Love Me, Love Me Not Page 8

  She has no idea how her family looks to an outsider. “Compared to me, you’re perfect.”

  “That’s not true. I’m not going to get angry, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Yes, you will. I broke a rule.”

  “Which rule?”

  “Number one.”

  She thinks for a moment and then says, “You had someone in your room with the door closed?”

  “Not my room. The weight room.”

  “Is there more to the story?”

  I nod. There’s no way I’m going to be able to tell her. They only asked a few things of me. They were all easy rules, yet I didn’t follow them for even two days.

  “Did you have sex?” she asks.

  I bite my lip. I’m not sure if she’d technically consider what we did sex. “Um … maybe?” I say.

  Her mouth turns down, either in disgust or confusion. I can’t tell which. “It’s usually a yes-or-no thing,” she finally says, making me realize it’s more confusion.

  “I … we … it wasn’t like…” I bite my lip again and tap my fingers on the tabletop.

  “You did something intimate?” Gigi asks, saving me from having to say the words.

  I nod.

  “Any chance you could be pregnant from what you did?”

  I shake my head.

  “Get an STD?”

  “Um … probably not.” I look down at my hands. At least I don’t think so.

  I feel the heat creeping up my neck as the blush rises to my cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to break your rule. I just … I … I was trying to get him to leave.”

  “Who?”

  “My boyfriend … I mean ex-boyfriend. I decided to break up with him.”

  “You had … something close to sex with him to get him to leave?”

  I nod again even though I know how stupid it must sound to her.

  “Why did you decide to break up with him?” she asks, studying me.

  I bite my lip again. “I think he is kind of … not great for me.”

  She gives me a small smile. “Okay,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “First, thanks for telling me. I know that wasn’t easy, so I appreciate your honesty.”

  I bite my lip again, waiting for what comes next. Is she going to kick me out like everyone else has?

  “I’d like to take you to the doctor to make sure everything’s okay,” she says, surprising me.

  “I—I just went this week,” I say.

  “Another appointment won’t hurt. Plus, I’d like to get you established with a doctor anyway.”

  “Okaaay,” I say, drawing out the word and finally meeting her eyes. She wouldn’t make me go to the doctor if she were kicking me out.

  “Good. Now that that’s settled, we need to decide what to do. When you break rules around here, you lose a privilege for a little while. Do you have any suggestions on what to lose?”

  That’s it? Brad was right last night? They really aren’t going to kick me out over this? The freight train on my chest vanishes into thin air as I realize how lucky I am. She could take away all my privileges, and I wouldn’t care. The only privilege I need is to be a part of this family.

  “So, what do you think?” Gigi asks.

  I’m not exactly sure what she’s considering. At home, on a good day, my mom would take away food or lock me out of the house if I made her mad. When she was drunk, she’d get violent.

  “I guess I could skip lunch and dinner today,” I offer.

  “What? No! I’d never withhold food from you.” The serious face she’s worn this entire conversation turns to a frown and her eyes soften. I know that look well. It’s pity, and I wish I had kept my mouth shut. “How about if I take away two days of your allowance?” she asks.

  I can’t believe what she’s suggesting. Since I’m not used to having money ever handed to me, that seems like a very minor price to pay. “That’s it?”

  “That seems fair since it appears you learned from your mistake and are truly sorry for what you did.”

  “I am. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

  “I believe you.”

  She stands and walks around the table to give me a hug. I’m completely floored by how she handled it. She didn’t kick me out. She didn’t scream at me. She didn’t even give me much of a punishment. Is this how normal families work? If so, mine is a hundred times more dysfunctional than I thought.

  CHAPTER 12

  Brakes screech as another bus pulls into the line, but it’s not mine. Mine usually takes at least ten minutes to get here, so I settle onto the concrete wall to wait.

  “Bye, Hailey!” a girl says as she walks past to catch her bus. She’s friends with Brittany and we’ve talked a few times, but I can’t remember her name. I hate that she remembers mine when I’m so forgetful. Of course, she only had to learn one new name when I’ve had to learn a ton.

  “See ya later!” I reply with a wave.

  As I watch her board the bus, a familiar figure strolls into view. It’s Brad, which is weird. He has a car. In the week I’ve been here, I’ve never seen him around the bus line.

  I watch him as he wanders along the buses, alternating his attention between the students’ faces behind the windows and those milling around on the curb. The whole time he’s chatting or at least smiling and raising his chin in greeting to those he passes. It’s like no one is a stranger to him, which I find hard to believe since there are more than two thousand students in this school.

  When he gets right in front of me, he looks in my direction and our eyes lock. The smile he’s been wearing grows even bigger, and he strolls over to me.

  “Want a ride today?”

  “Thanks, but I’m good.”

  “You’d rather ride the bus?”

  I shrug. He’s offered to drive me to school every morning this week, but I hop on the bus instead. I figured he was just trying to be nice. It’s not like the popular football star really wants to be seen with the foster kid. That’s a great way to ruin your reputation in like five seconds flat.

  “I don’t have a problem with it,” I say. Besides, I’ve been a bus rider since kindergarten, so it’s not like I know any different.

  “It’ll take you three times as long to get home.”

  “I’m not in a hurry.”

  “Okay, then,” he says, rocking back on his heels and looking around us. “The bus it is.” He pauses. “Maybe I should join you if it’s so great?”

  “What about your car?”

  “I can get it tomorrow.”

  “You can’t leave your car here. It makes no sense.”

  “Good point. Let’s go,” he says, nodding in the direction of the student parking lot, as if the decision has already been made. I guess it kind of has. If he’s not concerned about his reputation, why should I be?

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of pushy?” I ask.

  “Me? Pushy? Never.”

  I roll my eyes. “Do you always get your way?”

  He smiles, revealing his dimple. “Yep. I’m selfish like that. It’s an only-child thing.”

  “I guess there are worse ways to be selfish than demanding I ride home with you,” I reply with a grin.

  “Exactly. I’m selfish, but in a generous way.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “I’m not sure selfish and generous are supposed to go together.”

  “You’re the one who said I’m a walking contradiction.”

  “That you are,” I say, pushing myself off the wall and collecting my backpack.

  As we’re walking, he says, “If your concern is my driving, I’d be happy to provide you with a full background check showing my spotless record.”

  “Yes, that’s what I need to feel better about getting into your car.”

  He reaches down to his pocket and pulls out his phone. He starts moving around the screens until a document pops up.

  “Wait. You’re serious?” I ask. I thought he was trying to be funny.


  “I’d hate for you to fear for your life while I’m driving.”

  “I’ve already been in your car, remember?”

  “Did you fear for your life?”

  No. Not at all. He’s one of the most cautious drivers I’ve ever seen. “A little,” I tease. “I thought that golf cart was going to rear-end us as you crawled through the subdivision.”

  “Have you not seen the deer in our neighborhood? You have to go slow so you don’t hit one.”

  I’ve been here a week and haven’t seen any deer. I even ran through the woods that one night and didn’t see any.

  “We have hundreds of them,” he continues with a smug look. “And they have no respect for the road.”

  “You’re blaming your grandpa driving skills on innocent deer?”

  “They’re not innocent!”

  “But you admit you have grandpa driving skills?”

  “Only because the deer have a death wish,” he says, gesturing with his hands like this is common knowledge. Maybe it is for people who grew up here.

  “Is that also why you parked as far from the mall as possible last weekend?” I ask, loving the defensive reaction I’m getting out of him. He’s usually the calm, cool, and collected one who pokes fun at me. It’s fun to see how he reacts when the tables are turned.

  “Oh, come ooon,” he says, drawing out the words. “It wasn’t as far as possible.”

  “There were like a gazillion closer spots.”

  “You should be happy,” he says, pointing at me. “I got you some exercise.”

  “Are you calling me fat?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Everyone needs exercise.”

  “Well, thank you, Brad, for looking out for my well-being.”

  “See? Generous. It’s my middle name. Here’s the report,” he says, trying to hand me his phone.

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to see it, but why exactly do you have this?”

  “Foster licensing. They did a full background check on us. I guess we all passed.”

  “No skeletons hidden in your dad’s closet?”

  “Apparently not. Shocking, right?”

  We reach the student parking lot, and I glance around, looking for his car, but can’t spot it. He walks between two cars to reach the next aisle and then turns left. There, at the end of the row, is his black BMW, many, many spots away from any other cars.

  “What is it with you and parking?” I ask, following him.

  “The more you make fun of me, the farther away I’ll park,” he says, smiling at me from over his shoulder.

  It takes us less than ten minutes to reach his house. If I had taken the bus, I’d still have about an hour. I don’t want to admit it, but this was much better.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say.

  “Sure. So, I’ll drive you home any day I don’t have practice?” he asks, hanging his backpack on a hook by the door.

  I guess he really doesn’t care about being seen with me at school. If that’s the case, I’m not about to pass up a ride. “I guess so. Since I know you won’t take no for an answer.”

  “You’re learning,” he says with a smile. “I can drive you in the mornings, too.”

  We move into the kitchen, and I start to head for the stairs while he goes to the refrigerator.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, opening the door.

  “My room.”

  “Why?”

  I don’t have a reason. For the past week, whenever I get back from school, I go straight to my room until dinner. In fact, I spend most of my time in my room. It’s not like the Campbells have forbidden me from going anywhere in their house, but it’s still their home. I feel weird being in other rooms unless I’m invited by one of them. My room just seems like the safest place.

  When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Want a snack?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Want to keep me company while I eat?”

  Not wanting to be rude, I say, “I guess so,” and turn around.

  Brad piles three gigantic slices of pizza onto a plate and carries it and a bottle of Gatorade to the table. I sit opposite him.

  “You’re not hungry?” he asks.

  I’m a little hungry, but dinner shouldn’t be too far off. Why Brad would eat this much right now is strange. “Won’t your mom make dinner in a couple hours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Won’t she be upset if you don’t eat?”

  “Why wouldn’t I eat?”

  “You’re having an entire meal right now.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “You’ve never seen me demolish an entire pizza. This is nothing.” He pauses. “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Lasagna. Why?”

  “What about snack food?”

  “Potato chips.”

  He jumps up from the table and goes to the pantry. I hear him rummaging around in there, and then he sticks his head out. “Plain or a flavor?”

  “Sour cream and chive. Why?”

  He emerges with a bag and holds it triumphantly overhead. “You’re in luck.”

  After tossing the chips on the table, he sits down and goes back to his cold pizza. I look at the bag and wonder what I should do. It’s a brand-new bag. Does he really want me to open it?

  As if reading my thoughts, he reaches over and tears it open, then shoves it in my direction.

  “Eat up,” he says. “Winter’s coming. We need to get a little meat on your bones so you don’t freeze to death.”

  “You’re trying to fatten me up?”

  “Yep.”

  That should probably make me mad, but it has the opposite effect. For years, I’ve wanted to look healthy, not like a skeleton. It’s reassuring to see him want the same thing without me ever saying a word about my weight. It’s another small bit of proof I’m in the right place.

  I take a chip from the bag and nibble on it. It’s as delicious as expected, and I quickly gobble it up and reach for another. “This may do it,” I say as I eat a third.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he asks.

  “Green. Why?”

  “How come you’re so suspicious of everything I do or say?”

  I shrug. Being in foster care puts you in weird situations. Maybe I react to the weirdness by being suspicious of everyone and everything.

  “Just trying to get to know you,” he says before stuffing a big piece of crust into his mouth.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I ask once he’s swallowed it.

  “Blue. Favorite holiday?”

  I have to think about that. Holidays weren’t a big thing at home, but I loved the parties we had in elementary school. Especially when they involved candy. “Valentine’s Day. Yours?”

  “Christmas. Most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

  Ugh. The Chase incident. I was hoping to never think about that again. Actually, I’d love to never think about Chase again, but that’s probably never going to happen. Every night after I turn off my bedroom light, I peek out the window to make sure he’s not lurking around outside. So far, so good. Maybe Brad really can keep him away like he said. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but I am grateful. Answering Brad’s question, I say “That’s easy. You saw it last weekend.”

  “You’re lucky then.”

  I lick the grease off my fingers and ask, “Why do you say that?” I certainly didn’t feel lucky at the time. After it was all over, I guess I was lucky because Gil and Gigi didn’t kick me out and Brad and I are able to pretend it never happened. And Chase does seem to be out of my life as a result of that night, at least for the time being. Regardless, it’s still the most embarrassing thing ever.

  “Only two people witnessed your most embarrassing moment. That’s nothing.”

  “Yours is worse?”

  “Oh yeah.” He takes another bite of pizza, so I wait to hear more. After swallowing, he takes a gulp of Gatorade, and then goes back to the pizza like he has no intentio
n of saying anything else.

  “Well?” I finally ask, unable to handle the suspense any longer.

  “Well what?”

  “What happened?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yes!” It’d be nice to have some dirt on Brad, because right now he seems like a saint. I’d love to have some evidence he’s a normal person.

  He leans back in his chair and says, “Two years ago, before a game, I was doing squats to warm up and my pants ripped. My ass was hanging out there for the whole world to see, including Mom and my old Sunday-school teacher.”

  I cover my mouth to hide my smile.

  “And you know what Adam did? You’d think he’d come down from the stands and get me a towel or something, right? Nope. He took a picture that somehow ended up in the hands of my teammates, who teased me forever. They still call me Moonshine.”

  I don’t want to laugh at his most embarrassing moment, but it’s a good one.

  “Go ahead,” he says, holding his hands out. “Make fun of me all you want.”

  “Sorry,” I say. I lose my internal battle and laugh. “That is bad.”

  “No kidding. At least only two people witnessed yours.”

  “Still, I was horrified. It happened in front of the cute boy I just met and will see every single day.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Cute? I thought I was hot.”

  I hold up my finger. “I never said you were hot.” I remember specifically telling him that was other girls, not me.

  “That’s right,” he says, nodding. “You had too much other stuff on your mind to think about me that day. It’s good to know your mind’s emptying out so you can focus on more important things like whether I’m hot or cute.”

  I roll my eyes. “I have so not been doing that.” Okay, I have, but he doesn’t need to know. He’s hot. Definitely hot.

  He shrugs and gives me an innocent look. “Somehow you landed on cute. Seems like you must’ve put some serious thought into it.”

  “Nope. It just sounded nicer than ‘pushy, walking-contradiction boy I’ll see every day.’”

  He laughs and stands. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you’re cute, too,” he says with a quick smile before loading his plate into the dishwasher.

  My mouth drops open.

  He did not just say that.