Mrs. Murray’s brown eyes grew wide as I sat in the passenger seat. “Sweet pea, where’s your backpack?”

  I shrugged, placing a trash bag in the back, like some discount Santa. “I don’t have one.”

  “Hmmm.” Mrs. Murray bit a chapped part of her lip. “Well, we can fix that on the way home.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.” It would just get taken by another girl when I came back.

  My caseworker had repeatedly reminded me how lucky I was. I was being fostered. As though this was anything but a short vacation from the over-stuffed group home. But she'd talked on and on as we processed the paperwork.

  So many fosters go on to adopt. And the Murrays are so sweet, I could really see them learning to love you.

  Yup, learning. Because I wasn’t worthy of just being loved, I already knew that. It was just amusing that the social worker hadn’t realized her slip. But the Murrays did seem nice. They had found themselves with extra space after a move, but they were too old to have another baby.

  I thought for sure I’d flunked the interview. The social worker called it a meeting, but when you’re sitting in a tiny room answering questions hoping someone likes you, that's an interview. Or maybe a date. I wouldn’t know, but every date in the movies just looks like an interview with nice food.

  Still, even after passing the interview and meeting their daughter, I didn’t expect the Murrays to keep me. My other fosters had liked me well enough at first, enjoying my calm demeanor. I wasn’t invasive. But, inevitably, they found me too detached; I didn’t talk enough. They wanted someone who could just slip in, like they’d been there since the beginning. And my silence was a reminder of my otherness.

  And, just as before, I would be shipped back like a bad Amazon return.

  Those families had also tried to bribe me. A new backpack, or my own bike. And I always ended up gifting them to the bigger girls. Everything but my clothes, I was too wispy for them to have any use for them.

  “Don’t be silly!” Mrs. Murray started the car “Your jeans look worn out anyway. Or is that one of those fashion rip things?”

  “They’re comfortable.” I tried to smile. The jeans were old and the rip was fresh from a spill down the stairs. One of the younger girls was jealous she hadn’t passed her interview with the Murrays.

  “I’m going to take that as worn out.” She buckled up and shook her blonde bob, like it had been in her eyes before pulling the car out. “Shopping will give us a chance to get to know each other better. One-on-one.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Yeah, sure.” I gave a tight-lipped smile.

  And so it began.

  I’d seen the house before during the initial process. Us kids were supposed to get a say in where we stayed. Not like the social worker was going to let me pass this up. The illusion just meant I had some idea what to expect.

  Their garage had paint droplets all over the floor in a variety of colors, despite the giant stack of folded drop clothes in the corner. The art easel had seen far better days, splattered with paint and bent at the legs so the artist would have to constantly tilt their head just to work on the piece.

  Mrs. Murray unloaded several grocery bags from the trunk on one arm before I could offer to help, waving me off when I tried. “You go get settled. Lucy and John will be home around five, so you have some time to yourself if you want. Dinner will be ready around seven. You like pizza, right?”

  “Um, yeah…” I blinked, confused. A lot of fosters had big plans that first day. Restaurants or some kind of celebration. All well meant, sure, but exhausting.

  “Great.” She smiled a big, toothy grin as she piled grocery bags on her other arm. “Scoot.”

  “You sure you don’t want help?” I pointed at the trunk. She was stout and, apparently, pretty strong. All the same, anymore weight and she’d topple into the driveway.

  “Nah, I need the workout. Shoo!” She waved me off with another big smile.

  I skittered away like she’d actually had a broom under my feet. The kitchen inside wasn’t perfectly clean like I’d been expecting. A couple dishes in the sink overflowing onto the counters. The dog’s bowls were crooked, with water splashed all over. It took a couple seconds to locate paper towels on the counter so I could mop it up.

  If she came in with all those bags, she might slip. Right as I’d finished, the aforementioned mutt ran up and started licking my face.

  “Gross, quit it, Buster.” I shoved him away as I stood. The giant pit bull leaned against my legs, his big butt wiggling where his tail was clipped. I snorted and pet him, carefully avoiding his knobby ears as I’d been told. “Good boy.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was good for, but I didn’t know what else to say. I gave him a final pat and started down the hall, taking a moment to look in Lucy’s room. Her ceiling was littered with postcards and thumbtacks, almost obscuring the light. The walls were cluttered with all the abstract art responsible for the mess in the garage. I think her mom had called it pour art…

  It kind of looked like marble done in tie-dye colors. Made me wonder why she’d bothered painting the walls blue when you could only see a couple inches of it. Her closet was much the same, bright colors running into each other, one after the other.

  I hadn’t realized I had stepped inside the space until I was running my hands over a thick teal hoodie.

  “What are you doing?”

  I snatched my hand back and whirled, my cheeks turning hot. Lucy stood in the doorway, her hands on tilted hips, glaring through giant glasses with shocking green frames.

  “This is my room.” She stormed in and snatched her hoodie off the back of the chair.

  “Right, sorry.” I ran a hand through my hair, only to tangle my fingers in the curls. “I was–”

  “Whatever, just get out.” Lucy tossed a bag on her bed and walked over to her little desk, yanking the chain for a lamp to bring a small yellow glow to the room. The edge of her hair captured the light, turning the rest of her into a dark shadow. “I may not be able to change you being here, but I can at least keep you out of my room.”

  I nodded and ran out, into the room next door. No wonder the Murray’s hadn’t bothered with some big celebration. Their daughter already hated me. There was no way I’d be staying longer than a couple weeks.