“I talked to Shane’s lawyer. Since Ms. Smith has dropped the charges, his offense no longer goes on his permanent record, and he can be released from Ingram.”
“But that’s good news, right?” I don’t understand why she looks so sad.
“His dad still isn’t around, Sage. Since he’s not willing to assume custody, the state has to send him into foster care until he turns eighteen.”
“That’s only four months away,” I protest, remembering he told me his birthday’s in July.
“It doesn’t change anything. Four months or four days, right now he’s a minor, and he can’t live on his own.”
“He could get … what’s it called … emancipated. Can’t his lawyer help him with the papers?”
“I’ll check into it,” my aunt promises, “but legal petitions take time. It may end up being faster for him to wait until he ages out of the system.”
“What does that even mean?”
“When he turns eighteen, the state will no longer assume responsibility for his care.”
What the hell. This seems incredibly messed up. Now, he’s facing the one situation he wanted to avoid—having to deal with a strange family. After taking care of his mom and managing his own life, he’ll have to follow their rules. I hate that it’s worked out this way; it seems so unfair. He deserves better.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“He’s with a family two hours away.”
Two hours by car, roughly 120 miles. There’s just no way I can bike to see him. I’m still recovering from the trip I took to see his dad. I curl my hand into a fist, taking comfort in how my nails bite into my palms because I’m sad and angry at the same time. But for Shane? For a happy reunion? Okay. Maybe I can ask Aunt Gabby to drive me. I still don’t approve of gas-guzzling vehicles, but Shane’s worth an exception.
“Do you have his address?”
Aunt Gabby shakes her head. “The social worker wouldn’t tell me since I’m not family.”
“Did they give his phone back when they released him from juvie?”
“I imagine so.”
Then why hasn’t he called me? How long has he been out? But maybe his battery’s dead—he probably didn’t have a charger with him—or he might be out of minutes, since it was a prepaid phone. With some effort, I calm down. Honestly, I can’t wait to get to my room, so I can try texting him. If he doesn’t reply, it might not mean anything bad.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. “It means a lot to me that you’ve been calling around.”
“No problem. I like Shane, too. And I don’t want you running off again.”
A wry laugh escapes me. “I won’t. My thighs were sore for a week.”
“You had it coming.”
“I know. I’ll be in my room until dinner, okay?”
“Sure, honey.”
Once I get in there, I shut the door behind me and lean on it for a few seconds, eyes closed. I wish I’d memorized every moment with him, so they’d be sharp as crystal instead of dream-fogged. Lonely, I pull out my phone and type: You there?
No reply.
I fling myself on my bed and lie there on my face. Ten minutes later, my phone vibrates. I snatch it up and swipe the screen to unlock it. I don’t recognize the number, but the message clues me in. This is Cassie. I know it’s short notice, but I wondered if you had time for coffee.
I text back, sure. OMW. It’s better than sitting here, worrying about Shane. So I put my shoes on and call to my aunt, “I’m meeting a friend at the Coffee Shop. Is that all right?”
“Who?”
“Her name’s Cassie.”
She brightens at hearing a new name. “Okay. Be home before dark.”
The days are a little longer as we roll toward spring, so I think I can manage. After putting on a jacket, I get my bike out of the shed and head into town. Cassie’s already waiting when I arrive, but she stands up when she sees me. For a minute I think she’s going to hug me like we’re old friends instead two girls who were briefly infatuated with Ryan McKenna. He’d die if he saw us together.