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Authors: Cindy C Bennett
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this is everyone.”
“I’m Kyle,” Kyle says, sticking out his hand. Trevor the Polite doesn’t even hesitate to shake it, and I’m miserable knowing they are mocking him while he is unaware. “You been hanging out with our girl for a while now. You should come hang out with us sometime.”
“Sure, maybe some time.” Trevor is stiff, sensing that something is wrong. He turns to me. “Our pizza is over there if you’re ready.”
“I am,” I say, walking away without a backward glance. Trevor doesn’t have it in him to do so, so he acknowledges them.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, looking at me oddly when they all break out in laughter.
“Ignore them—they’re jerks,” I say as we sit at our own table.
“You think your friends are jerks?” He’s perplexed.
“They can be.”
“Was Seth bothering you?”
“You know who Seth is?”
“I do go to school every day, you know. I don’t know him personally, but I know who he is.”
“Oh.”
“Is he, like, an old boyfriend or something?”
I laugh. “Hardly. He’s sort of like your Mary. I might have wanted him at one time, but not so much anymore. He’s pretty much a freak.”
“Mary Ellen’s not a freak,” he denies automatically. Then, digesting the rest of my words, he leans forward. “You think I wanted Mary Ellen?”
“I’m not completely unobservant myself.”
“Huh.” He suddenly grins at me and leans closer. “What makes you think that maybe I don’t want her anymore, then?”
His teasing doesn’t work because I’m in misery at certain truths that are trying to surface in me.
“You should be with her. She’d be a perfect girlfriend for you.”
“Not looking for a girlfriend.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Is he saying that because he doesn’t want a girlfriend or because he thinks he has one? Then I grin. He’s turned my little game of half answers back on me.
The boy is learning. I might just succeed yet.
⊕⊗⊕
Trevor takes me home and as usual walks me to the door. A new experience for me, having a guy do that every time he brings me home and not just the first time when he’s trying to make an impression. I’m used to being dropped off at the curb.
“You wanna come in for a little bit?” I ask suddenly before I can chicken out.
“Sure.” I have never asked him in before, and his voice carries his surprise.
We go in, and the fosters are sitting in the family room, curled up together watching some dumb old movie. They sit up when we come in, standing when they see Trevor behind me.
“Trevor! Nice to see you again.” The mom sounds excited, as if he’s a long lost relative that has suddenly appeared.
“Nice to see you as well, Mr. and Mrs. Grant.”
“Did you kids have fun tonight?”
I really don’t want to play this we’re-a-real-family game, so I say, “We’re going up to my room.”
“Okay, sweetie,” the mom says, failing her unspoken test. If it were any boy from my usual circle, there would not be an “okay” following my statement. I turn to head up the stairs, and Trevor follows.
“Leave your door open,” the dad calls, and I smile, just a little. He knows—boys are boys.
We go into my room, and Trevor looks around with interest. The room is frilly and girly, all white lace and cutesy pictures of landscapes and butterflies hanging on the walls—a room from a magazine.
“This isn’t what I imagined your room to look like at all.”
“Yeah, well, this is how it was when I came here. Nothing here is mine, obviously.”
He looks at me oddly.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost a year.”
“And you haven’t personalized it yet?”
“Why would I?” I ask curiously.
He lifts his hands as if it should be obvious.
“Because you live here.”
“Temporarily.” My answer shocks him, I can tell.
“How many places have you lived?” he asks.
“A lot.”
“Why’s that?”
“People can’t really take me for
“I’m Kyle,” Kyle says, sticking out his hand. Trevor the Polite doesn’t even hesitate to shake it, and I’m miserable knowing they are mocking him while he is unaware. “You been hanging out with our girl for a while now. You should come hang out with us sometime.”
“Sure, maybe some time.” Trevor is stiff, sensing that something is wrong. He turns to me. “Our pizza is over there if you’re ready.”
“I am,” I say, walking away without a backward glance. Trevor doesn’t have it in him to do so, so he acknowledges them.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, looking at me oddly when they all break out in laughter.
“Ignore them—they’re jerks,” I say as we sit at our own table.
“You think your friends are jerks?” He’s perplexed.
“They can be.”
“Was Seth bothering you?”
“You know who Seth is?”
“I do go to school every day, you know. I don’t know him personally, but I know who he is.”
“Oh.”
“Is he, like, an old boyfriend or something?”
I laugh. “Hardly. He’s sort of like your Mary. I might have wanted him at one time, but not so much anymore. He’s pretty much a freak.”
“Mary Ellen’s not a freak,” he denies automatically. Then, digesting the rest of my words, he leans forward. “You think I wanted Mary Ellen?”
“I’m not completely unobservant myself.”
“Huh.” He suddenly grins at me and leans closer. “What makes you think that maybe I don’t want her anymore, then?”
His teasing doesn’t work because I’m in misery at certain truths that are trying to surface in me.
“You should be with her. She’d be a perfect girlfriend for you.”
“Not looking for a girlfriend.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Is he saying that because he doesn’t want a girlfriend or because he thinks he has one? Then I grin. He’s turned my little game of half answers back on me.
The boy is learning. I might just succeed yet.
⊕⊗⊕
Trevor takes me home and as usual walks me to the door. A new experience for me, having a guy do that every time he brings me home and not just the first time when he’s trying to make an impression. I’m used to being dropped off at the curb.
“You wanna come in for a little bit?” I ask suddenly before I can chicken out.
“Sure.” I have never asked him in before, and his voice carries his surprise.
We go in, and the fosters are sitting in the family room, curled up together watching some dumb old movie. They sit up when we come in, standing when they see Trevor behind me.
“Trevor! Nice to see you again.” The mom sounds excited, as if he’s a long lost relative that has suddenly appeared.
“Nice to see you as well, Mr. and Mrs. Grant.”
“Did you kids have fun tonight?”
I really don’t want to play this we’re-a-real-family game, so I say, “We’re going up to my room.”
“Okay, sweetie,” the mom says, failing her unspoken test. If it were any boy from my usual circle, there would not be an “okay” following my statement. I turn to head up the stairs, and Trevor follows.
“Leave your door open,” the dad calls, and I smile, just a little. He knows—boys are boys.
We go into my room, and Trevor looks around with interest. The room is frilly and girly, all white lace and cutesy pictures of landscapes and butterflies hanging on the walls—a room from a magazine.
“This isn’t what I imagined your room to look like at all.”
“Yeah, well, this is how it was when I came here. Nothing here is mine, obviously.”
He looks at me oddly.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Almost a year.”
“And you haven’t personalized it yet?”
“Why would I?” I ask curiously.
He lifts his hands as if it should be obvious.
“Because you live here.”
“Temporarily.” My answer shocks him, I can tell.
“How many places have you lived?” he asks.
“A lot.”
“Why’s that?”
“People can’t really take me for
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