I take the phone from Sandy, heart pounding. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Shane?” Her voice is girlish, higher than mine. Excited.

“Yeah. Hi.”

“Hi, it’s Charlotte. Are you settling in okay?”

What?

“Um, yeah. Thanks, that’s nice of you.”

“Do you like to swim?”

“Um, yeah.” Why does she want to know that? I sound like a total idiot. She must think the word “um” constitutes a big part of my vocabulary.

“That’s so cool, me too. When I get back we can go to the pool, it only takes one bus token to get there.”

“Cool.” Why is she being so cool?

“What kind of music do you like?”

Um, what kind of music does she want me to like? I hate when they do this. She probably likes classical. Boring. “Um, all kinds.”

“Like what?”

Is it premature to hate her?

“Um, the Beatles are my favorite but I like Guns n’ Roses, too.”

“Cool. Anyway, you sound like you’re eclectic, and I think that’s really cool. My teacher says that it’s good to be eclectic, as a musician, you know. I want to start branching out, playing guitar. I met this girl Abby here and I wanna start a rock band with her.”

“That’s neat.” If I say the word cool again she will probably kill me. Maybe she’ll spend time with Abby and leave me alone. Although going to the pool does sound fun.

I shouldn’t be mean. She seems really sweet. I’m just no good with people, though. And this girl frightens me with her silver-gold hair and her vivacious voice and her questions.

“Yeah. I’m so glad you’re there, Shane, I think we’re gonna have a blast. I gotta go, cause someone else needs to use the phone.”

“Allright. Well, I’ll see you Saturday.”

I hand the phone back to Sandy, who turns and walks out of the room. “Honey? Wait... don’t hang up yet. Remember to bring your...” And she shuts the door, leaving me alone again.

I’m glad. I feel like I need space to adjust to this new picture of Charlotte. The bubbly voice was nothing like what I expected. I thought she’d be cool and aloof and sultry, but she’s not.

Maybe, I think, just maybe, this won’t be so bad after all.

.

On Saturday, I can’t sleep. I don’t know why I’m so freaked out over this girl, so far she’s been more nice than my other foster sisters have been, combined. I woke up and saw early sunlight peeking under the blinds, groaned and knew that there’d be no more sleep for me.

I don’t feel like going along to pick Charlotte up. I want to hide ‘til the last possible second. Six forty-seven a.m. I have time.

My mind drifts to the places I’ve lived. This house is by far the nicest, this one and the Hendrikssens’ back in Montana. I hated them. Mrs. Hendrikssen was a total bitch. She was so mean, and I was so little.

I swallow, remembering. Don’t wanna remember. Fucking orphan girl without her dad. Tears are stinging in my eyes, and I’m glad no one’s around to see them. Not for long. Pretty soon I’ll have to share this room with the perfect girl; she’s probably never shed a tear in her life.

Get it together, McCutcheon. Stop fucking crying and enjoy this peace now while you have it.

But tears don’t listen, they spill over onto my face, and trickle all wet into my ears.

I need to escape. I recheck the door, even though I know it’s locked. I slip off my nightgown, one of Darien Devlin’s old Ramones tee shirts, and twist it into a long rope, double it. I slip back into bed on my stomach, and rub myself on the ridge of wadded fabric until the good feelings come and take all this reality away. My breath sounds very loud in the empty room. The bed, strong and wooden, doesn’t creak at all, and I come too soon, looking at the sunlit carpet.

.

That morning at breakfast I feel even more out of place. I’ve showered away the sex smell from my body, and tucked the Ramones tee away with my other dirty clothes, but I still feel uncomfortable. Not because I was masturbating to clear my head, I’ve done that ever since I was a little girl, and it’s my own private business. But just because.

When I come downstairs Johnny is making eggs and Jake is at the table, squirming in his high chair.

“Morning, Shane.” Johnny says.

“Morning.”

“Hi Shane! We’re gonna go get Charlie today.”

Uggh, kid, don’t remind me.

“I know, Jake.”

“Can I help?” I ask Johnny, peering into the pan. He’s making dippy eggs, my favorite.

“Naw, you just relax.”

Damn. Rule number three - to assure your stay, make yourself useful. Not helping me here, Johnny, I think, opening the fridge. There are two kinds of juice, which makes me blink, both in cartons. One has cranberry. I wrinkle my nose. Who heard of OJ with cranberry?

I select the regular OJ and am relieved that it’s heavy enough to contain plenty. “You guys want some juice?” I ask, attempting again to be useful.

“Yeah!” Jake yells. “I want juice.”

“Juice would be great, Shane,” Johnny says.

“Okay, um...where are your cups?” Fucking hate new houses, new families. Hate navigating them like unfamiliar terrain. Hate that I’m twelve years old and it still bothers me.

Johnny points out the cabinet over the sink, opens the door. “Use the blue sippy cup for Jake.”

I nod, relieved to have some use, however small. To be busy and forget that we’re getting Charlotte in a few hours.

An hour later, we’re in the mini-van. Sandy is driving and Johnny reads the paper in the shotgun seat. Next row, it's Jake in the car seat, and me. When Charlotte is back, I’ll be stuck in the very back seat, and I hate that it makes me a little sad. I don’t want to like these people.

I’ve brought a book but I can only read for a few minutes, or I feel like barfing. I set the library book aside, open to the place I stopped at, its plastic cover crinkling. Look at the horizon, they say, but in this minivan there is no horizon and the traffic stretches out forever in front of us. My ankle itches. I think I got a mosquito bite there. I bend over to scratch. When did my legs get so long?

I’m again surprised by the new smoothness of my legs. I never shaved my legs before, but when I was in the shower I remembered the black girl from the nail shop and eyed Sandy’s Skintimates gel and razor, and decided what the hey. The results aren’t bad if I do say so myself. Pale, but I managed without a single nick. The ride to the camp is an hour long and I admire my new, hairless legs. The skin is so soft, and it feels so sensitive. It’s a pleasant feeling.

I thought when we got there that we’d just pick up Charlotte and her shit and come right back home, but when we arrive we get out of the mini van and walk down a long gravel path to a big clearing with wooden benches. Ampitheater, a sign says. I remember the word from fourth grade vocabulary.

There are a bunch of people sitting in the seats. What is this, are they taking me to a cult ceremony to convert me? Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, Shane, a voice in my mind says, and I fight the urge to laugh. Shut up, you wacko.

Johnny turns to me. “They do this every year. The kids have one final performance for the parents.”

“Oh,” I say. I want to sink into the gravel. I feel so out of place here. I hope the performance sucks, that way I won’t feel so bad. Then I feel bad for thinking it.

Jakey pokes me in the ribs. I turn and smile at him. Annoying, but I remember being his age, around kids my age who ignored me. I grin and poke him back.

A bunch of kids come out of the woods. I expected them to be all dressy but they’re dressed normal - wearing jeans and shorts and stuff. One kid is wearing leather pants and a ripped shirt. He has an earring in each ear and blue streaks in his hair. I can’t take my eyes off of him. I want to dress like that.

There are about twelve kids, and they sit down in folding chairs on the stage in the front. Which one is Charlotte? I don’t see any that look like her pictures.

But then there is a sweet-smelling whirlwind behind me, and suddenly this girl is there, hugging Sandy and Johnny and Jakey, like a unit. Charlotte.

She turns to me and grins. “Hey, Shane,” she says, with a smile, then darts up the aisle to join the others. As if I’d known her all my life. As if she liked me. And why would she, she doesn’t even know me?

She needs to learn some of the lessons about life. She’s too trusting.

But I don’t take my eyes off of her. Her hair is a silver-gold blonde and it hangs in waves down her back. When she leaned down to hug her family a bit of that hair fell over my shoulder, and when she leapt back, it dragged over the skin above my collar. Silk. I want to get lost in there. My heart is pounding sickeningly and I can’t take my eyes off of her.

She startled me, for sure.

“She got some sun,” Johnny notes to Sandy.

The kids are tuning up, and it sounds like the symphony from the fourth grade trip. My stomach twists again, even though the horizon is clearly visible behind the trees. She is the sun, I think.

There are two thoughts fighting inside of me. One is that this is not my world, and it will never be my world. I will never be as good as this girl with her violin and her beautiful hair. But the other one says that I can trust her, that she likes me for some mysterious reason, and that she somehow makes me better. Impossible, I think.

I fight about it in my own mind, but never take my eyes off of her. She’s wearing purple shorts, her breasts perfect under a white sleeveless top. I watch as she lifts her hair up into a ponytail, then without any barrettes or bands of any kind, ties it into a knot that miraculously stays on top of her head.

Oh my god. She is grinning at me, then she crosses her eyes. A teacher type person comes up to the front and raises his hands. Everyone lifts their bow. How do they all manage not to poke each other in the eye?

The performance is amazing. I still don’t take my eyes off of her. She doesn’t look at us, which makes me glad. That way I get to look at her.

Halfway through the first song I realize that I’m feeling something that isn’t normal. It’s more than the nerves from worrying about her. After that smile, I’m not so worried. I’m excited. I feel like... my thoughts are slowed down but I’m more alive physically. I feel all this energy in my arms and legs, this warm buzz in my middle like I felt this morning. I’ve never felt it quite like this before, but I don’t ever want it to stop.

Stupid. It’s just the newness of this family, and the fact that she startled me.

After, she comes down the aisle, sandals crunching on the gravel. She smiles, she is the queen of her world. She waves to Jakey who is delighted. She hugs both parents, then turns to me. She takes both my hands. Her fingers are calloused. I don’t know what to do in response to this gesture.

“So. You are Shane. You look exactly like I pictured you.” She punctuates her words by moving my hands, sort of shaking them. A very grand gesture, but on her it seems somehow natural.

I open my mouth, unsure of what to say to that. She pictured me? Exactly the way I am? I like it. It makes me feel like I belong, not like a gangly lanky freak with a big chin and funny nostrils. I look exactly as I should, exactly as she pictured me. Awesome.

“You’re nothing like I pictured you,” I blurt. I drop her hands as if they’re hot. I hope I’m not staring too much. She is so full of light and energy. She could just reach in and take me in her hand. Thrilling, terrifying.

“Really?” She laughs, not mad at all.

“Yeah. You’re a lot nicer.”

She grins, and holy shit, I have a new goal in life. If I can make that smile come out 24/7...

“We are gonna have so much fun.” She grabs my wrist, then lets it go. There’s that quicksilver grin again, and then she’s walking up to the stage to collect her stuff.

She collects her stuff and the violin goes into a battered black case. She talks the entire time, and usually when someone talks so much, it’s annoying, but she’s not. Her energy is sort of refreshing. She gets shotgun and I’m relieved to take a back seat to her, so that I can observe her, and get my thoughts together. Because I feel like my feet haven’t touched the ground since I set eyes on her. Sandy drives again, and Jakey and I sit in the second seat, and Johnny is in the back, still reading the Times.

Charlotte spends most of the trip turned around, talking to me, animated and excited to come home.

“Mom, can me and Shane go to the pool tomorrow?"

“Sure,” Sandy shrugs.

“Cool. Do you have a bathing suit, Shane?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Um, no, I outgrew it.”

“Well I think I have one you can wear. I’ve got like four of them. We’re sort of the same size, don’t you think?

I shrug. I can’t compare her to me. She’s an angel, and I’m... me. But I suppose we’re not all that different, size wise. She’s shorter by a few inches. She’s got more in the boob department, for sure.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Can I go to the pool too?” Jakey says.

“Maybe,” Sandy says, turning the page of her novel. “Charlie, I think Shane will probably fit your yellow suit.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re totally right. What’s your favorite color, Shane?”

Huh? How the hell am I supposed to answer that?

“Don’t you have a favorite color?”

“Black,” I say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. “And purple,” I add, because her favorite color is clearly purple. “Yellow is good too though. I like yellow.” I don’t really. I don’t mind yellow, I just never thought about it.

“Black and purple look great together,” Charlotte says. “My favorite color is purple.”

“Yeah, that’s a cool combination.”

“Dad, can we paint Shane’s side of the room black?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not? And we could paint mine purple, and it would be so cool, like the cover of a Prince record.” I grin. This girl, she’s insane. I love it.

“Because black’s very hard to paint over, and it makes rooms look smaller.” Sandy chimes in.

“It’s cool,” I say. “The room’s nice how it is.”

Charlotte grins at me and I feel warm. I smile back and feel like the world’s biggest geek. How am I ever gonna deal with this?