Nowhere Girl (Foundlings Book 1) Page 6

  “Fine, Mr. Black.” The tease tickled my heart. “Your turn, I guess.”

  “Favorite food?”

  “Beignets with honey.” I tried to catch myself, hoping the thought of my mom wouldn’t fill my face with tears while talking with Jameson. “…or fries. When is your birthday?”

  “July twentieth. When is yours?”

  “August first. Any siblings?”

  “No.” His hand pulled from mine and his posture stiffened. “Why’d you transfer with only one month left?”

  “Pass.” It was my turn to avoid the response.

  I pulled my knees tighter against my chest, allowing my eyes to lose focus against the horizon. My thoughts of the gators on our drive to the beach randomly filled my mind again.

  “Why didn’t you want to come to the beach with us today?”

  “I’m an introvert.”

  “You don’t say.” He chuckled, his shoulder nudging mine. “Your turn.”

  “What are your parents like?”

  “I live with my aunt and uncle,” he explained. “They are never home. Ever.”

  “Why?”

  Jameson looked down at me, his eyes deep with a darkness that mirrored the Gulf at our feet. “Pass to why I live with them. Making money and socializing is more important than being with their nephew, I guess. I don’t really know, Soph. What about you?”

  “Why do I live with Jules? Pass,” I couldn’t help but smile at him, despite considering we both had something deeper to divulge, something that clearly haunted both of us, “She’s gone a lot too.”

  “How come your aunt is gone a lot? Don’t you get lonely?”

  I pointed to myself. “Introvert, remember?”

  “I won’t forget it.” He smirked at me, forcing me to continue.

  “I used to love being alone…before my panic attacks. Pass…”

  “You’ve got one hell of a story, don’t you?” He studied me, nodding in fascination.

  “Pass.” My smile faltered and I used Jameson’s shoulders to pry myself from the sand. “We should get back. I need to finish my paper for British Lit.”

  “Pass.” He grinned. “Stay a little longer?”

  His eyes glowed, capturing the long-set sun and radiating into my irises as he spoke without saying a word. Jameson was addictive and dangerous—he made the hidden part of my mind wake, ready to divulge or just calm enough to recognize such hidden stuff existed. Still sitting, he pulled my hands into his grasp.

  “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll take you home.”

  I wanted to scream “pass” and stay longer, but I could only play that game for so long before I would slip or he would tire of talking to me.

  “Are you still cold?” He noticed I had my lips nuzzled beneath the opening of my hood and I quickly nodded a response.

  While chuckling at my timid reply, Jameson slung his right arm around my shoulders and guided me back to the parking lot without saying goodbye to the others.

  “They’ll be fine.” He read my mind. “I’ll get you home.”

  “Thank you.” Pass.

  ***

  I began unfastening my seatbelt in the passenger seat as Jameson pulled his SUV in front of Jules’s house. Her car was in the driveway and the only light emitting from the small structure was the flickering aura of lanterns from her back patio. I sighed heavily, torn between the three worlds—socializing, Jules and why I was here, and the dark place inside my head.

  “I did have a little sister,” he blurted, interrupting my own selfish thoughts.

  I turned to him in the dark car, catching the glow of his eyes in the reflected streetlight. I felt my eyebrows tickle toward one another, unable to fathom a response, as I studied Jameson’s expression.

  “She died a few years ago.”

  “Pass?”

  He shook his head at me in response. I was trying to give him an out, trying to let him stop talking about something that so clearly impacted him without feeling embarrassed, but he continued.

  “She was my half-sister. She was only five. She would’ve been nine on August first.”

  I hung my head, feeling guilty for sharing a birthday with his sister and even placing the two items in one sentence while at the beach. His hand lifted my chin to face him, a face that now smiled a strained yet calm smile.

  “That’s just a piece,” he muttered. “So maybe sometime soon I’ll get another piece of yours.”

  “Thank you for driving.” I blushed, still feeling a strange hybrid of embarrassment—for what he just told me, for enjoying myself, for wishing to stay longer—and resistance to leave the comfort of his passenger seat.

  I reached for the door handle and looked back at Jameson while I climbed from the car, but he had already disappeared to open my door. I looked up at him, scanning his eyes for something else, even encouragement to say something, but at least he was still smiling at me.

  “Thanks for making me go,” I grumbled. “And for sharing so much, Mr. Black.”

  “I had a great time, Soph. See you Monday.”

  “See you Monday.”

  I stepped away from his car, glowing crimson from his chivalrous gesture at my door, and entered the house. Once I closed the door behind me, I peered through the living room window. Jameson was leaning against his car, pulling a hand along the muscles in his neck with his head hanging. He looked at the sky, then at the house, before walking around his car and driving off. I was tempted to wait and see if he would come back to share more, but I needed to spend time apart from people and recharge before my emotional batteries were entirely drained for the following day with Jules or my own thoughts.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAY EIGHT

  My second Monday came and went with a blur, until my appointment with Mr. Fitzgerald. I approached his office, already feeling anxious that I would disappoint him by not having written anything for him all weekend. He was standing with his back to the door, speaking on his cell phone in…German?

  He heard me enter his small office and spun around, motioning for me to sit on his couch. I listened to the choppy dialogue while I organized my backpack. The last ninety minutes of the day spent with Mr. Fitzgerald and not in sixth or seventh period. I felt a slight tingle of resentment mixing with a newfound eagerness about seventh period, but alas, my mental health was a priority. I was sure I wouldn’t be missed.

  The photos on Mr. Fitzgerald’s desk revealed a calm, lovely side of his world that caused jealousy to bubble in my tummy. His wife was gorgeous with long brown hair and chocolate eyes. Their daughters mirrored her entirely, both beautiful with cute toothless grins that spread into dimpled cheeks. I was a toothless, dimpled little girl once upon a time, naïve to the world and hopelessly glued to my mom.

  “Amelia and Adeline,” he remarked while finally sitting in his wingback desk chair, “The three best things I ever did.”

  “Three?”

  “Marrying their mom is number one,” he smiled, “Sorry to be on the phone when you got in here. How are you feeling today? I’m eager to hear about your thoughts from the weekend.” Whoa. The weekend. What even happened this weekend?

  “Uh…I didn’t journal.”

  “That’s fine,” he assured me, crossing his left ankle to his right knee. “That might mean something.”

  “Like I have too much wrong with me to even start picking a journaling topic?”

  “No.” He laughed, caught off-guard by my thoughts. “Not at all. It might mean you felt well enough to not write anything. Was anything on your mind?”

  “Oh my god, Mr. Fitzgerald,” I moaned, my head falling against the back of his couch, “It was awful.”

  With my eyes closed, I heard his continued chuckle and the familiar clicking on his laptop.

  “Elaborate,” he encouraged, probably pleased with my openness.

  I thought I owed it to the guy, after all he had done to help with my transition, to capitalize on my current newfound willingness to communicate.<
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  “It started when I left you on Friday. My aunt wasn’t home when I got there. I don’t know when she got there, but she was at least there when I woke up. Or more like, when I was rudely woken by Jameson who kidnapped me and drove me to the beach, where I had to spend all day with Michelle, Luke, Olivia, Owen, Jameson…oh, and Mark, who tried to assault me when Jameson tricked me into getting his sweatshirt. Then we talked for a while…”

  “Who?”

  “Jameson and me. He drove me home, I didn’t have a nightmare, but when I woke up my aunt and her boyfriend were leaving…again.”

  “I want to get back to the kidnapping thing.” A smile flirted with his face. “But first, I think I see a common theme here, Sophia. You seem really upset about your aunt.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to take advantage of you opening up right now.” He read my mind. “Why do you feel so upset when she’s gone so often? You knew that she and her boyfriend split time at his house and that they had busy lives. You’re also a very independent and, if I may say so, introverted young lady. Why do you feel you need her there more now?”

  “She’s supposed to take care of me now.”

  “You’re eighteen.”

  “So? I’m still her sister’s daughter. She’s the one who agreed to take me after my mom…”

  “Stay with me,” he encouraged, placing a hand on my shaking knee. I inhaled deeply, focusing on my rant.

  “I’m mad at her because I expect people to do what they say they will do. If you tell your daughters you’re taking them to Miami, you need to take them to Miami. And how can I even talk to her about everything that happened on Saturday if she isn’t even there? She can walk around pretending to be all French and stuff and pretending that she cares about me, but I can’t talk to her. She’s never there. Nobody’s ever there. So instead of even trying to talk to her, I’ll just wallow in my own self-pity like any other eighteen-year-old going through a traumatic life event. Right?”

  “So it’s easier to not let people in because then you won’t get hurt,” he summarized one of the pieces to my puzzle so easily that I felt like an idiot.

  “Well…” I lifted my head from the couch and watched him analyze me. “When you put it that way…”

  “You were kidnapped?”

  “Yes. Held against my will.”

  “You’re extremely talkative this afternoon. This is new and encouraging.” He continued smiling at me. “You must have accepted me into your bubble.”

  “My what?”

  “Introverts usually have a bubble or a circle.” He motioned with his arms. “Of people whom they trust the most. We are the lucky ones that know everything about the real Sophia.”

  “The police and lawyers already told you everything. I didn’t need to go through the whole get-to-know-you stuff.”

  “We bypassed that, yes. However, you’re still talking to me.”

  “Should I stop?” I blushed, slouching into the cushions.

  Mr. Fitzgerald shook his head, still smiling at me. “Tell me about the kidnapping.”

  “Why is that funny to you? I was really kidnapped.”

  His hands flew up defensively. “I’m not laughing at you, Sophia. It’s really great to see this side of you. So you were really kidnapped by Jameson Burke, huh?”

  “Yes. He forced me into his car, drove me to the beach, made me socialize with everyone all afternoon, talked to me…it was just so much. It was all just too much. Okay, so he didn’t kidnap me and I went willingly or whatever, but I hated it.”

  “Did you really?”

  I looked up at him, studying those tortoiseshell glasses and hung my head in defeat, “No.”

  “I see.”

  “Just the part where Mark harassed me,” I growled. “But Jameson knocked him out and made him leave.”

  “He protected you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Jameson Burke?”

  “That’s the guy.”

  “Well,” Mr. Fitzgerald shifted in his seat, placing the laptop on his desk behind him, “I’m really glad to hear you’re making friends. I’m sorry to hear about Mark, but really glad you were able to come out of your shell a little and expose some of Sophia to your friends.”

  “I still thought about my mom while I was there,” I blurted, shifting the dialogue entirely. “One of the boys referred to us as targets after they’d dumped the ice on Olivia.”

  “Targets?”

  “That’s what he screamed when he stumbled out of our house. He screamed about my mom making herself an easy target.”

  I had to pause to realize I hadn’t cried at that story. Not a single tear fell from my eyes.

  “It’s normal for our feelings to not match some things we discuss.” Mr. Fitzgerald must have read my mind. “Often times, and this might be an example, there is just too much to process that our minds and bodies don’t align.”

  “I’ll cry about it later.”

  “If that helps.” He smiled at me. “Tell me more about the target.”

  I inhaled a deep, violently shaky breath, knotting my hands in my lap as I collected my thoughts.

  “I’m not sure I can…without crying.” Mr. Fitzgerald stared at me while I spoke, waiting for me to continue. “Fine…It was Michael. He screamed at my mom for being a target before he killed her. He just stormed in there telling Mom that she made herself a target because she told someone we were running away. She’d cleaned out her bank account, you know? We were celebrating and then…”

  Mr. Fitzgerald gently tossed the small box of tissues on the couch inches away from my thigh. I didn’t want to finish, so I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to regulate my heart without his aid.

  “I’m proud of you, Sophia.”

  ***

  The parking lot was empty, filling me with an enormous wave of relief because the last thing I wanted to do after talking with Mr. Fitzgerald was talk to anyone. However, I still unlocked my bike and pedaled out of there like a hurricane was behind me. I couldn’t make myself a…target…of socializing. I hated that word. I hated it so much. I didn’t want to feel anymore, but then I thought of the happy things and only wanted to talk to my mom about them. I wanted to tell her about Olivia and Michelle, even Jameson saving me from that pervert on Saturday. I shook my head—I needed to get a grip.

  When I was walking my bike up to the house, I noticed Jules and Simon were sitting on the front porch. I could tell by the umbrella in her hair that she’d finished a cocktail. It was Monday evening and my aunt was already drinking. I’d never, but I was jealous of her methods of coping.

  “Darling.” She stood and danced toward me as I approached the screen door. “The air is out, so Simon and I are having a party out here.”

  “Welcome home, Sophia.”

  “Hi, Simon. Can I have one?” I pointed to Jules’s empty glass and she playfully poked my nose. Worth a shot.

  I left them alone on the porch and went to my room, dumping my bag on the floor. I couldn’t begin my homework because my mind wasn’t there. I found myself back in Oregon and closed my eyes, trying to grasp the intangible memories of home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAY NINE

  Olivia picked me up, as promised, for school on Tuesday morning. She approached the house carrying three paper cups in a small tray.

  “Hi,” she squealed when she saw me climb down from the steps. “I brought you some tea.”

  “Thanks.” I took the tray from her hands. “Two cups?”

  “Well…” She blushed. “The third one is a mocha for Owen. He sort of asked me out on the way home on Saturday.”

  “Sort of?” I couldn’t help but smile at Olivia. She was glowing radiantly with excitement, genuinely eager to divulge the details.

  “Wait,” I continued and placed my free hand in the air while her blush darkened. “You waited three days to tell me, including all the time we were together yesterday? Rude.”

  “I di
dn’t know how you would react,” she admitted. “I want you to like him and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

  “Olivia, I’m really happy for you. None of my stuff should stop you from sharing your good stuff.”

  “I know it’s just been a week, Sophia, but we’re really growing on each other, aren’t we?” She nudged my shoulder as her contagious smile lifted my own mouth.

  I nodded, a wave of hurt rippling from my chest as it vanished, only to be replaced with calm. Olivia wasn’t what I had feared a week ago. She was kind, genuine, and the extroverted piece I needed to still function for the next three weeks of school. Aunt Jules stepped out of the house, locking the front and screen doors before joining Olivia and I in the yard.

  “Good morning, Ms. Reid,” Olivia buzzed. “I’m Olivia Hart.”

  “Good morning, dear.” Jules glowed, full of radiance. “It’s so wonderful to meet another of Sophia’s friends. Please, call me Jules. That Ms. Reid stuff is for my mother. I know of your parents. It’s so kind of you to drive Sophia this morning.”

  “I’m happy to do it,” Olivia replied. “We should probably get going though. We don’t want to be late.”

  Jules kissed my forehead and trotted off to her own car before climbing in and applying her bright crimson lipstick in the rearview mirror. I was fastening my seatbelt as Olivia pulled away from the curb.

  “It’s sweet of your aunt to call us friends,” Olivia declared. “We are, you know? We’re friends. I hope you think that too, Sophia.”

  “Sure.” I nodded, turning to see a suspicious smirk on her face. “What?”

  “Who else has she met?” Oh.

  “She was home when Jameson kidnapped me on Saturday,” I admitted, grinding my teeth to fight the blush I could feel tickling below my cheeks.

  Olivia sped off with a small giggle leaving her throat.

  “Ah, yes.” She laughed. “So can I tell you all about Owen? Oh, my gosh, Sophia…”

  I let Olivia fill the ten-minute car ride with her detailed description of how Owen waited until they got home from the beach to officially ask her out. She told me they spent Sunday together at the beach again and how they planned on going out on his dad’s sailboat the following weekend. It sounded very-Olivia, from what I knew of her so far.