The lack of information about who had my brothers—their foster parents’ last name, their address, their phone number … the fact that I couldn’t see Jacob and Tyler whenever I wanted … I lost all of those “privileges” the day I hit my first foster father. My throat swelled and my eyes stung. The realization that I was on the verge of tears pissed me off. I stood, unsure what to do … or who to blame. “You have no right. They’re my responsibility.”
Mrs. Collins stared at me straight-faced. “They’re safe. You need to believe me on this. You’re putting your experiences on your brothers. I understand your need to protect them, but right now it isn’t necessary. If you want to see them on a regular basis then you need to learn to work with me, and I’ve explained how you can do that.”
“Go to hell.” I grabbed my books and left her office.
Echo
Mrs. Collins’s plaques had moved by a fraction of an inch, revealing black marks on the wall. For once, I found myself wishing for Ashley’s attendance. The imperfection would have driven her insane.
Just like last week, the blue ribbon sat on Mrs. Collins’s desk and just like last week, the placement of the ribbon changed— each time closer to my seat. It was as if the ribbon contained a force field that enveloped me—a pull I couldn’t explain.
“How are things with your boyfriend?” asked Mrs. Collins. Another Tuesday afternoon, another therapy session.
I drew my eyes away from the ribbon. Thank God Luke had asked me out on a group date for Saturday night. One less lie for me to tell. “Ashley misunderstood. I don’t have a boyfriend, but I am dating somebody.” Kind of. Sort of. If one date was considered dating.
Her eyes brightened. “Wonderful. Is it that basketball player I’ve seen hanging around with you in the hall?”
“Yes.” Great, a stalking therapist. Was that even legal?
“Tell me about him.”
Um … no. “I don’t want to talk about Luke.”
“All right,” she said, totally unruffled. “Let’s talk about Noah. He told me today is your first tutoring session.”
I blinked several times in succession. Crap. Was it? Maybe I should have discussed Luke. I still had Noah’s jacket in my locker since I’d let Lila and Grace convince me I couldn’t simply hand it to him during school. They were still devising a plan to get it back to him. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Would you like some unsolicited advice?”
I shrugged and yawned simultaneously, preparing for the just-say-no-to-drugs-sex-and-alcohol lecture. After all, in theory, I was tutoring Noah Hutchins. “Sure.”
“Noah is more than capable of doing the work. He just needs a small push. Don’t let him fool you into thinking otherwise. And you, Echo, are the one person at this school I believe can challenge him academically.”
Allllrighty. That was a totally strange pep talk. “Okay.” I covered my mouth as I yawned again.
“You look tired. How are you sleeping?”
Awesome. I slept a whole two hours last night. My foot began to rock.
“Echo, are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” If I kept saying it then maybe it would come true. And maybe, someday, I could sleep a full night without horrible dreams—strange dreams, scary dreams, full of constellations, darkness, broken glass and, sometimes, blood.
“Your father mentioned that you don’t take your prescribed sleeping pills even though you still have night terrors.”
Nightly. Scary enough I didn’t want to fall asleep. Frightening enough that if I lost the battle and did sleep, I woke up screaming. My father and Ashley kept the pills in a locked cabinet in their bathroom and only gave them to me if I asked. I’d rather have poked my eye out with a bleach-laced needle than ask Ashley for anything. “I said I’m fine.”
With the word fine, my eyes shot back to the ribbon. What was it about that thing that attracted me to it? I felt like a moth flying toward an electric bug zapper.
“You appear very interested in the ribbon, Echo,” said Mrs. Collins. “You’re more than welcome to hold it if you’d like.”
“No, I’m good,” I replied. But I wasn’t good. My fingers twitched in my lap. For some insane reason, I wanted to hold it. Mrs. Collins said nothing and the silence sort of creeped me out.
My heart stuttered as I finally shifted forward and took the ribbon in my hand.
This wasn’t one of those cheesy blue ribbons. This was the real deal—large and made of silk. I rubbed the fabric between my thumb and forefinger. First in Show: Painting—Kentucky Governor’s Cup.
Someone at my school won the Governor’s Cup. How freaking cool was that? Every high school artist dreamed of winning that competition.
Maybe some lowerclassman had remarkable art talent. Screw my dad—the moment Mrs. Collins released me, I planned on checking out the art room and seeing this talent for myself. To win first place in the Governor’s Cup, you had to be a stinking genius.
As I ran my fingers over the ribbon again, applause echoed in my head. A still frame image of my outstretched arm accepting the ribbon sprang into my mind.
My eyes snapped to Mrs. Collins as my heart thundered in my chest. “This is mine.”
The thundering moved to my head and my chest constricted as another image squeezed out. In my mind’s eye I was accepting not only the ribbon, but a certificate. I didn’t see the name printed there, but I saw the date. It was the date.
Jolts of electricity shot up my arms and straight to my heart. Horrified, I threw the ribbon across the room and bolted from my chair. My knee slammed against the desk, causing needle-sharp pains to shoot behind my kneecap. I fell to the floor and scrambled backward, away from the ribbon, until my back smacked the door.
Mrs. Collins pushed slowly away from her desk, crossed the room to retrieve the ribbon, and held it in her hand. “Yes, it’s yours, Echo.” She spoke like we were sharing a pizza instead of me having a panic attack.