September

Wesley—Fifteen Years Old

The cool, crisp air feels good as I bend and stretch, pulling weeds out of the flower beds in the Bellamys’ yard.

“You going to ask someone to homecoming this coming year?” John asks, stopping his work to take a drink of water. He passes a bottle to me, and I take long pulls, not realizing how thirsty I was until this very moment.

Homecoming. Ugh. Just the thought of asking someone makes my stomach hurt.

John went last year, but I didn’t. He’s friends with everyone. Being on the soccer team means he has jock friends. Being on the honor roll means he has nerdy friends. Being tall and fit means all the girls like him. And then there’s me, the poor foster kid sidekick. I know John doesn’t think of me like that. At least, he doesn’t treat me like that. He refers to me as his best friend all the time, so I don’t feel like our friendship is one-sided in the least.

When John went to homecoming last year and I didn’t, I wasn’t jealous. Anna and I hung out, watching movies and eating junk food until our stomachs hurt. We waited up for him to get home, so we could hear all about it.

Anna got this dreamy-eyed look when John told us about the limo, fancy dinner, and dancing, like she couldn’t wait to attend her own.

Honestly, I can’t imagine going with anyone other than Anna. I know she’d come with me in a heartbeat if I asked. But there’s the fancy dinner and the cost of the tickets. Not to mention, getting all dressed up. There’s no way I could even chip in toward a limo. Even with my paper route and mowing lawns all summer, I’m broke.

“Nah, dancing isn’t really my thing.”

“You know you don’t have to dance, right? I’m most excited about after homecoming anyway. Gina and I are thinking of getting a hotel room.”

My eyes bulge. “What? How would you get a hotel room?”

“Her sister is eighteen and said she’d book the room for us as long as we paid for it.”

“That’s convenient. What would you tell your parents?”

“Just that I’m sleeping at Henry’s. She’ll tell her parents she’s sleeping at Ellen’s.”

“You think you guys will have sex?”

John and Gina have been together for almost six months now. She’s quite the catch—gorgeous and nice. John can’t keep his hands off her, not that I blame him.

“That’s the plan,” he says eagerly.

“Did you buy condoms?”

“Didn’t have to. Remember my mom’s condom drawer?”

I choke on the next sip of water and look over at him, coughing. “You’re actually going to use those?”

Mrs. Bellamy sat us down after she walked in on John and Gina making out on his bed and gave us the safe-sex talk. She said she didn’t want us to ever go without a condom because we were too embarrassed to buy them. So, she put some in a drawer and said she would always make sure it was fully stocked—no questions, no judgment.

“That’s what they’re there for, right?”

“Yeah, but then…she’ll know you used them.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m already having sex. That’s why she bought them for me.”

I’d never be able to use those even though she included me in that discussion, assuming correctly that I didn’t get the same talk in my house. Mr. Anderson basically told me, if I got anyone pregnant, I was out of there.

Thanks for the talk.

It’s not like I’ve even kissed a girl yet, so no worries there.

“I could see if Ellen would go with you. We could go together and have a blast.”

Ellen is Gina’s best friend. She’s…okay. Pretty enough. Nice enough. Doesn’t act like she’s tolerating me just because I’m friends with John.

But…

She’s just not Anna.

The thought of kissing Ellen doesn’t make my stomach flip in that awful, wonderful way it flips when I think of kissing Anna.

Then, I feel guilty. Anna’s my best friend’s little sister. She’s two years younger than me. I can’t cross that line, no matter how fast my heart beats when I think about it.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

“Nice shirt,” Graham says sarcastically, kicking my desk as he seats himself behind me.

There are two minutes before the bell rings for class, but the teacher isn’t here yet.

I look down at what I’m wearing. It’s one of John’s old shirts.

“Is that another one of Bellamy’s hand-me-downs?”

“Fuck off,” I hiss, embarrassment burning hot on my face.

“Does he give you his old underwear, too?”

Everyone around us snickers.

“I bet you pay him with blow jobs.” He cackles at his own jab.

Embarrassment turns quickly into anger, and I rise from my chair to face him, towering over his seat.

“What did you say?” I glower, muscles tight and ready to lash out.

In the two years since Graham and his friends kicked my ass, I’ve grown, now taller and wider than he is. But he still taunts me every chance he gets. And I’m sick of taking his shit.

He stands and gets in my space. “I think you should sit back down. Have you forgotten who broke your pretty nose?”

My fist is in his face before I can register it. He topples over his desk, his head landing on the linoleum floor with a thud. I follow him over, jumping over the desk to straddle him. My fists land with satisfying precision on his face again and again. No one steps to his aid this time. No one pulls me off him. He just lies there, his arms attempting to shield his face as I unleash my fury.

“Mr. Scott!”

The sound of the teacher calling my name is so far away, it doesn’t register.

“Mr. Scott, you get off him this second!”

The shrill demand penetrates my rage this time, and I stop, looking up at Mrs. O’Connor. She seems angry but frightened, too. This gives me pause. Mrs. O’Connor is probably sixty years old, short and petite. I don’t want her to be afraid of me.

But then I look down at Graham. I see him cowering away, tears streaking down his face. I look around and see the other kids who were just laughing at me a moment ago. They aren’t laughing anymore. They’re all wide-eyed and shocked, regarding me with wariness.

Good.

I’d rather them fear me than pity me, making fun of me every chance they got.

“Report to the principal’s office this instant!”

I get off Graham, collect my things, and smile on the way to the principal’s office.

After learning that I’m suspended for three days, I go home and clear out my closet of all of John’s old clothes. There’s no way I’m ever wearing another hand-me-down again.

Unfortunately, this leaves very little clothing to pick from.

I find Mrs. Anderson in the kitchen.

“I need some new clothes,” I tell her. It is her job to provide for me after all. The state pays her money to take care of me.

She sighs and eyes me, disinterested and annoyed. “What happened to your old clothes?”

I shrug. “I grew out of them.”

She digs into her purse. “Here. Go to the thrift store, and get some new things.”

I look at the crumpled bills she handed me. It’s ten dollars. What am I supposed to buy with this?

I retreat to my room and lie back on my bed, thoughts spinning.

One good thing is that Davis moved out over the summer. Seeing how the Andersons booted him out right after his eighteenth birthday was a preview of what to expect when I turn eighteen. However, he’d saved up enough money from his “side job,” working with Bryce, to get an apartment with a roommate.

Bryce Jeffries…

His offer comes floating back to me.

I wonder if he still needs a middleman.