5. Cassidy
FIVE
CASSIDY
New house, same bullshit.
I stand in the doorway of the living room, gripping the straps of my busted-up backpack. The social worker—some woman whose name I already forgot—just left, and I’m supposed to be “settling in.”
I’ve been through enough of these that I know the drill. Keep your mouth shut. Keep your head down. Don’t touch shit that ain’t yours. The less they notice you, the easier it is to disappear.
I scan the place, nothing but peeling wallpaper—the kind with little blue flowers that probably looked nice twenty years ago—and a lumpy couch that smells like old people and mildew. It’s a step up from the last house, which had more cockroaches than furniture, but not by much.
I move further into the living room and notice a girl.
She’s curled up in the armchair across the room with earbuds in, listening to a CD player.
She has red hair that’s pouring out of her hoodie which is pulled up over her head, her legs tucked up under her chin.
She’s small, but her eyes, they’re wide, locked on me.
According to the social worker, there are a few other foster kids in this house, but most of them don’t really bother with meeting the newbie. They got their own shit to deal with.
But her . . . She’s either intrigued or utterly terrified.
The foster dad clears his throat. “Cassidy, this is Bindi.”
She doesn’t move, doesn’t say hi, just keeps looking at me.
I shift my weight, my fingers flexing on my backpack strap. “Cass,” I mutter with a head nod.
That’s it. That’s all she gets.
The guy sighs, rubbing the back of his neck like introducing two kids is some really exhausting shit. “Dinner’s at six. There’s a bunk in the spare room. You two . . .” He gestures between us like we’re supposed to figure out the rest ourselves. “Just don’t make trouble.”
He leaves before I can promise anything. Not that I would’ve.
The second he’s gone, I drop my bag and nod toward the chair. “You gonna keep staring at me, or you got something to say?”
She shrugs, but I don’t miss the way her fingers tighten around the fabric of her hoodie. “You look mad.”
I snort. “Yeah? And you look nosy.”
Her lips twitch like she’s thinking about smiling but decides against it. Smart girl.
I glance around the room again, trying to get a read on the place. No family photos. No decorations. Just a house trying to pretend it’s a home and failing miserably.
“Been here long?” I ask.
She stretches her legs out, tapping her sock-covered foot against the edge of the coffee table. “A year.”
A year? That’s long. I don’t say it out loud, but I sure as hell don’t plan on staying here for an entire year. Most kids bounce in and out of these places every few months. Either they get adopted or they’re shipped somewhere else due to budget, behavior, or bullshit.
Bindi watches me like she knows what I’m thinking. “They don’t like moving girls around as much. Easier to keep us in one place.”
I huff and flop onto the couch. “So, what’s the deal with these people? They suck?”
She tilts her head. “That depends. Are you gonna be one of those kids who acts all nice and sweet for the first week and then turns into a complete asshole?”
That makes me laugh. “I don’t do nice and sweet.”
“Good,” she mutters. “That shit’s annoying.”
I think I like her.
Not like that—not in the way dumb kids catch crushes. I just like how solid she sits. Like she belongs in her own skin, even if it’s been bruised a few too many times.
“You got the top bunk,” she says, already standing—already heading down the hallway. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
We’re sharing a room? That’s a huge no-no, right? I’m twelve; this girl has to be close in age too. Maybe they saw the name Cassidy and assumed I was a girl? Fucking idiots. I shrug and follow her down the hallway into our shared room.
It’s small—a single set of bunk beds against the left wall with a dresser that sits in front of a window and a desk on the opposite side. The window is cracked, letting in just enough of a breeze to air out whatever stench is lingering from the last kid in here.
Bindi climbs onto the bottom bunk, pulling her knees to her chest. I set my backpack down by the wall, eyeing the mattress. It’s thin, and the springs poke through the fabric.
She watches me, her cheek resting against her knee.
I throw myself onto her mattress, my legs hanging off the edge.
“You get kicked outta the last place? ”
I roll onto my side, tucking my arm under my head. “Something like that.”
She doesn’t push for details. Good. She gets it.
I glance down at her. “Why didn’t you get adopted?”
Bindi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink, just shrugs. “Dunno. Guess people don’t like girls with loud mouths.”
Something about the way she says it makes my stomach twist. I don’t like it.
“I don’t mind,” I say, mostly because I don’t know what else to say.
Her lips quirk up, but it’s not really a smile. “Yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She shifts, reaching under her pillow, and pulls out a small foil-wrapped package. I watch as she peels it open and breaks a granola bar in half then holds one of the halves out to me. I just stare at it, unsure of what to do.
She rolls her eyes. “Take it, or don’t.”
I don’t ask where she got it, don’t ask if she’s supposed to be saving it for later—she wouldn’t be offering if she didn’t want to. I just politely take it from her and bite into it.
She eats her half in three quick bites, brushing the crumbs off onto the blanket.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the stained mattress above me. It’s quiet now, just the sound of the wind pushing through the crack in the window.
For the first time since walking through the door, I don’t feel like my skin is trying to crawl off my body.
I glance over at her again. “You ever run away?”
She tilts her head back against the pillow, considering. “Not yet.”
Not yet.
I grin. “Bet we could.”
After a long moment, she says, “Yeah.”
And just like that, it’s decided.
Maybe not tomorrow .
Maybe not next week.
But someday.
Because the second I saw her, the second she looked back at me without flinching, I knew.
Wherever she goes, I go.