Something Like Spring (2 page)

Michelle remained somber. “So tell me. Try to explain what it’s like for you.”

Jason thought about it and exhaled. “What was your first day of school like?”

“Disappointing,” Michelle said instantly. “I was dying to go, since my brother is a year older than me and always raved about it. Of course he lied through his teeth about what school was really like. He kept telling me that toy companies would stop by every day to test market their latest products, and that everyone got paid to play with dolls and things. And the playground was supposed to be full of circus animals, like a petting zoo except with tigers and elephants. So when that first day of school finally came, I was practically peeing my pants in excitement. You can imagine how I felt when I actually got there.”

Jason laughed. “That’s cruel, but not exactly what I was aiming for. Unless you felt really confused and sort of out of your element.”

“That would be high school,” Michelle said, gazing through the windshield. “Normally when I started at a new school, my brother was there to guide me. The first day of my freshman year, Jace had the flu and stayed home. Even worse, my best friend had moved away that summer.”

“Yeah,” Jason said encouragingly. “Remember what that first day was like. A new school is always confusing. Everyone seems to know what’s going on and how everything works except for you. If you’re a stranger, you don’t have a friend or family member there to make it fun instead of frightening. After an entire day of mistakes and embarrassing yourself, what do you feel like doing the most?”

Michelle swallowed. “Like going home.”

“Except you can’t,” Jason said. “Going home is impossible. There are no home-baked cookies at the end of that first day. No hug to make you feel secure again.”

Michelle glanced over at him, eyes concerned. “Is that how bad it is?”

“Just at first,” Jason said quickly, not wanting to upset her further. “Just like at school, after a week or two you get used to everything and it isn’t so intimidating. So I guess what the textbooks say isn’t so far off. It’s rough at first, but people adjust.” What he didn’t tell her is that the feeling of wanting to go home never went away.

Michelle mulled over his words. “What I still don’t understand is why you keep putting yourself through this. If you would settle down with one family, you wouldn’t have to feel that way ever again.”

Jason nodded. That’s all he could really do. He knew she meant well. Her tone wasn’t judgmental or scolding. Michelle genuinely cared. And she was right. If he would stop sabotaging his chances of getting adopted, maybe he would find some sort of peace. But what he couldn’t communicate was just how badly he wanted to go home. No matter how impossible that might be, he wanted it more than anything. Regardless, he put on a brave face for her benefit. “Maybe this family is the right one.”

Michelle looked relieved. “They’re going to love you. Ready?”

He nodded again, and the car rolled forward, delivering Jason to a home he knew would never be his own. The rest happened in a blur. A doorbell that sounded like heavy brass bells. The grinning faces of Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard as they ushered him into a living room where other kids waited. Introductions that were totally lost on him. Then Jason was plopped down on an expensive couch—one of three, all facing each other—his butt growing increasingly numb as the adults spoke. Michelle sat next to him, addressing Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard across a wooden coffee table painted white. Jason did his best to ignore the stares of the other kids, who were lined up together on the side couch.

No amount of experience helped with this stage of the process and the pressure it brought. What did these people expect of him? Was he supposed to impress? Should he juggle flaming swords before swallowing the blades? Jason had no idea what they wanted, and so he did what he always did on first days. He shut down.

Michelle did all the talking, occasionally shooting him a panicked glance that said he was bombing. He felt like apologizing to her, but instead all he did was nod when addressed. Most questions in this situation could be answered in the affirmative. Are you okay? Are you happy to be here? Would you like a glass of water? Yes, yes, and yes.

His new foster parents didn’t seem perturbed by his behavior. They wore the same satisfied expressions they had when he’d met them at the children’s home last month. He knew they were pleased with themselves, rather than with him, and why shouldn’t they be? Not many adults were willing to take in a fifteen-year-old, especially one with a troubled past. They weren’t exactly young either. Mrs. Hubbard was plain with pulled-back brown hair that had lost its shine. Her clothing and jewelry compensated for her dull appearance. The woman practically had money coming out her ears.

Her husband did too. Mr. Hubbard’s dark hair was gray at the temples, his mustache already salt and pepper. He had the successful air of a businessman, despite not wearing a suit. The golf clothes suggested his deals took place at a country club rather than a stuffy office.

Michelle introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard, but they immediately corrected her and reintroduced themselves as Mom and Dad. This made Jason’s mouth go dry. The three kids seated on the side couch were reintroduced as his brother and two sisters. They had names too, but Jason missed them completely. A young girl of about seven or eight beamed at him, while next to her, a boy on the verge of puberty sized him up. At the end of the couch, an older girl in her late teens seemed bored, like she’d seen one too many of these meetings. This told Jason that not everyone made the cut. Being here didn’t mean he would automatically be adopted.

“Ah!” Mrs. Hubbard said, eyes lighting up as she looked toward the front door. “There’s your oldest brother!”

Jason followed her gaze. A guy his age, maybe a little older, had a cell phone pressed against his cheek. The device was almost lost in the waves of chestnut hair that spilled over his ears and ended just above his neck. His skin was dark with sun, his eyes almost golden. A loose V-neck shirt made his frame appear lanky at first, but the chest was toned, the exposed skin revealing fine black hair not so different from that on his chin. Jason dared to let his attention dart down to the narrow waist, where the shirt was partially tucked into a white belt—either by accident or design.

“Caesar,” Mr. Hubbard said. “Would you like to meet your new brother?”

Disinterested eyes grazed Jason, not even focusing, before the phone moved away. “No.” The answer was firm. Final. Caesar returned the phone to his ear, continuing his conversation as he crossed the room and bounded up the stairs to the upper floor.

Jason turned to his new foster parents. They didn’t seem fazed by this behavior. Quite the opposite, in fact. Mrs. Hubbard’s eyes continued to shine, Jason noticing how they were the same golden hue. Mr. Hubbard’s strong chin—the exact shape and size as Caesar’s—didn’t clench in frustration. Instead he winced in amused embarrassment as his son disappeared, causing Jason to realize the truth. Caesar was their child. The real deal. Flesh and blood.

Jason glanced back at his would-be siblings. The oldest girl was of Asian descent, the youngest much too blonde and fair. He thought the boy in the middle might belong to them too, until Jason saw him glare bitterly after Caesar.

Jason had experienced mixed families before. Biological children were always treated differently. Not that he cared. Power struggles didn’t interest him. He didn’t compete for the attention of strangers, so he’d gladly stay out of Caesar’s way.

“I believe that’s everything,” Michelle said as she stood.

Jason shot to his feet, nearly reaching out to stop her. Funny, because Michelle had reached toward him, a hand extended for him to shake. He ignored it and hugged her, feeling embarrassed by his own actions, but desperation had won out. When she hugged him back, he had to steel himself. No tears. No weakness in front of this new family. No more than he’d already shown, at least.

“Try to be good,” Michelle whispered. “For your own sake. And if that’s not enough, then do it for me.”

He nodded once she pulled away. He would try. But only for her. Michelle dug in her pocket and handed him a business card, which struck him as cold. He knew the address of the children’s home by heart, as well as the number of the front desk. Then he noticed handwriting on the back and quickly pocketed the card.

“Okay,” she said, cheeks slightly flushed. Michelle returned her attention to Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard, a pleasant smile on her face. They walked her to the door, leaving Jason standing there. He decided to make eye contact with each of his “siblings” to show he wasn’t afraid. Or intimidated. Each met his gaze. Of course. They came from the same world as he did.

“Can you really play that?” the little girl asked, pointing at his guitar.

“Yeah,” Jason answered.

“Do you know any hymns?”

Before he could answer, the Hubbards returned to the room.

“So,” Mrs. Hubbard said, clapping her hands together. “I’ve always found a nice board game is the best way to get acquainted. How about a round of Scrabble?”

Jason thought of all the naughty words he could spell. Then he remembered the promise he’d made to Michelle. He’d be good. Forcing a smile, he nodded eagerly. “Sounds fun!”

* * * * *

Two hours of mind-numbing games. Not just Scrabble, but also Trouble followed by Chutes and Ladders. That last one had been for Amy’s benefit—the youngest girl. At least the board game marathon had taught Jason everyone’s name, except for his would-be parents. Mercifully, they then showed him to his room. After a brief tour, they suggested he get unpacked and enjoy some privacy, although they left his bedroom door open on the way out. He figured it was meant to stay that way.

Jason hadn’t felt this antsy since his first few foster families. Back then he had still wanted to please, working hard to live up to expectations both real and imagined. Now, after all these years, he was supposed to try again. If it wasn’t for Michelle…

Remembering the business card, he pulled it out of his jeans pocket, flipped it over, and read the handwritten note.
If you need anything, you can call me. Even at home.
Below this a number was scribbled. Jason smiled at the way the word “anything” had been underlined. Another guy might make this into something it wasn’t, show it off at school and brag about the hot older woman who had slipped him her digits. But of course Jason wasn’t like other guys, and Michelle wasn’t that sort of person. Instinct told him to hide the card somewhere safe, so he examined his new room.

Bedrooms in foster homes came in two flavors. The good ones were neutral, the foster parents trusting their wards to fill the space with their own personalities. The other kind, like the one Jason stood in now, reeked of expectation. A baseball mitt, a bat, and a catcher’s mask nestled casually together in one corner. On the wall hung framed posters of sports cars, the makes and models of which Jason couldn’t even guess at. The queen-sized bed was generously neutral, but the desk next to it was lined with a crisp collection of Hardy Boys books.

So basically, after having met Jason last month, the Hubbards had decided he was a baseball playing jock who fantasized about zooming around in sports cars while solving petty crimes. He shook his head, gathered up the baseball equipment, and tossed it in the closet. In the liberated corner he placed his guitar. After a moment’s thought, he slid Michelle’s card between the strings, dropping it in the sound hole where he felt it would be safe.

After swinging his suitcase onto the bed, Jason started moving his clothes into the dresser drawers. That’s when Amy padded into the room. Smiling, she sat on the mattress edge and looked around. Nothing had changed except the guitar, which she stared at. Then she cocked her head, blonde bangs swinging to the side as she considered him seriously.

“Do you want to pray?” she asked.

At first Jason wondered if she had a speech impediment. Surely she meant ‘play’ instead of ‘pray,’ but he gave her the benefit of the doubt. “You mean to Jesus?”

Amy nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“No. Sorry, but God stopped taking my calls a long time ago.”

Amy scrunched up her nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I don’t want to pray.” Jason grabbed the last two pairs of socks from his suitcase and closed the lid. “How old are you?”

“Seven and a half.”

“What does a seven-and-a-half-year-old need to pray for? A Barbie Dreamhouse?”

“I’ve got one of those,” Amy said matter-of-factly. “I pray for things to stay the same. I don’t want everything to change again.”

Jason understood. She was young, but obviously she still remembered the life she had before. Whatever had put her into foster care, she worried it could happen again. He wouldn’t ask her what that was. Instead, he steered her toward more pleasant topics. “You really have a Barbie Dreamhouse?”

Amy nodded eagerly, flashing him a smile that was missing a few teeth.

Jason pretended to be impressed. “The kind with an elevator and everything?”

“Yup! And lights that turn on and off and a hot tub. And a toilet.” She giggled. “Do you want to come play?”

“With dolls? Uh, no.”

Amy went from gleeful to pouty in the blink of the eye. “Nobody ever plays with me!”

“Nobody ever?” Jason asked.

“Nobody ever,” Amy confirmed.

Jason glanced around his room. Unless he planned on losing himself in the innocuous adventures of the Hardy Boys, he didn’t have many options. “All right,” he said. “But I get to play with the boy dolls. You
do
have boy dolls, don’t you?”

Amy’s eyes lit up. She hopped off the bed and grabbed his hand, leading him down the hallway. Jason allowed himself to peek into the rooms they passed. In one dark bedroom—the blinds pulled shut—his new ‘brother’ Peter sat in front of a computer, wearing a headset while he hammered at a keyboard. The door to the next room was only cracked, but he could see Carrie, the oldest Hubbard girl, pacing the room while lost in a phone conversation. The room across from Peter’s was obviously their destination, since it was a pink paradise, but Jason’s attention was focused down the hall. Unlike the others, the door there was closed. The dull thump of music could be heard from beyond.