Abcdfu

G rasping the bag close to my chest, I speed through the hallways of the school. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. The rest of the day was not as easy as the first period, and Dottie almost revealed herself in at least two classes, where the twins terrorized me in a much more direct fashion. The kinkajou seems to be imprinting on me and their bullshit made it extremely difficult to keep my secret. Once she had both of their scents, it was obvious she would not remain still and let me handle the idiots if they got too close.

The only time I took a deep breath was lunch, and that’s because I rarely eat in the cafeteria. My preferred spots are in hidden corners or when it’s warm enough, on sections of the lawn not taken by the cliques. I could take my secret friend to one of my spots, eat my lunch, feed her, and make sure she wouldn’t make a mess in my bag later on. The last part was important because besides not having my stuff ruined, the last thing I need to add to my reputation is stinky.

“Just stay still until we get across the quad and down the street. I don’t know if any of the morons will be watching. They have team activities after school and before the games, so we should be able to slip by. Once we get home, Brett and Allison will only be there briefly before they head out to the stadium. When everyone’s gone, you can romp all you like while I keep trying to find your home.”

A muffled hoot is my answer, and I hiss a curse.

There’s only a little more to go and we’ll be free, damnit.

I keep my head down as I make my way down the front steps of the school, not making eye contact with anyone around me. My steps quicken as I make my way down the walkway towards the sidewalk. So far, so good—no one is hollering at me, and I might be lucky enough to avoid my obnoxious foster brothers. It would be the first time all day, but my luck has to change sometimes, doesn’t it? Those dipshits are working overtime to bully me about outshining their achievements, and little do they realize I might not have any prospects at all. My app hasn’t dinged once since the night of the letter and my hopes are dimming slowly.

If I don’t get to go to school, I’m definitely getting the fuck out of this town. I’ll struggle somewhere else.

The lump in the bag presses closer to my body and I swallow hard because it feels like a hug. I can’t remember the last time I had one of those, but it was before the incident in middle school. Both my aversion to being touched and my distant fosters made that possible, so I’ve never realized how much I miss this kind of support. And now I’m crying over a bear-monkey thing and I have to get out of here.

Jogging a little as I hit the main path, I move quickly enough to put the campus behind me before someone notices my weakness. Again, I don’t want ‘crybaby’ added to all the other monikers the petty dictators in the high school ecosystem have tagged me with. I just want to keep my damn head down until graduation and escape this place as soon as possible. Is that too much to ask? It seems like it lately.

When I get far enough from school, I mutter softly, “Not too much longer. Stay quiet until we get upstairs. Then you can hide if anyone barges into my room while we wait for the house to empty.”

Dottie moves a little and I take that as a ‘yes,’ continuing down the sidewalks past the businesses. My eyes are trained on the screen of my phone so people think I’m busy and don’t stop me, but I’m observing the others. A lady getting out of her car gives me a weird look as I pass by, mumbling under my breath, but that’s a small town for you. Everyone is overly concerned with everyone else’s shit and even stopping in the store to grab something leads to possibly getting accosted by a well-meaning person. One wrong word or move hits the grapevine like wildfire, so despite my desire to get a few things for dinner, I avoid the open doors.

They won’t leave anything tonight because they’re going to the game, so I’ll be on my own for food.

I cook a little, but I’ll probably order takeout. My bank account isn’t fat by any means, but I have some savings from living in prior homes where they weren’t as strict with my time. I could work during freshman, sophomore, and junior years, including most summers, so I have a meager amount of money for emergencies. I try not to use it because it was always my safety in case I had to run away. Kids in my situation are always terrified of the next place they land and though I’ve had semi-rotten luck, I never knew if that would morph into a full-on unpleasant situation.

I’m almost free, so a night of takeout and trying to locate the goddamn university isn’t too much luxury.

My stomach drops when I arrive at the Jamesons’. Both of my fosters are home before they should be, and I wanted to get Dottie settled before they breezed in. Now I have to trust the little monster to behave even if Allison gives me shit about something random. I don’t know if that will work out and hell help me if Brett joins in on her nonsense. He gets loud quickly if he’s forced to take sides, which is why I try to avoid stirring the pot when they’re around.

Pausing at the edge of the drive, I hiss at the bag, not even caring that I’m talking to an animal like it knows what I’m saying. “Look. The parents are here and shouldn’t be. You cannot be discovered or I’ll have to kick you into the cold again. If they’re being shitheads, hold your temper. Everything will be so much worse if you don’t.”

The bag doesn’t move, and I sigh in relief.

Here we go…

I open the door, sticking my head in to see if my foster parents are in the living room. When I don’t see them, I shrug and head up the stairs. As I get closer to the top, I hear voices and frown. That’s not coming from my room.

“Find anything yet?” Brett asks in an annoyed voice.

“No. I don’t know where she could hide it. The boys said she swears she has gotten nothing, but that man was here. We both saw him!”

I blink. Allison and Brett are digging through my room because they think I’m hiding… college letters? In what world is that worth violating my trust and privacy? And why the fuck does it matter to everyone so much? If I get in somewhere on a scholarship, they aren’t expected to do anything for me. I’m eighteen and their responsibilities will end with graduation.

Pausing, I listen as they root through my things, hoping to figure out what their goal is.

“Ally, I don’t know about this. Kat’s an odd duck and she’s done nothing to fit in anywhere, but she hasn’t been in trouble. Digging through her things seems excessive,” my dad says. His voice has an uncertain tinge to it, and I wonder how much of his behavior has always been about what Allison wanted.

A loud huff followed by a thump precedes Allison’s response. “That girl has a history and you know it. We got more because we had to deal with her issues, but I won’t stand for her showing up the boys. They’ve worked long and hard to gain their placements, Brett. We’ve worked hard to help them be poised for success and we’ll be rewarded when they go pro. The last thing we need is to be tainted by weirdness, scouts and endorsement people would consider immoral.”

That’s her problem? She thinks the boys will be NFL players and I’ll besmirch their name so they can’t cash in on them?

I have to close my eyes and count slowly in my head. The history she’s talking about is my assault and I didn’t bring that on myself. Even saying it in that manner supposes I asked for it and that kind of shit is why young girls don’t report things. I can’t fathom treating another woman that way given the statistics on the topic; they’re horrific and anyone who hasn’t experienced it is the minority, not the majority.

My knuckles turn white as I back down the hall, avoiding the spots I know are creaky like the night before. When I get to the stairs, I move down a few so I can’t be seen from the hallway and step hard like I’m coming up them for the first time. The sound of scrambling is louder than they think, so by the time I purposefully walk into the hallway, Brett and Allison are standing by one of the boys’ doors. Their faces are red and they look disheveled, but Allison pastes on a bright smile.

“Kat! You’re home!” she chirps excitedly.

Way to be smooth, guys.

Nodding slowly, I look at them before I speak. “Yeah. At my normal time. What are you guys doing here so early?”

They look at each other and it’s clear they didn’t plan on getting caught. Finally, Allison laughs nervously. “We had to grab a few things for the boys before we head to the stadium. You know how Bryce forgets things.”

“Uh-huh.” I arch a brow. “Didn’t you find what they needed?”

Brett turns red and just stomps past me without a word. I suppose he’s embarrassed. He should be; Allison’s obsession with being a rich pro-player mom has revealed their bullshit even more than their indifference did.

“No, no... I didn’t. He must have been mistaken,” she says as she pushes the hair off of her face. “I’ll call him when I get downstairs.”

“Okay.” I shrug and head for my room. I can’t make myself care about this crap; I have too many actual issues to worry about greedy fosters who can’t be bothered to even ask how my day was. “Have a good time at the game.”

Allison looks relieved when I say nothing else as I open my door and head inside. Despite her consistent reiteration of the rules, I click the lock into place when I close it. If she and Brett are going to rummage through my shit when I’m gone, I’m sure as fuck not respecting that rule anymore. It will keep her from bursting in while I figure out what to do about Dottie and prevent drunken idiots from waking me up when they hit the wrong room tonight. I’d call it a win all around.

Looking around, I sigh. They were like a herd of elephants, and having to throw everything back into place at the last minute didn’t help. Even if I hadn’t heard them in my room, I’d know someone has been in here. Books are askew, clothes are poking out of the closet, and a bunch of my things aren’t even close to where they were when I went to school. Hell, even the mattress is a little crooked.

They’re the worst fucking burglars in history.

I plop down on the bed and open the bag, smiling as Dottie clambers out to perch next to me on the bed. “Well, we have to wait until they leave to get you a snack, but wander about and stretch your legs. I locked the door, so you’ll have time to hide before one of them gets in.”

The furry animal does what looks like a fist pump and goes careening off the bed to climb on the bookshelf. Shaking my head, I rub a hand over my face. I have to be imagining this shit because I’m so stressed about the college applications and the mystery school. Kinkajous don’t fist pump and she can’t understand a word I’m saying. I’m just looney tunes because my life is complete nonsense yet again.

“Speaking of which,” I mutter to myself. “It’s time to pull out the laptop and try again. I have to find this place or I’ll lose my mind. It’s impossible in this day and age to sit on a bench without someone recording something. There’s just no way this place has zero digital trail, yet they found me through a misspelled application in an app aggregator.”

Determined to succeed, I curl up on the bed while Dottie plays. When morons downstairs leave, I’ll order food and come hell or high water, I’ll find what I’m looking for tonight.