Nowhere Girl (Foundlings Book 1) Page 4

  Why was I ten? Where were we going? I miss her…

  “Sophia,” Mr. Fitzgerald demanded, “look at me. Look at me. See? It’s just us. We’re at school. You’re safe. Sophia?”

  I swallowed the lump lingering in my throat, my eyes tightly sealed, attempting to stop the production of memories playing in my mind. Mr. Fitzgerald reached over the computer in his lap, tightly grasping my hands. His touch was warm and soft, but the sensation pricked my skin, as I was in an internal sensory overload.

  “Sophia,” his voice softened. “Did I tell you about my vacation plans for Memorial Day? My daughters and I are driving to Miami to meet my wife. She’s there for work.”

  As he continued to discuss all topics unrelated to me, I began to feel my body soften. I tried counting, thinking of Miami, listening to Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice. My eyes opened.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Fitzgerald,” I whispered, ashamed of my panic. “Sometimes I can think of her and I’m fine.”

  “But other days, not so much,” he agreed. “I get it, dear. Do you want to talk about her today or should we talk about school?”

  “I don’t have much to say about either,” I mumbled, my sodden eyes scanning the parking lot beyond Mr. Fitzgerald’s wall of windows.

  He wasn’t much of an interior decorator, so the expansive glass was covered with dusty vinyl blinds.

  “Then, because I’m here, I suggest we discuss school.”

  I neglected to respond, my mind drifting into thoughts of the students who began filling the parking lot. I noticed Michelle and Luke, his arm clinging securely around her shoulders as her head bounced against his chest while they walked. Mr. Fitzgerald followed my glance, recognizing Michelle and Luke.

  “It’s okay to want friends,” he whispered, hoping to warm me to dialogue.

  Mr. Fitzgerald placed his laptop on the surface of his desk and rested his elbows on his thighs, his head hanging into his hands. Getting me to communicate about leaving Oregon and spending the final month of my senior year at FHS was a fine line that he carefully walked. I was listening, but was consumed by an emptiness that expanded from my soul through my veins with every beat of my broken heart. I couldn’t respond to him. Was it okay to want friends?

  “Michelle is a kind girl. She’s going to Michigan State in the fall, and Luke,” Mr. Fitzgerald continued to ramble on, trying to distract me, “I think he’s going to Ohio State.”

  “You know a lot about everyone.” My gaze returned, surely filling him with relief that I was speaking.

  “Well…” He smiled and lifted his posture. “I am the school psychologist.”

  “Do you like your job, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

  “I do. I can work with students from all walks of life and help them through transitions.” He watched my eyes widen with attention as I listened to him. “A lot of students are coping with the loss of a parent. You’re not the only one.”

  “I wish I was,” I replied. “Nobody deserves to feel this.”

  With my head hanging, I looked up at Mr. Fitzgerald. His paternal, sympathetic expression reminded me that I was supposed to feel depressed, pitied even, and I couldn’t help but look away, sighing deeply while continuing to watch the parking lot.

  From the distorted corner of my eye, I saw his head follow my gaze again. I mindlessly watched Michelle, who now stood with Luke and Olivia. They climbed into Michelle’s Audi once she and Luke finished exchanging an embrace that made Mr. Fitzgerald blush. I jumped when the third dismissal bell rang.

  “I know it’s Friday,” he pressed, “but I can stay as long as you need to talk, Sophia.”

  “I’ll see you on Monday. After school?”

  Mr. Fitzgerald stood at my dismissal and nodded. “Absolutely. Sophia?”

  “Yes?” I turned around, hoping his subject change wouldn’t give me too much to consider on the ride home.

  “I’d like you to journal this weekend,” he prompted, “so I can have an idea of what you’d feel comfortable discussing next week.”

  I politely nodded and stepped out of his office into the barren halls of the high school. Nobody lingered on Fridays except for some students in the library or the parking lot. I sluggishly pulled myself through the sterile white brick halls, nearing the exit closest to my lonely route home.

  “Soph,” a familiar voice called out for me, delightfully echoing throughout the small corridor. “Hey, wait up!”

  More than anything, I wanted to go home—the shabby place my aunt owned on the water, far from the rich kids I went to school with, where I could burrow into the covers on the squeaky bed she let me call my own. Some annoying part of me stopped me in my tracks, forcing my body to turn around unwillingly.

  “Hi,” I mumbled, my expression blank, hoping Jameson would get the picture and let me go home.

  “You’re going home late,” he noted, finally reaching up to me. The short-sleeve gray shirt he wore was covered with flecks of blue and white paint.

  “You’re a mess.”

  He peeked down at his shirt and laughed. “I guess I am.”

  “Well,” I attempted to prevent further dialogue, “have a good weekend, Jameson.”

  “Let me drive you.” He reached for my hand and I froze.

  The current zapped through my fingers and into my blood, weaving its way through my skin and into my mind. Jameson was quick to release his hold when he realized I was staring at our hands.

  “It’s going to rain,” he continued, clearing his throat and placing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “You don’t want to be caught on your bike in the rain in your dress.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No. You’re not.” A soft, somewhat condescending laugh poured from his lips. “I don’t bite…promise.” Jameson grinned, flashing a perfectly white row of teeth, continuing his failed attempts at persuasion.

  “Have a nice weekend, Jameson.” I smiled and walked away, reaching for my lock key as I approached the exit.

  Mr. Fitzgerald told me that I could make friends, but he didn’t seem to understand that the foundation of friendship is honesty and I could never tell a soul my story—no matter how hard they pried.

  When I arrived home, my dress only mildly damp from the rain, Aunt Jules was nowhere to be seen. Her watering can hung on the doorknob as a reminder for me to water the lavender and other herbs perfuming the front porch. I now missed Aunt Jules too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The seagulls sang to me on Saturday morning. Their calls to one another were my alarm clock, pulling me from the deep sleep I had been begging for all week. I heard Aunt Jules’s feet padding around the first floor of the cottage we called home. I listened to try and picture what she was doing—clicking, clanking, humming, the door opening…

  “Mrs. Reid,” I recognized the crackle of his voice, “is Sophia home? A couple of us are going to the beach this morning and I wanted to invite her to go with us.” No.

  “I’ll see if she’s awake.” I heard Jules’s voice and her footsteps approached my bedroom door.

  I pulled the comforter over my head, praying she would read my mind and lie to Jameson so I could spend the rest of my Saturday right there; alone and covered.

  “Ma chère,” she called, tapping lightly before entering. “You have a visitor.”

  “I’m asleep.”

  “Bien-aimé.” I felt her weight next to me before she slowly peeled the comforter from my face. “It will be good for you. You’ve already spent the morning in bed.”

  “Please, Jules. Don’t make me,” I begged. “Can’t you tell him I’m sick or that you can’t find me?”

  She glanced down at me, most likely considering what a moron I was, but then she combed her fingers through my hair.

  “My darling Sophia,” she whispered, “when your father met your mother…”

  “No.”

  I would have done almost anything to not think about my mom so early in the morning, especially after the nightmare I had j
ust woken from. I jumped out of bed and pulled on some leggings and a light hoodie. Jules was grinning as she followed me out of the bedroom. She handed me a cup of black tea as we passed the kitchen, dropping one cube of sugar in on the way. Jameson was standing on the front porch, his hands held behind his back as he looked out toward the yard.

  “I found her,” Aunt Jules announced, winking at me as she turned away to return into the house. He spun around, the honey of his eyes glowing with his grin.

  “Stalk much?” I asked, an entertained chuckle giggling out with my attempt at sarcasm.

  “Hardly.” He smiled. “Olivia mentioned that you declined her invitation to come with us to the beach.”

  “I’m allergic to the sun,” I interrupted.

  “Yet you live in Florida now.” His brow furrowed in fictitious confusion. “I’m confused.”

  “All part of my story,” I reminded him.

  Jameson nodded, pointing a finger toward me. “I’m eager to hear it. You want to tell me on the way to the beach?”

  “Look, Jameson.” I took a sip of the tea and placed the cup on a small mosaic table near the doorway, “It’s really a nice offer, but I’m just…”

  I couldn’t finish. I inhaled deeply, reminding myself I wasn’t alone and needed to contain my panic. He stepped closer to me, placing his finger beneath my chin and lifting my face toward his. He must have felt my breathing stop.

  “You’re not ready.” He studied my face. “Something happened to you and it has you paralyzed and you’re not ready. I get it.”

  I worried that he would ask me again to divulge my story, hoping I’d bought into his trap of fabricated empathy.

  “But sometimes,” Jameson continued, “it’s okay to not think about it for a while. So will you come? I promise I won’t make you talk about whatever it is that’s stuck in here.” His index finger touched my forehead as a soft smile formed against his lips.

  “You’re really obnoxious,” I grumbled, walking back into my room and pulling on my flip-flops. Jameson was still smiling at me, a grin spreading along the width of his face, as I stormed out of the cottage toward his BMW.

  “For the record,” I announced, climbing into the passenger seat, enveloped by luxuriously soft leather, “I’m only coming so you all leave me alone.”

  “For the record,” he teased, turning to face me, “I really don’t think anyone plans on leaving you alone, Soph.”

  The engine purred as he backed out of the driveway and sped off, mounting the bayou and cruising west on 64. These people were teenagers and were gifted luxury vehicles that I couldn’t even dream about, let alone afford. I felt guilty, entirely out of place, sitting in the passenger seat.

  In Oregon, I was lucky if my mom let me take her Honda anywhere. I felt a sigh trickle from my mouth, some thoughts emptying my mind as I exhaled.

  “Music?”

  “No. Thank you,” I replied, gazing out the window.

  What was I doing? Why had I placed myself in an entirely inescapable social situation with people whose only interest was solving the great mystery of who I am? I studied the bayou, quietly wondering how quickly a gator would get me if I fell over the bridge. My mood dampened, darkening into its scary place where I hid more often than I wished to admit.

  “Almost there,” Jameson tore me from my thoughts, “I think Olivia drove with Owen.”

  “Owen?”

  Crap! Jameson was manipulative. He pulled me into conversation too easily, when all I wanted was to remain silent and think of the gators beneath us. The lines of his smile radiated from his squinting eyes as he watched me reply.

  “I think they like each other.”

  “Okay.”

  I continued watching the scenery change outside of my window as Jameson cruised down the highway. I could tell we were approaching the beach when the wind picked up around us, cocooning the car in gusts of tropical warmth.

  “You know, Soph, there’s this thing called reciprocal dialogue. I say something, you reply, you say something, and I reply. It can be quite fun.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” I warned, my impassive expression cautiously glancing at him.

  “She speaks,” he teased. “And it’s beautiful when she does.”

  I faced him, watching the grin spread across his face as he stared at me while we approached a red light.

  “Thanks,” I blushed. Manipulative.

  His arm reached across the console, hovering over my leg before he quickly gave my left knee a reassuring squeeze. I don’t know if my lungs or heart stopped first, but I hadn’t realized Jameson had already parked the car and Olivia was running toward my door.

  “You came!” Her enthusiastic squeal tore me from the immobile state of my mind.

  I returned Olivia’s smile as I opened the door and stepped down from my seat. Her arms swung around me, tightly adhering herself to me. I couldn’t breathe. It felt…good.

  “Owen drove me,” she whispered in my ear. “He is so cute.”

  “Ladies,” Jameson interrupted our hug by stepping around his car toward us, carrying a cooler in both hands, “can we go now?”

  “Don’t be an ass, Jamie,” Olivia playfully snarled at him, pulling me along with her ahead of Jameson.

  My head turned back, noticing the smirk that accompanied his chuckle as he began following us. Olivia’s grip around my arm tightened while we walked.

  “How did he get you to come? I was certain you weren’t going to.”

  “He threatened me,” I lied. “He told me he would tell that Mark guy I liked him.”

  “I hate these guys.” Olivia laughed. “But seriously though, Sophia. I’m really glad you’re here. Everyone will be. But didn’t Jamie tell you Mark is coming?”

  I looked back at Jameson, my eyes full of rage that I wasn’t yet confident enough to explore.

  “What? Am I somehow being ‘an ass’ again?” Jameson mocked us, walking ahead toward the rest of our group.

  Our group. The thought was foreign to me, and only after a week of knowing these people. Olivia wrapped her oil-covered arm around me, guiding me with her toward the beach.

  They had scouted a beautiful spot near a sand dune and raised a canopy, of which my skin was appreciative, that covered the blankets and chairs set up beneath. Michelle and Luke were standing in the sun, applying tanning oil, when we arrived.

  “You’re not going in?” Luke nodded to Jameson and I, both fully clothed.

  “I didn’t give her time to bring a suit.” He laughed, replying for me, “So no, she isn’t. Me either. I’ll work on my shade tan.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I clung to the shadows of Olivia, Luke, and Michelle once Mark arrived. He barreled through the palm trees that hid the narrow path between the beach and parking lot.

  Owen flew from his exchange with Jameson to greet Mark, who hauled a shopping bag that overflowed with junk food and soda—the perfect options for staying healthy and hydrated while at the beach. All day.

  I glanced around, thinking of the situation in which I imprisoned myself. If I’d only ignored Jules, I would still be in bed, and could be in bed until Monday morning if I chose. But there I was, sandwiched between Olivia and Michelle, who were too excited to remove layers of clothing and display their expensive triangular pieces of fabric scraps.

  I felt as though Jameson and I were reserved, conservative vampires hiding from the sunlight in comparison to everyone else. Shade tans for both of us, for sure.

  “Barf.” Michelle playfully poked her index finger between her teeth, pretending to gag as Mark stepped closer to the canopy. “Cover up, Liv. The perv is here.”

  “Be nice,” Luke teased, releasing his hold on Michelle before standing to slap Mark’s hand in greeting.

  “Ladies.” Mark winked at Olivia and Michelle before spotting me. “New girl.”

  “Hi, Mark,” Olivia answered for the three of us.

  Michelle pulled Luke’s white t-shirt over herself and stood,
pulling Olivia and I up with her.

  “Come on,” she encouraged. “Girl time while the boys do their stupid boy things.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Luke studied Michelle while she attempted to lead us away.

  I stuffed my fists into the pockets of my hoodie, watching their exchange, and then returned my eyes to the sand, absorbing my toes.

  “Girl time,” Olivia replied for Michelle. “Obvi. Get the grill going and maybe we’ll come back.”

  She reached for a thin beige blanket stuffed in her pile of things and held it against her hip.

  “Hope so,” Jameson sighed, smiling in response as his hand clung nervously to his neck.

  My gaze flew toward him at the sound of his voice, like a magnet, and I hated myself for it. I couldn’t deny the grin that grew as his eyes crossed mine before we both returned to a sham distraction.

  Michelle pulled my arm, her tanning oil most likely soiling the sleeve of my hoodie, as we walked away from the boys. We waddled to a spot near a sand dune that cast a shadow with its towering row of palm trees. The boys were still visible, but well out of earshot.

  “Here.” Olivia waved the blanket out, shaking off sand before placing it on the ground. “Half sun for us, half shade for Sophia.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled.

  It was sweet of Olivia to know I hated the sun without much discussion. Michelle pulled her brown hair into a knot on top of her head before joining Olivia and I on the blanket.

  “Why did Owen invite Mark?” Michelle moaned as she rested against the blanket, her curvy frame absorbing the sun.

  “Owen is a nice guy,” Olivia defended her crush. “He probably felt bad because Mark tries so hard to be everyone’s friend and he’s such a dork.”

  “He’s got a crush on Jameson.” Michelle laughed. “But…”

  “We know, nobody dates him,” Olivia mocked. “Hey, I’m really glad he got you to come, Sophia.” Olivia wiggled her toes in the sand and grinned at me.