“You’re not eating,” I tell her. “You need to eat.” And not just because it’s her way out of here either. I want Bethany to be okay. I want them all to be okay.
She whips her head up to face me, fire lighting in her previously dull eyes, with enough ferocity to burn me. Umm, what the heck did I do to her? “Like you’re one to talk. You don’t do anything to get better, Hunter. You never even talk in therapy or anything. All you care about is hanging out with Stray!”
Whoa. Holy freak-out. “Excuse me for caring!”
She flinches, but I’m not exactly sure why. How does she know how hard I’m trying? I’m here, every day just like her. And I talk to them. I’ve made friends with them, when I didn’t want to be friends with anyone when I first got here.
My head throbs as I squeeze my hands tightly.
“Don’t fight. Please don’t fight.” Casey closes his eyes, rocks back and forth. My body jerks when I feel a hand on my leg but then relaxes. It’s Stray. He can touch me. I want him to touch me.
“Hey, it’s okay, Casey, they’re not fighting. No one’s fighting, right?” There’s quiet command in Rosie’s voice, the way my mom would sound when she’s trying to hint at me about something but also with that you better not screw this up edge to her voice.
The throb gets softer. My hands start to loosen, but Stray doesn’t let go.
“What’s wrong, Bethany? You okay?” Stray asks, and then I hear it, the quiet muffle of her cries. It silences the pounding in my head. Rough, clumsy fingers wipe away her tears, like if she makes them disappear fast enough, none of us would have seen them.
We all saw, though.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry I freaked out on you, Hunter. I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”
“It’s cool. Are you okay, though?” I ask because it’s easier than focusing on the fact that I could have lost my temper right there, that I could have gone violent-Hunter for no real reason.
But also because I care about her too.
“I’m fine. I promise. It’s just a bad day.”
Rosie’s said it before: we all have them. I know I do, but it feels like more than a bad day for Beth. Before any of us has the chance to say anything, a nurse steps beside Beth. “You’ve hardly touched your breakfast.”
“Sorry, we were talking.” She gives the nurse a fake smile and then takes a bite, then another.
None of us talk the rest of breakfast as the nurse continues to stand by, watching Bethany eat.
MORNING THERAPY is BS like it always is. Casey’s even quieter than usual. It stresses me out, seeing him like that, puts me on edge as though I have to watch everything I do.
My second day here, I thought I would hate him. It drove me crazy the way Stray and Rosie protected him as though he couldn’t take care of himself. But now, I find myself watching what I do or say to Casey. He might be the most broken of all of us because he’s nothing but kind. He’s not a jerk like me, or sarcastic like Rosie. Stray’s all heart, but he’s also a fighter—scrappy like he said. He’s heart in the way that he’ll stick around even if it’s just to make sure everyone else is okay. Even if it’s not what’s best for him.
Bethany has that confidence in there too. She’s not as outspoken as Rosie, but she says what’s on her mind. Casey doesn’t have any of that. He’s the boy behind the building, with Brock and Abraham giving him shit.
And just like Stray and Rosie, I want to make sure he’s cool.
“Do you want to hang out?” I ask him after therapy. Brock nudges Megan with a smile when I do.
Fuck him. Fuck them. They’re not hurting my friends.
“Let’s go.” I grab ahold of Casey’s arm, but his eyes go wide and he jerks away. “Hey. I wasn’t. I didn’t mean….” None of my words form full sentences. I should’ve known better than to grab him like that.
“I know, okay? I know. It’s like I told you before, I get it. I just can’t help but react sometimes. I… I gotta go. I’m meeting with my psy—psychiatrist.”
Casey runs away, and even though a part of me knows better, I can’t help but feel like I failed him. Like I’m screwing up with all my friends, the same way I did with Holly.
“It’s not your fault, Mr. Donovan.” Mrs. Spencer’s voice doesn’t have her smile in it. I don’t turn to look at her, don’t dwell on the fact that I’m not sure how long she’s been there.
“My name is Hunter.” Haven’t I already asked her not to call me that?
“Okay. It’s still not your fault, though. You understand that, right? If Casey has a bad day, there’s nothing you can do except to try to be there for him.”
My thoughts try to overpower each other, each side getting louder and louder. It’s a mixture of—Yes it is! You don’t know! I let her down. I’ll let them all down and really? Do you promise? She knows, though. I never told her what I was thinking, yet she knows. That says something. That proves I have some fault.
“Get out of my head. Stop trying to analyze everything I do and say.” One foot in front of the other, I quickly walk away, but Mrs. Spencer is right there with me.
“That’s what we’re here for. We only want to help. The thing is, that’s what you’re doing. It comes automatic for you to want to be there for your friends. I see it—the way you look at them. You want to be there for them. That’s an admirable quality. Why can’t we want to be here for you too?”
When I don’t speak, she again says the words I hate. “It’s not your fault. None of it’s your fault.”
“Yeah? Then why do I feel so fucking guilty?” It’s always there, lingering, weighing me down. Waiting to take me over. Holly, Mom, even Bethany and Casey. If I could make one of them okay, I would feel better. Why can’t I just make one of them okay?
She puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Guilt is rarely logical. It’s powerful once it has you in its grasp, but just remember, it’s rarely logical. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel that way, though.”
For the first time, her smile doesn’t make me angry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AFTERNOON THERAPY is about decision-making. These sessions remind me of kindergarten—all these little sayings and lessons—caring is sharing and all that crap. They’re trying to arm us with all this stuff that’s supposed to teach us something, when none of it really does. Living is the only way to learn.
I mean, yeah, I get it. If I hadn’t chosen to wreck that display case, then I might not be here. Actions and consequences, yada yada, but in that second, when my adrenaline was going and my pain eating me alive, I felt like I didn’t have a choice. Not really. It wasn’t about my decision-making skills or lack thereof. My body just sort of took over my mind.
“It’s not always that easy,” I interrupt John while he’s giving us a one, two, three on how to make smart decisions.
“How’s that, Hunter?” There’s shock in his eyes, but he’s trying to hide it. Everyone’s probably surprised I said anything, but really? This lesson is bull.
“In the heat of the moment, we don’t all have it in us to work through the consequences of each decision. In a perfect world, yeah, but this world is far from that.” My gaze darts around the room, landing on everyone, waiting for someone to pick up where I left off. When they don’t, I continue. “Decision-making skills aren’t something you can teach. They’re not even real, because every decision is different. Every situation is.” There. Take that.
“Yeah, and they’re unique to each person too,” Bethany adds. “Sometimes our decisions make sense to us, or mean something to us, when they wouldn’t make sense to someone else. Just because one person understands them doesn’t mean everyone does, but that doesn’t mean a person didn’t come to the best decision they could for themselves… or at least try to.”
“Good. That’s really good.” John nods. “You guys are both right, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to try and help you make good decisions. Emotions are powerful, but we can’t be run by them. Other as
pects factor in—right and wrong, consequences, safety. Decision-making is about recognizing that moment when our urges start to take over.”
His words find the little cracks inside me and wiggle their way through. He’s right. I know he’s right. Dad didn’t care about right or wrong when it came to Holly; he only cared about what he wanted.
The same way I only cared about what I wanted when I bailed on her so much.
The same way I let my emotions take over, wrecking the trophy case because I was mad at my dad.
“Intent.” My heart skips a few beats, surprised the word came from me. “Does that make a difference in the choices people make? If they didn’t intend for things to happen the way they do?”
I lean forward in my chair, elbows on my knees, needing his answer. Needing him to tell me that intent does matter.
“It’s not a black or white answer, Hunter,” he says, but that’s not what I want to hear. I want him to tell me intent is the only thing that matters. Then maybe it’ll all be okay. “The intent behind a decision is definitely important. If you’re trying to hurt someone changes things compared to if you’re not. What results you hope to get always matters, but there’s a gray area as well. If I’m speeding because I don’t want to get stuck at a red light, then wreck my car. And say I hurt someone in the process, no, my intent hadn’t been to hurt them, but the outcome was the same. I made the decision to speed, and as a result, someone was hurt. That’s why our decisions matter. On the flip side, if I decide one morning to take my wife coffee in bed and I accidentally spill it and burn her, my decision came from a good place. It came from me trying to do something kind for her rather than something selfish that I subconsciously knew could cause harm to others. Does that make sense?”
It does, and it’s not the answer I was looking for. I still don’t know how to work through exactly what he said—if my intent mattered or not.
“You guys did great today.” John looks at me when he speaks, and I’m hoping what he said is true. That I did do well. Bethany said I wasn’t trying to get better, and it pissed me off, but beneath the anger, I know she’s right. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy for me to say what they want me to say, though.
“Who are you, and what did you do with Hunter?” A smile curls Stray’s lips when he looks at me.
I shrug. “Bethany said I don’t talk, had to prove her wrong.” And I’m worried about her. If I talk, maybe she’ll say what’s wrong. Maybe I can help her.
“So this is about me, huh?” Bethany nudges me the way Rosie would. “I’m sorry again about earlier. I don’t know what got into me.”
When I look at her, I see Holly. She’s short and thin like my sister. She’s blonde like her too. I took after Mom. My skin is more bronze and my hair dark. Holly’s Dad. Bethany could be Holly.
“It’s okay.” Suddenly, I need out of this building. Need sunshine on my skin. Need to forget where I am and just spend time with these people. I want another day like I had with Stray on the horses or when we played games that first night.
“Let’s hang out,” I tell them. “We have free time. I want to just….” I shrug. I don’t know what exactly it is I want.
“I’ll get Rose and Casey and meet you guys outside!” Bethany skips away, looking happier than I’ve seen her in days. It’s freaking cool that I don’t need an excuse to want to hang out or have to explain myself to them. They’re just up for whatever. It’s an awesome quality to have.
“You like us,” Stray says. “You didn’t want to, but you like us.”
“I already told you, I like you.”
“But this is different.” He doesn’t tell me how it’s different, but I know he’s right. I really like them all. Putting my arm around his shoulders, I say, “Let’s go, you know-it-all.”
And Stray goes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I’M RESTLESS,” Rosie says as we all sit in the middle of the field I thought would be good for baseball. We’re all together, but haven’t figured out what to do with our free time.
“Uh-oh. That means trouble.” Bethany giggles, and Rosie picks a handful of grass before tossing it at her. I don’t say it, but I think Bethany’s right. Restless Rosie could mean trouble. “This is kind of random, but I was thinking we should swap information—addresses and phone numbers and such. You know,” Bethany shrugs. “For after.” Because she might be leaving.
“I don’t have a cell. The foster parents are in Remington, though,” Stray replies.
My cheeks hurt when I smile. “No shit? I’m only like twenty minutes from there.”
“They probably won’t keep me, Hunter.”
Rosie sighs. “Mr. Negativity. At least be happy there’s a chance you could end up a short drive from your boyfriend. That’s a good thing.”
It really freaking is.
My legs are bent, crossed, as I run my hand through the grass, letting it prick my fingers. Casey’s sitting up too, but Rosie, Stray, and Beth are all lying down. Stray’s head is next to my left leg, his hair in his face. It would feel much better than the itchy grass on my skin so I reach out and run my hands through it.
“That feels good,” he says.
It makes me sit a little taller to hear that. “Come here.” I nod, and he leans closer, rolls to his back and lets his head rest on my lap. Blue strands of soft hair fall through my fingers as I run my hand through it over and over. He closes his eyes, little lines around them like he has his eyes tighter because of the sun.
“Tell us a story, Rosie.” When Stray finishes speaking, I touch one of his freckles, and he bats my hand away with a smile on his face.
“What kind of story?” I ask.
“Rosie has the best stories. My parents would die if I did some of the things she’s done.” There’s a wistfulness in Casey’s voice that says he wants to, that he wishes he had it in him to be wild, reckless, and carefree like her.
“Hmm….” Rosie taps her forehead with her first finger, like she’s pretending to think.
“Hard to choose?” That must mean there’s a lot of them.
“What are you trying to say, Funny Boy? That I’m a bad girl?”
“No.” I shake my head, and realize I wish Holly could meet her. She would probably think Rosie was the coolest girl in the whole world.
She leans her head on one of her hands, with her arm bent. “Let me think…. Okay, did I tell you guys about the time I snuck the homeless girl into our house and let her hide in my room?”
From the way everyone’s eyes go wide, I can tell that I’m not the only one who hasn’t heard this Rosie-adventure.
“You let someone you didn’t know live in your house?” Casey’s voice goes up an octave in shock.
“She was homeless!” Rosie sits up and crosses her arms, obviously not liking Casey’s question.
“She was a stranger.” Casey sounds more determined and opinionated than I’ve ever heard him. Strangers and Casey don’t go well together. I’d put money on it.
Stray doesn’t open his eyes, head still in my lap when he says, “She could have been me.”
That kind of knocks the wind out of me. His life is so different than mine, different than all of ours. Bethany’s parents might not pay attention to her the way they should, but she still has parents. All of us do, except for Stray.
“Exactly.” Rosie sounds proud of herself. “I met her when I snuck into Denver. She lived in this really sketchy alley all by herself. Her name was Spring. We hitchhiked back to my house. I snuck her in while my parents were gone. My room was in the basement because my parents hated my music. I’d sneak her food, and she’d help me do my homework. She was super smart. Smarter than me.”
Rosie pauses for a second, her eyes turned down. Then she rolls over and puts her head on my other leg. Stray’s eyes slide open, and I shrug down at him. He reaches his hand back, next to his head. It’s as though Rosie can read him because she does the same. They lock fingers, squeeze, and then Stray lets
go of her again.
My gut gets a strange twist in it. They know each other so well, and I want that. I want to know him the way she does. I want to comfort him the way she does, or have him reach out and grab my hand the way he did hers.
“What happened next?” I ask.
“We kept it up for about three weeks. It was the first real home she’d had in over a year. She was a runaway, and her parents were abusive. My mom came down when I was at school. Spring hid in my closet. My mom found her… you guys should have seen her. You would have thought I burned the house down or something the way she went off on me when I got home. I asked her… wouldn’t your God want you to do something nice for a homeless girl? They were always praying and talking about doing God’s work, but then they wanted Spring to leave? If I believed in God, that’s not what my God would want. He would have wanted Spring there. They didn’t agree, so they made her leave.”
My brain is going a million miles an hour. We don’t go to church every Sunday in my house, but we definitely believe in God. Rosie doesn’t, but then… I think the God Mom taught us to believe in would have wanted to help Spring too. He wouldn’t have judged her. Maybe that’s what makes it hard for her—that she wasn’t taught the way I was.
“That’s your story? You couldn’t have gone for something happy?” Stray rolls over so I can’t run my hand through his hair as easily, but lets his chin rest on my leg.
“You didn’t say happy.”
“I thought it was a given.”
“Did you ever see her again?” This from Bethany.
Rosie sighs. “Nope. I tried to go see her, but she wasn’t in the same alley. I don’t know where she went. I always felt guilty after that… like I teased her with the chance of having a home and then ripped it away from her.”
“You tried,” Casey whispers. “That’s more than I would have had the guts to do.”
Rosie frowns, rolls away from me, and then puts her head on Casey’s lap. She’s who I want to be like because she makes everyone feel better. That’s what I wish I could do for Mom and Holly and Stray. Rosie’s good at it. For her it comes naturally.