2. Chase
TWO
CHASE
THIRTEEN YEARS OLD
I hate small towns.
Over the past five years, I’ve been bounced from one small place to the next, and at the end of the day, they’re all the same. Boring streets and boring people with pity in their eyes and force behind their fists.
Life with my mom wasn’t sunshine and roses, but it definitely beats putting up with scumbags who pretend to care about kids in the system.
If I only had myself to worry about, I’d have made the jump to street kid before the first foster home. But it’s not just me. I have a little sister to protect, and the thought of leaving her to the wolves makes me sick to my stomach. So I’ve taken the insults and the beatings for both of us with a smile on my face, knowing I’m protecting her the best way I know how.
At least one of us should make it out of this life without too much trauma.
The last piece of crap begged our caseworker to take us away after I caught him trying to sneak into Lily’s room. I guess he didn’t like a thirteen-year-old holding a knife to his dick. He liked it even less when I threatened to cut it off and shove it down his throat if he so much as looked at her again.
I asked Lily if he ever did anything, but she swears up and down nothing happened, and I have to believe her because the alternative means I have to murder someone, and I’m too pretty for jail.
They’re not all bad, though. Our current foster parents, Sam and Anna, are a couple who just moved us from Nashville to Sugarlake, Tennessee: population three thousand.
Well, three thousand and four now, I guess.
They’re different than others we’ve had. Nice even…but I still don’t want them.
Like any kid, I just want my mom.
Considering she packed up our life in Chicago, trekked us seven hours to Nashville, and got high, forgetting us at a gas station, that seems pretty unlikely to happen anytime soon.
I’m angry at her. So, so angry.
But no matter how pissed off I am, it doesn’t stop the dreams at night of her coming back. I hate those dreams because when I wake up, that hole she put inside me festers and rips open all over again, leaving behind nothing but a burning rage I can’t seem to stomp out.
We’ve been here for a few months now, and still, every time we drive down the main road in Sugarlake, I’m reminded it’s literally called Main Street. I scoff at the predictability.
Same cookie-cutter layout, new views.
“Tennessee is so pretty. I bet it’s the prettiest state in the whole universe,” Lily swoons, staring out of the car window.
I smirk at her. “That’s just because you don’t remember living anywhere else.”
“That’s besides the point, jerk . I’m sure it wasn’t like this.” She points toward the Smokies.
She’s not wrong, it is a beautiful state. But how beautiful can something be if it’s filled with the ugliness of your past?
“I’ve always loved Tennessee, too, Lily.” Anna twists from the front seat and smiles. “You know, this is where I grew up as a little girl. I’ve always dreamed of comin’ back one day and raisin’ a family here.”
She shares a heavy look with Sam. He places a hand on her knee and her voice cracks when she talks again. “I’m so happy you two are liking it.”
I roll my eyes, that familiar burning simmering in my gut. Give it another month or two and Anna will be singing the same song as all the others. If it’s not them being the fuckups, they quickly realize it’s me.
He’s too angry.
Curses too much.
He doesn’t act his age.
I’m about to tell Anna exactly what I think of her empty words, but I glance at Lily who has the biggest smile on her face and decide to keep my mouth shut.
She deserves a little bit of happiness, even if it doesn’t last.
It’s only a few hours later I feel like I might have to eat my words. Lily’s been at Goldi’s for a couple hours, and I just grabbed her to come home so Sam and Anna could tell us their news.
They’re adopting us.
Lily’s sobbing next to me, her pink tipped fingers covering her face, the friendship bracelets on her arms clacking as she shakes.
I’m not sure how I feel. I guess I never really thought it was a possibility. I should be happy, ecstatic even. We’re finally getting a family. A new last name.
Chase and Lily Adams.
Sam and Anna are good people, and they treat us well, even with the bullshit I put them through just by being me . I know I’m not an easy person to love, the memories of my mom telling me constantly play like a loop in my brain. Still, there’s a part of me—a really small piece—that wants this time to work out differently.
“Chase, isn’t this the best news?” Lily throws her arms around my neck. I shake myself out of my stupor and loosely hug her back.
“Yeah, Lil.” I try to smile, but it feels more like a grimace.
Sam puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing, but I don’t think I’m fooling him. It makes me feel guilty because he’s been nothing but the father figure I always wished for.
I’ll try harder to be a better son for them.
That’s what I am now, I guess.
A son.
Again.
Hopefully, it goes better the second time around.
It’s late at night when my mind won’t shut up, so I slip out of bed, unlocking the latch from my window and shoving it open so I can creep outside. It’s surprisingly easy for me to sneak out of the house, so I do it a lot.
Usually, I just walk down the street to the open field, where I lie down and stare at the stars, wondering what I did to be the way that I am. I try to change, but it just never seems to stick, the anger coming back as soon as I think I get it snuffed out.
Tonight, though, there’s something that makes me stop short in front of the little white house with blue shutters.
I war with myself over whether I should keep walking.
Goldi is everything good in the world. She’s all innocence and sunshine, and I do my best to keep my distance. She doesn’t need someone like me coming around and dirtying up her life. Someone like her deserves friends who are worth a damn, not me. But fuck, if staying away isn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way she does, like she sees straight into my soul.
I can tell she wants to be close, but I don’t need another person in my life to disappoint, especially an eleven-year-old girl who’s never had anything hurt her worse than a scraped knee.
Still, even as I repeat to myself that I can’t be her friend, my feet move toward her bedroom window, where I slip inside.