their faces. “What do you mean?” Gigi asks.

  “Now that you know Michelle let Chase in.”

  “What?” they all ask at once.

  “She stole my key and watched me enter the code so she could take it to him. I told the cops. Hasn’t she been arrested yet?”

  “Um, no,” Brad says. “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah. Chase basically said it was her. And everything else lined up perfectly. Adam and Brittany know—they didn’t tell you?”

  “No. Adam mentioned something might come out soon but never told me that important piece of information.”

  Just then, Ms. Gonzalez, Brittany’s foster mom, comes through the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to Hailey for a moment?”

  I nod and stand, happy to get away from the Campbells. When I reach her, she says, “Brittany just told me everything that happened. I’m sorry. I had no idea that was why you’re in the group home. If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to stay with us. I’m licensed for two placements and Jonas moved in with family last week, so I have the space. We’d love for you to join us.”

  “Really?” I ask, stunned.

  “Wait,” Brad says, standing. “Mom, Dad, do something.”

  “Well,” Gil says slowly, “we were hoping
you’d reconsider coming back to stay with us.”

  My eyes shift between Ms. Gonzalez, the Campbells, and Sherry. They’re all waiting. “Um … I’m not sure.”

  Brittany’s head bobs up and down behind Ms. Gonzalez as she jumps to see what’s going on. When she catches my eye, she points at herself and mouths, “Pick us!”

  “Well?” Sherry asks.

  “Well,” I start. After a long swallow, I continue, “I appreciate the apology, but I don’t think I’m ready to live with the Campbells again. What happened really hurt me, and I think it might take me a while to get over it.”

  Brad’s face falls, Gil nods, and Gigi gives me a sad smile.

  “So I guess I’d like to be placed with Ms. Gonzalez.”

  “Yes!” Brittany yells from the hallway. “Sorry, Brad!” she adds, peeking around Ms. Gonzalez’s shoulder.

  Sherry nods. “Okay, I’ll get all the paperwork straightened out.”

  We all take our seats again as the rest of the people return, although Brad ends up next to me this time.

  “Is this it, then?” Brad whispers, sliding his foot up against mine. I glance down at the contact. It’s like all the times we tried to pretend nothing was going on between us. What I didn’t expect is the little tingle that runs up my leg, just like it always used to.

  I bite my lip because I don’t know what to think. My body obviously still likes him, but that’s not enough. Do I forgive him? Do I believe he’d never let me down again? Unfortunately, I don’t know the answer to those questions. “I’m not sure,” I say.

  “At least that’s not a no,” he replies, squeezing my knee. “I’m not giving up on us. I’ll keep fighting until you tell me to get lost.”

  *

  And fighting is exactly what he does. Since I’m staying with Brittany, I’m back at the same school as Brad. While he was always nice to me at school, he’s been really going out of his way for six weeks now. He sits with me at lunch and brings little bags of sour-cream-and-chive potato chips, my favorite, at least twice a week. He’s in my creative-writing classroom the period before me and leaves special surprises taped to the underside of the desk, like a box of Sno-Caps or a photo of the two of us or some memento of our time together that I can’t believe he still has, like our tickets to homecoming or the receipt from the Mexican restaurant where we admitted we liked each other.

  All this week, I’ve been finding notes in my locker between every single class. They all contain something he likes about me. My strength. My resilience. My compassion. My smile. That my second toe is longer than my first. I have no idea why he likes that or why he even noticed it in the first place, although I suspect it’s because he’s running out of things to write after four and a half days of notes.

  It’s all very sweet and very Brad. If I didn’t have the whole robbery thing still weighing on me, I’d be a melted pile of mush. But I do, and that doubt still sits there in the back of my mind, sneaking in and slapping my wrist whenever I have the urge to hold his hand or run my fingers through his hair.

  Smiling, I fold the current note about how he likes my strange fascination with goats and stuff it into my pocket. Brad’s not the only one going out of his way to be nice. Gigi and I have dinner at least once a week. It was awkward the first couple of times, but we’re getting back to our old selves. Things are still a little tense with Gil, but he’s trying, too. We’ve met at a coffee shop twice but struggled to find things to talk about each time.

  I close my locker and start to head for the cafeteria when Brittany rushes toward me. “Hey!” she says, out of breath. “Did you get any valentines?”

  I scrunch up my face. It’s the first Valentine’s Day in years when I don’t have a boyfriend. Not that Chase ever did anything even remotely romantic, but it still felt nice to have him around on the special day. “No. You?”

  She sticks out her tongue and shakes her head. “It’s a stupid, sappy holiday anyway.”

  “You did not come all the way over here just to ask me about valentines, did you?” Her last class is on the other side of the school, so we usually just meet in the cafeteria for lunch.

  “No. Did you confirm that your electronic transcript was sent with your college applications?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I just assumed they were. Why?”

  “Adam told me a horror story about the school messing up and suggested I check with the office. Want to come with me?”

  “Okay, sure.”

  Fifteen minutes later, and after the office assistant gave us both very dirty looks for questioning their systems, we’re finally on our way to lunch. At least the transcripts were sent. I still don’t know if I’ll get in, but I’d hate to be rejected over a technical error. If they don’t want me for me, fine. I can accept that as long as everything was submitted and I was actually considered.

  “I really hope you end up at NC Central,” she says as we turn the corner.

  “Me, too,” I reply, scanning the people in the hallway. Usually, this late into lunch, the corridor would be clear, but there are big guys lining both sides. And they’re all looking at us.

  “Um, do you notice anything strange?” I ask as I slow down.

  “Nope,” she says, continuing to lead me forward.

  When we reach the first guy, he pulls his hand out from behind his back and shows me a gold rose. “For a new beginning,” he says, handing it to me.

  I give him a confused look and say, “You want me to take this?”

  He laughs and nods, holding it a little closer to me. I cautiously take it from his hand like it might be one of those trick flowers that squirts me with water. It doesn’t.

  After taking two more steps, another guy, one I recognize as someone from the football team, steps up to me holding a yellow rose. “For friendship,” he says.

  I take that one just as cautiously as the first, and then I’m met by yet another guy. “For the impossible,” he says, giving me a rose that matches the color of Brad’s eyes.

  This continues all the way down the hall. By the end, my arms are overflowing with at least twenty different roses in a rainbow of colors. For beauty. For happiness. For forgiveness. With every rose comes a different message. Since I don’t know most of these guys, I’m sure they’re not the real messengers. I search the hallway, looking for him, but he’s nowhere to be found.

  “Are you in on this?” I ask Brittany.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answers with a smile, steering me around the corner.

  And there he is, looking as gorgeous as ever in khakis, a button-down shirt, and even a tie. He’s also holding the most humongous bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen.

  He takes slow steps toward me. “For love?” he whispers with raised eyebrows. “Hailey, will you be my valentine?”

  I have to bite my lip to stop from smiling way too big. “This is a little over the top,” I reply, stepping right in front of him.

  “I fucked up really big. The apology needed to be epic.”

  “This is pretty epic.”

  “So you forgive me?”

  I don’t know exactly when it happened, probably because it was a gradual thing, but my anger and resentment have faded. It just seems unfair to hold one thing, even if it was a really bad thing, as more important than hundreds of good things. Plus, the good things continue day after day, tipping the scale even more.

  I nod and stop biting my lip so he can see my smile. It suddenly feels like the old us.

  He moves the bouquet to one hand and wraps the other around my waist, pulling me close. Lowering his mouth to my ear, he whispers, “Does this also mean you want to be my girlfriend? Like official, we’re-not-hiding-it-from-anyone girlfriend?”

  His breath tickles my ear and reminds me of our night in the hotel before everything fell apart. Despite our secret relationship, life seemed much easier back then.

  When I don’t answer, he continues, “I can’t promise I’ll never mess up aga
in, but I can promise it won’t be like that. From now on, I’ll always be on your side. It’ll be you and me against the world.”

  “You make us sound like superheroes,” I say with a small laugh.

  “Well, you do have some pretty amazing superpowers.”

  I give him a sideways glance.

  “What? I’m serious,” he replies. “You single-handedly took me from having zero interest in a girlfriend to becoming a bumbling fool laying his heart on the line in front of the entire student body despite a very high risk of rejection and complete and utter humiliation.”

  I glance around. He’s right. Hundreds of eyes peer out at us through the windows and open doors of the cafeteria.

  “It would be pretty humiliating if I threw all these flowers in your face and stalked out of here.”

  “Yes,” he says, nodding, “but you’re worth the risk.”

  “Because my second toe is longer than my first?”

  He laughs. “It’s one of the many cute things about you. Along with your eyes,” he says, gently kissing my temple. “And your nose,” he says, tapping it with his finger and then sliding that finger down to my mouth. “And especially your lips.”

  His eyes move from my eyes to my lips and back. I feel like it’s our first kiss all over again. He’s asking my permission without saying the words. And what I do next has the power to change everything.

  If I turn my head, it’s over. Maybe we stay friends until the end of school, but then we’ll go our separate ways. Five years from now, the memories of him will fade to only a vague feeling of happiness and longing with a few key moments like this spotlighting him in the highlight reel of my life.

  Or I can take a giant leap of faith with him. One kiss can change everything in my life once more.

  He shifts from one leg to the other as he stares deep into my eyes, waiting for my decision.

  I swallow and lick my suddenly dry lips.

  I don’t want him to make a guest appearance in my highlight reel. I want him to be my sidekick. My costar. The guy who cheers me on when things go well and cheers me up when they don’t. The guy who tells me when I’m being an idiot and the one who pushes me to be more. I want him by my side for all of it.