Love Me, Love Me Not Read online

  “I think there are some clothes in the closet,” Brad says. “My mom is a neat freak so they’re probably organized by size.” He opens the door and then says, “Make that gender and size.”

  I guess she planned ahead, not knowing who they’d be taking in. That also explains the furniture and bedding—it could easily work for a girl or a guy.

  “Well, you probably want to get settled, right?”

  I don’t have anything to get settled, but it will be nice to have a little alone time after this very long day. “Yeah.”

  “Dinner’s at five tonight since there’s a game. Every other night it’s seven. Don’t be late. It’s one of my dad’s…” He pauses, which draws my eyes back to his face.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Sorry, he’s your dad, too. It’s one of Dad’s pet peeves.”

  “It’s okay. He’s not my dad. She’s not my mom. They’re your parents.” I would never expect random strangers to call me their daughter. And I’m sure they wouldn’t want me to call them Mom and Dad.

  He shakes his head and waves me off as he steps back into the hallway. “I’m happy to share,” he yells over his shoulder.

  I lower myself to the bed and take a deep breath. It’s been a crazy day. A crazy three days, actually. I should call Chase and tell him I’m at my new place. I look around the room but don’t see a phone. I could go searching for one, but I don’t want them to think I’m snooping around. They might assume I’m casing the joint or something and then have a reason to kick me out.

  I can’t move again.

  The last three days have been an exhausting ride. One I’d love to jump off of, but I can’t. The doors are locked tight with both Sherry and Chase grinning at me through the window. Of course, Sherry’s grin is because she’s trying to make things better. Chase … not so much.

  I sigh as realization sets in. I probably shouldn’t call Chase. Not yet. Maybe once I get settled, we can meet someplace away from the Campbells’ house so he can’t mess anything up.

  I nibble on my nail and look out the window at the quiet street below. He’s the last tie to my past. Am I really ready to say good-bye to him for a while? I don’t feel ready. Of course that gnawing in my gut makes it clear I don’t want to be kicked out of another place, either.

  Maybe, sometimes, you have no choice but to do things before you’re ready.

  CHAPTER 4

  At precisely one minute to five, I head downstairs to the dining room, starving because I skipped lunch. I can’t imagine what dinner will be like with four of us around that huge table. Maybe Brad’s football skills will come in handy when his mom asks for a roll. He can chuck it from one end to the other.

  When I enter the room, I’m surprised to find it empty. Just then, Brad comes tearing around the corner. He slams on the brakes when he sees me in the doorway.

  “Dinner’s in the kitchen. We only use this room for holidays and parties.”

  I nod and follow him to a table in a corner of the kitchen. His mom and dad are already sitting down with bowls of different food spread over the tabletop. My mouth starts watering at the sight and smell of everything, and then I start wondering how they could possibly eat this much. It’d take my mom and me a week. Maybe two.

  “You must be Hailey,” Mr. Campbell says, standing. He looks like an older version of Brad, with the same sharp jaw and mostly the same hair color, but with a little gray peeking through. He’s also got a dimple on his right cheek, just like his son. Unlike Brad, he wears black-rimmed glasses. They make him look distinguished, and I wonder what he does for a living.

  “Sit down, please,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Mr. Campbell continues. “Would you like chicken?” he asks, passing a bowl to me. I accept it and take a piece for myself before handing it to Brad, who piles three pieces on his plate.

  “So,” Mrs. Campbell says, “do you like being called Hailey? Or do you have a nickname you prefer?”

  “Hailey, please.”

  She nods. “And what would you like to call us?” she asks.

  “Umm … I don’t know. What are my options?” Neither of my other foster homes gave me a choice. It was Mr. and Mrs. Garner and Ms. Jacobson.

  “Mom and Dad. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. Ms. Gigi and Mr. Gil. Aunt Gigi and Uncle Gil. Gigi and Gil. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

  “Pain-in-the-ass number one and pain-in-the-ass number two?” Brad suggests. At first, I think he’s serious, but then he shoots a smile at his parents, who shake their heads in return.

  I think about my options. Mom and Dad would be weird. I already have a mom, even if she doesn’t deserve the title. And no one, not even my mom, knows who my dad is. I used to dream about a guy showing up on our doorstep, telling me he was my dad, and sweeping me up and away from everything, but that never happened. It never does in the real world.

  Calling them Mr. and Mrs. Campbell seems very stuffy, like I’m in school. It’s fancy, like their house. It’s going to be hard to feel at home here if we’re that formal with one another.

  “Maybe Gigi and Gil for now?” I say.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Not nearly as much fun as my option,” Brad says, spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork.

  Ignoring him, Gil says, “Now that that’s settled, we have to deal with the … uncomfortable part of a new placement—the ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?”

  “Just to make sure we all understand one another. They’re the rules we set for Brad, and we’ll also expect you to follow them while living with us.”

  I nod and accept a bowl of mashed potatoes from Brad.

  “Rule number one: If you ever have a boy in your bedroom, you need to keep your door open.” He pauses for a moment. “Actually, this rule should be modified a bit. Whenever you have a friend in your room, please keep the door open. That goes for both of you from now on.”

  Brad rolls his eyes. “Yes, because Adam and I are going to go at it with the door closed.”

  “The rules apply to both our children,” Gigi says.

  Brad shakes his head and turns to me. “This is their way of covering their bases because they don’t know which way you lean romantically.”

  I cough as chicken gets stuck in my throat. I look at his parents, who wave off his comment. “We don’t care either way,” Gil says.

  “We just want to keep you safe,” Gigi adds. “That means no sex.”

  “Got it,” I mutter, staring at my plate. Their rule is no different than in my other foster homes, but hearing them say it makes my stomach drop anyway. Even if I decide to stay away from Chase, that doesn’t mean he’ll decide to stay away from me.

  “So, which way do you lean?” Brad asks.

  “Bradley Nolan!” Gigi exclaims.

  “Dude, she’s my sister now. I should know these things.”

  “I have a boyfriend,” I mutter.

  “That’s wonderful,” Gigi says.

  “Let me know if I ever need to kick his ass.” Brad shovels seconds onto his plate. I can’t believe he stays so fit with how much he’s eating. It’s easily three times the size of my meal, which explains why they make so much food for dinner.

  “Rule number two: No drugs or alcohol,” Gil says. “But if you ever are intoxicated, please call us to pick you up. Never get into a car with someone under the influence. We’ll pick you up, no questions asked.”

  “It’s true,” Brad adds. “But then you’ll feel like a complete failure the next day because you screwed up big-time and they won’t even yell at you. They’ll just look at you with disappointment as though you aren’t disappointed enough in yourself. It sucks. Just don’t do it.”

  “Sounds like you have personal experience with this,” I point out, starting to enjoy his commentary.

  “A little.”

  Gigi ignores our side conversation and says, “Rule number three: No stealing. If you need money
for something, let us know. We’re happy to work out a chore and allowance schedule or help you get a job, if you’d like to do that. We’ll cover all your food, toiletries, and school expenses, including any clubs or sports you’d like to join. DSS will give you a small stipend for clothes twice a year, and we’ll supplement that as needed. Other things like music or entertainment are on you.”

  I look to Brad, expecting his expert advice, but he’s silent as he chugs a glass of milk, which makes me think this might be a rule that only applies to me. I can’t blame them really; they don’t know me. I obviously have no money. Of course they’d assume I’d steal from them.

  I nod and slump against my chair, having lost my appetite. They’ve seemed like such great people, and I honestly thought they saw me differently, but it’s clear that’s not true.

  “You okay?” Gil asks.

  I nod again.

  “Last rule,” Gigi says. “We know we won’t always see eye to eye on things, but we want you to feel comfortable coming to us when something’s bothering you. We won’t judge you. We want to help.”

  Won’t judge me? It seems like they already did with rule number three. I don’t want to get into that with them, so I just say, “Okay.”

  “Dinnertime’s not an official rule?” Brad asks, looking at his dad.

  “You’re right! Rule number five: Dinner at five on game nights and at seven all other days. It’s my favorite time of day. Don’t be late.”

  “If you are, you’ll face the wrath of Dad,” Brad says.

  I smile politely.

  “You don’t want to know what the wrath of Dad entails?” he asks. “I’ll tell you anyway. If you’re late, he’ll force you to watch his god-awful Westerns from the fifties. It’s so painful. They are horrible, horrible movies.”

  “Those are high-quality films!” Gil says, sounding hurt. “Much better than the CGI crap you call movies these days.”

  “High quality? They’re in black and white and have no special effects!”

  “Because the point of the movie is the plot. You don’t need explosions if you have an actual plot.”

  “Sometimes I don’t understand how I could be your son,” Brad says, shaking his head and pushing his empty plate away from himself. “May I be excused? I need to finish some homework before the game.”

  “Yes, dear,” Gigi says. “Are you finished, Hailey?”

  I nod, and then Gigi takes my plate from me.

  “I can wash the dishes,” I quietly offer.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod and clear the rest of the table.

  “Okay, would you like this to be your chore?” Gigi asks.

  “Um, sure. I usually did this at home.”

  “Perfect. How does forty dollars a week allowance sound?”

  “For washing dishes?”

  “And putting them away.”

  Forty dollars might as well be a thousand. I’ve never had an income, since I never had a car to get me to a job. And, despite doing all the housework, my mom never once gave me an allowance. Why would she want to waste her precious few dollars on her daughter when there was crack to buy?

  “You don’t have to pay me,” I say, piling dishes in the sink. “I’m happy to do it since you’re letting me stay here.”

  “Don’t be silly. Brad gets an allowance for doing our landscaping; you should get one for whatever chore you choose. Dishes work for me, if that’s what you want.”

  “Brad does chores?”

  “Of course.”

  “And gets an allowance?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I thought rule number three only applied to me.”

  Gigi steps next to me and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Oh, honey, no. Like I said, the rules are for both of you. I’m sorry we weren’t clear.”

  “It’s okay,” I say quietly as that heavy rock in the pit of my stomach disappears into thin air. It’s a relief to know my initial impression of them being wonderful hasn’t been ruined just yet.

  I glance around the sink, eager to tackle the dishes now that I’m feeling better about the Campbells. I look for what I need, but there’s nothing here. “Um … how do you want me to do this?” I ask. You’d think washing dishes would be the same no matter where you are, but I always kept the dish soap on the back right corner of the sink and the sponge on the left. I can’t find either here.

  Gigi opens a cabinet under the sink, revealing a bunch of things, including a green-and-yellow sponge. She points to a lever next to the faucet and says, “Soap.” Stepping behind me, she points next to my legs and adds, “Dishwasher.”

  “Okay, great,” I reply. I open the door of the dishwasher and stare inside. I’ve never used one of these. Am I going to look like a complete idiot if I admit that? I close the door and search for a button to turn it on, but can’t find one. I pull the door back down and scan inside again, but it’s not there, either.

  “Um … can you show me how to work this?” I ask. They’re going to think I’m from the backwoods.

  “Oh, sure. Just load it up however you want. We each have our own way, and everyone thinks their way is best,” she says with a grin. “You do what works for you.” She then goes on to show me how to add the soap and turn it on.

  “Do I need to wash stuff before I put it in?”

  “Just give them a rinse. The dishwasher can take care of the rest.”

  I follow her instructions and start lining plates in the bottom right, bowls on the bottom left, and glasses on the top. I have no idea what I’m doing, but hopefully it doesn’t show.

  “Hailey, are you coming to the game with us?” Gil asks, looking up from his phone.

  “Um…,” I say, buying myself a little time. I’ve never seen a football game. I don’t even know how the game works. The bigger issue, though, is being around all those students and parents at the game. I glance down at my droopy outfit and stained shirt.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” Gigi says, spooning leftovers into a plastic container. “You saw the clothes in your closet, right?”

  I nod.

  “I think there’s a Pinecrest Patriots T-shirt in there you can wear. And some jeans. You’ll fit right in.”

  How did she know what I was thinking?

  “You load it like Brad,” Gil says, nodding toward the dishwasher. “I’ve got to have the bowls up top so I can turn them completely over. I hate when they still have water in them afterward.”

  “Oh, I can move them,” I tell him, starting to rearrange.

  “Leave her alone,” Gigi says, swatting him with a towel. “The way you’re doing it is fine. You can fit more dishes in this way.”

  “So,” Gil says, “are you coming to the game?”

  “Um … I guess so,” I answer, when all I want to do is go to bed early and sleep for twelve hours. I don’t feel like that’s an option, though. They’re all going, and I can’t really stay here alone on my first night. Besides, I’d be a little freaked out in this huge house by myself.

  “Great! We’ll leave in about twenty minutes,” Gil responds.

  I nod.

  At least if I’m not here, Chase can’t get me kicked out. Maybe I’ll finally spend an entire night in a foster home.

  CHAPTER 5

  I’m sitting in the stands, watching the team run up and down the field. I can’t really follow the game or the rules, but I do know we want a touchdown. Or, another touchdown, that is. It’s twenty-one to seven with the Patriots in the lead. Luckily, it’s easy to know when to cheer or groan with hundreds of eager fans around you.

  I shove my hands into my pockets and try to ignore the smell of popcorn coming from the guy in front of me, but it’s nearly impossible. My mouth waters every time the wind blows and sends another buttery whiff my way.

  “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Gigi asks, nudging my shoulder. She must have noticed me staring.

  “No, thanks,” I say, focusing back on the game. I’d love some popco
rn, but I don’t have any money and it doesn’t feel right to use theirs, especially when I barely know them.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Here’s twenty bucks,” Gil says, reaching into his pocket. “Go raid the snack bar.”

  “I can’t take your money,” I reply, pushing his hand back as my stomach growls and makes me question my decision.

  “It’s for food. We told you we’d cover all your food expenses.” He hands the bill back to me.

  “That’s for meals. Not snacks at a football game.”

  “Food is food in my book, but if it makes you feel better, you can grab me a Coke while you’re down there. Then anything you get for yourself is payment for doing me a favor.”

  Just then, something happens on the field and everyone starts cheering. Gil shoves the bill into my hand and then jumps up, pumping his fists overhead and cheering. Gigi joins him as I stare at the money. I guess I could at least get him a Coke.

  “Do you want anything?” I yell at Gigi to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

  “I’ll take a water. And do you want to share a popcorn? I’d like one, but I can’t eat an entire box.”

  “Oh, um, sure. I guess so,” I reply, drawing my eyebrows together. They totally just tricked me into spending their money on snacks at a football game.

  “Get yourself a drink, too!” she yells as I start to make my way down the stands.

  With everyone excited about the current play, it’s difficult to move as fans jump around and constantly bump into me. Finally, I’m at ground level and have an open path with everyone crowded around the fence.

  The bright lights and smells coming from the snack bar summon me, and I’m glad I agreed to share with Gigi.

  “Hales?”

  I turn toward the voice and find the last person on earth I want to see tonight.

  “It is you. I’ve been waiting all day for your call. Where the hell you been? What are you wearing?”

  “Chase.” All the good things that have happened today suddenly seem like a dream. That’s not my life. Chase, with all his drama, is my life. Somehow, he’ll make the Campbells kick me out before the night is over, and I’ll be right back where I belong.