Nowhere Girl (Foundlings Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

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  Foundlings:

  Nowhere Girl

  Book One of Three

  By Fiona Keane

  Foundlings: Nowhere Girl

  Copyright © 2017 by Fiona Keane.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: December 2017

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-271-2

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-271-0

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the girl who ran and found herself.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

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  CHAPTER ONE

  DAY ONE: SOPHIA

  I hated the sun—its rays burning and taunting my alabaster skin. It was ninety-three degrees and I was held hostage by the long sleeves of my white shirt.

  I nervously wiped the pleats of my tea-length navy blue skirt as I approached the front entrance of Fremont High School. I quietly observed the cliques who gathered and spread across the lawn so early before the arrival bell. Left of the door were the goths, swaying back and forth or stoically standing as if in a trance. A few feet away, I observed some student athletes, proudly wearing the blue and green emblem for FHS on their clothes. Clusters of students sprung up around me, whizzing by in an excited tizzy as the beginning of school approached.

  I froze, baking in the early morning sunlight, full of twisting, raw nerves. I studied the steps, mentally creating my entrance path. My eyes darted between the steps and the door as I apprehensively exhaled, sensing the nagging pull of panic. There were two girls mounting the concrete steps, their blonde and brown ponytails swaying in unison with their hips. Three guys promptly joined them, two of whom possessively wrapped their arms around the girls. The blonde was quick to remove the boy’s arm, causing laughter from the group.

  “Good morning, Miss Reid,” a male voice said at my side.

  Startled, I spun around, protectively clutching the strap of my black messenger bag.

  “Good morning, sir. Thank you for meeting me.” My polite smile was forced.

  “Well,” he sighed, “I’m really glad you’re joining us. I’ve set you up with a buddy for your first day and I’d like to introduce you to her.”

  My heart sank, dreading the expectation that I follow around another student all day. Sensing my hesitation, I think, as my hands continued to tightly clench my bag strap, he placed a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head to examine his face. His ebony hair was closely cropped to his head, clearly displaying the dark brown eyes that stared at me through tortoiseshell eyeglasses.

  “It is going to be fine,” he attempted to reassure me with a gentle smile. “Not at first, but once you get into a routine. And always know that I’m here to help you adjust and transition.”

  I nodded, visibly relaxing and following his guiding hand toward the main door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Fitzgerald.” The blonde bounced with excitement, hovering at the door with her group of friends.

  “Good morning, Miss Hart,” he returned her greeting, still guiding me toward the group. “This is Sophia Reid. She’s joining us all the way from Oregon.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” The blonde extended her hand with a gentle smile. “I’m Olivia. I’m your buddy for today.”

  “Hi.” My cheeks burned as I nervously scanned Olivia’s friends.

  The guys who latched on to Olivia and her friend were dressed in tightly-fitting yellow and white shirts, deliberately displaying their attempts at weight training. One had shaggy blond hair and the other’s blond curls were cropped. The curvy brunette introduced herself as Michelle while quickly guiding Olivia and I through the main doors. As I spun to see Mr. Fitzgerald one last time, I noticed the third guy was smiling. His head tilted down, a kind, coy smile flirting with his mouth.

  “They’re ridiculous,” Michelle grumbled, distracting me. “Let’s check out your schedule.”

  The doors closed behind them and my attention returned to Olivia and Michelle. I was absolutely dreading spending the day with one girl and now it seemed I was stuck with two.

  “You have first and sixth period with me,” Olivia reviewed the folded schedule I held, “And lunch with both of us…and Luke.”

  “Such a dreamboat,” Michelle purred, causing both girls to erupt with juvenile giggles. I smiled out of manners, not entertainment—dating wasn’t a possibility for me. Olivia returned my schedule, having refolded it just as I had in a small diamond.

  “I’ll take you to first period.” Olivia said and turned to Michelle. “I’ll see you in study hall. Text me before then, girl.”

  “Deal.” Michelle winked at Olivia before waving goodbye to me. Olivia sighed, probably delighting in her friendship with Michelle, and returned to me.

 
; “So,” she probed, guiding me further down the hall toward our first period French class, “why did you move with one month left?”

  “My mom’s job,” I blurted, hoping she would buy my rehearsed response. Olivia nodded, accepting my fib.

  The classroom was sterile—white, bland, uncomfortable. Olivia introduced me to our teacher, who kindly allowed me to sit wherever I wished. I chose the back, hoping to adapt on my own, but Olivia followed me and plopped in the seat next to me, smiling. French class went by without alarm. Thankfully the teacher didn’t call on me for anything. I managed to slink into my subsequent classes unnoticed, and preferably so, like a ghost.

  I was pulled halfway through my fourth period study hall by Mr. Fitzgerald, wanting to check on me. Naturally, that only caused me to feel more anxious instead of the support he wished to provide. After my short conversation with Mr. Fitzgerald in the hallway, my stomach had twisted into a knot pulling against my center of gravity. My nerves fried, even crispier than before school. I tried to imagine my mom’s pride at making it through half of my first day in only a few pieces rather than one million, but then I spent five minutes of study hall in the bathroom trying not to vomit. When I returned, the clock may have even moved backward.

  Olivia met me at the end of my fourth period study hall so she could escort me to the vast cafeteria, which felt like it was placed two miles away. Two-thirty wasn’t coming quickly enough. I just wanted to get on my bike and pedal away. Michelle noticed us coming down the hall during the chaotic transition between classes and lunch. Her vacant expression quickly changed to glee when she locked eyes with Olivia.

  “Hey, girls,” she approached, full of smiles. “How was the morning, Sophia?”

  “Okay.” I shrugged; the small girl in my mind was struggling to socialize.

  Olivia glanced at me, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and then returned her face to Michelle.

  “French was great,” she replied for me. “I think study hall went well. Um…let’s see…lunch now, algebra, and then British Lit.”

  She had memorized my schedule. That introverted little girl hiding in my mind smiled, flattered by Olivia’s responsiveness to me, but I quickly shut that little girl down, reminding myself not to become too attached.

  “I’m glad it’s going well so far, Sophia. Let me know if you need anything that Olivia forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget anything!” Olivia faked offense and Michelle blew her a kiss before smiling at me and wandering off to her next class. Michelle and Olivia weren’t as overwhelming as I first thought they would be. I fought the tingling in my fingers, allowing Olivia to engage in conversation and politely divulge what I could beyond one-syllable responses throughout lunch and sixth period algebra.

  ***

  Entering the British Literature course listed for my seventh period, I felt relief at the fact most of the seats were vacant. I squeezed through the aisles, parking myself in a seat furthest from the front. Other students began to filter in and I avoided eye contact, focusing my attention on the clock. Forty-five minutes left.

  “Hi,” a velvet sound whispered at my side. “We weren’t properly introduced this morning.” I glanced up at its source, startled by the enormous hazel eyes shining down at me, their glow radiating with his spreading grin.

  “I’m Jameson,” he continued. My eyes were drawn to the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The way his lips and eyes sparkled and squinted in a grin was disarming and I couldn’t help but smile in response, despite my instructed better judgment. Jameson pulled back his hood, revealing messy waves of short brown hair. I watched, transfixed, as he combed his long fingers along his scalp, nodding acknowledgment to the students who had entered the room.

  “Jamie!” a male voice sung with humor. His backpack quickly landed on the desk behind me with a loud thud, startling me.

  “Hey, new girl.” His face was dangerously close.

  “He’s obnoxious,” Jameson reassured me, “but entirely harmless.”

  “Thanks.” My polite smile spread lightly, quickly fading as our teacher began her introduction on the primary themes of Beowulf. Students frantically took small laptops or tablets from their backpacks while I, aware of my financial limitations, withdrew a notebook and pen from my bag.

  “What’s your story?” Jameson whispered as Mrs. Calvin stepped aside from her projector to change pens for her copious notes.

  “No story,” I replied.

  It was hard to focus next to Jameson, especially knowing his face turned toward me five times during class, each time curiously observing me. I had copied six pages of notes by the time Mrs. Calvin dismissed the class. Forty-five minutes flew…and I only looked to my side twice. I heard students shuffle out of the room, saying goodbye to our teacher, and packing up for the night. The vacancy enveloped me with comfort; finally, day one was finished and…

  “Hey, Sophia.” There he was again, prompting me to look up into his sparkling hazel eyes. “Are you all right? Do you need a ride home or anything?”

  I glanced around the empty classroom, making sure Jameson was addressing me.

  “Um…” I paused. “I have my bike. But thank you.”

  He grinned. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” I stood from my desk, pulling the strap of my bag across my chest. He was still standing there, smiling at me.

  “What…?”

  “I’m going to find out your story.” He bit his bottom lip in thought. “We all have one.”

  “What’s yours?” I inquired.

  He was dangerously intriguing. His eyes glowed; a pulsating golden hue around the rich hazel circles, nearly hypnotizing me into thinking I made a friend. It tempted my weakening resolve, already screaming to divulge and share my pain with someone who cared. I blinked. Jameson didn’t care. He was just curious about the new girl.

  Jameson shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth, “It doesn’t work that way, Soph.”

  “Then I guess we’ll remain a mystery to each other.”

  I walked around him, stepping through the enticing fog of his cologne as I left the classroom. The halls were emptying quickly, but the parking lot was filling with students congregating to discuss whatever it is groups of friends discuss. I wouldn’t know. I pulled the tiny keychain from my pocket, my fingers running over the rhinestones that decorated the dainty Eiffel Tower pendant my mom gave me when I started taking French a few years ago. It was one of the few things I had left of back then, back there…of her.

  “Sophia!” Olivia grabbed my shoulder, squatting at my side while I unlocked my bike. I was so close to leaving undisturbed.

  “Hi.” I faked a smile.

  “Listen,” she continued, “we’re going to stop for pizza now. Do you want to come along?”

  “We?” I didn’t even want to go with just Olivia.

  She pointed to a black BMW SUV with tinted windows. It was surrounded by Michelle and Luke, who clung to each other possessively, and Owen, who was making incredibly vivid hand gestures as he talked to the group. The trunk lifted open and I watched Jameson walk from the other side of the car and throw his bag inside before latching the trunk.

  “No. Thank you for the offer, Olivia. I really should get home.”

  She smiled at me, a softness covering her light features, and nodded.

  “It was fun getting to know you today,” she told me, still touching my shoulder. “Rain check on pizza?”

  I nodded politely and stood to mount my bike, arranging my skirt around my legs. Olivia galloped away toward her group of friends and I began pedaling home.

  The narrow bike path that curved alongside Palma Sola Bay was abandoned as I made my journey. A warm wind picked up from the Gulf, rushing in ominous storm clouds that threatened to turn my path into quicksand. It took me twenty-five minutes, at full speed, to get home. Home. That wasn’t a word I used lightly.

  Aunt Jules was watering pots of herbs on the front porch as my brakes squealed to a
stop.

  “Sophia Marie.” She welcomed me with a warm smile, opening her arms in greeting.

  As I approached, I felt almost as anxious as when I stood outside of school this morning. Jules hardly knew me.

  “How was your first day?”

  “Long.”

  “Did you make any friends?”

  “No.”

  “No?” She released her attempted affectionate hold on me and returned to watering her herbs. She had an enormous lavender plant that filled the space with a comforting odor with each warm Gulf breeze.

  “I don’t do friends,” I sighed, continuing into the small house and quickly closing the bedroom door behind me.

  I almost made it to my bed before the tears began pouring down my cheeks. I ached from the day; my emotional energy was depleted. I choked on my tears, beginning to panic as I cried in a small ball on the single mattress. I didn’t hear her enter, but Aunt Jules’s weight pressed into my mattress as she sat behind me, holding her hand to my trembling shoulder.

  “It isn’t easy,” she agreed. “Count to ten with me, Sophia.”

  I complied, allowing her to help me through my impending panic attack. Her bony fingers tickled my forehead and cheek as she whispered to me in French.

  “Tout ira bien, un jour, ma chère,” she repeated, “Un jour.”

  I rolled over in my bed, facing her. We speechlessly stared at each other, but filled the space with language. She wiped the remaining tears from my right cheek and smiled again, warmth filling her consoling features.

  “Tell me about your day?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAY TWO

  Jules dropped me off at school, fearing the bike ride into school would be dangerous with the pouring rain. Thankfully, albeit with incredible reluctance, she let me squeeze my steed into the trunk of her car.

  “At least twice a week it gets like this,” she groaned. “Maybe this weekend we can go to the beach to make up for it.”