The Problem with Forever(84)

Ainsley studied me for a moment. “Don’t stress over Carl and Rosa.”

“I’m—”

“And don’t say you aren’t going to stress over it. You stress over everything.” She smiled while I snapped my mouth shut. “Sometimes you’re so stuck in your own head that you’re not— Well, you’re not really living.”

My brows rose.

She glanced down at the bowl of popcorn. “Please don’t take that the wrong way. It’s just that I think sometimes you miss what’s going on around you, because you’re so worried about what others are thinking about you and your choices.”

I wanted to argue against that, but I couldn’t. “You’re right.” She was so right, because I constantly worried about what Carl and Rosa thought, what even Ainsley thought, and then Rider and Keira, Jo, Mr. Santos... The list went on and on.

“I know,” she chirped, and then she sobered. “It’s really sad about the stuff with Jayden.”

Typical Ainsley, moving from one conversation to the next. I fiddled with the hem of my pants. “He was so...beat up.”

“It doesn’t seem like Rider is heavily involved in whatever is going on.” She set the bowl aside, next to her book bag. She’d come over Sunday afternoon under the guise of studying alongside me. We hadn’t even opened a textbook. “Still, it was sad and scary.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed with Rider not being involved. Yes, it had nothing to do with me, but Rider had been involved and I doubted he would stay out of it if things continued to go bad for Jayden. It just wasn’t in Rider’s nature. He had a near suicidal hero complex.

My stomach tumbled.

And I also really liked Jayden. He had always been kind to me, even when he really had no idea who I was. I wasn’t sure how I could help him or if it was even in my power to help.

“So tell me about Hector. I want to know everything about him.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Thought you didn’t like him?”

“I don’t have to like him to be all up in his business from a distance.” Ainsley grinned.

I smiled. “I don’t know a lot about him. He...works at McDonald’s part-time, and he’s...nice.”

“Nice?” She laughed as she tossed her hair back. “You should’ve heard what he was saying about me, in front of me. He’s a jerk—a dirty-minded, perverted jerk-face.”

I stared at her.

“But he is hot,” she added with a sly grin. “There is that.”

I nodded in agreement. “How’s Todd?”

Her eyes rolled. “Boring. Snobby. I don’t want to talk about him, because there is something we do need to talk about.” Ainsley glanced at my closed bedroom door. Carl and Rosa were somewhere downstairs. “You’re dating Rider now, right? You’re his girlfriend and don’t you have Homecoming soon? Your first dance!”

I winced. “We...haven’t even talked about that.”

“You can talk about it now.”

“I don’t know,” I responded.

She raised a brow. “You should at least ask if he wants to go. It’s kind of like the normal thing to do,” she said, lowering her voice.

I nodded, liking the sound of that. “I want to be normal.”

Her mouth opened and then her nose scrunched. “Okay. Pause. Normal is subjective, and you are normal, Mal.”

I wrinkled my nose.

“What? You don’t talk a lot and sometimes you occasionally freak out. How does that make you abnormal? There are tons of people out there like that.” She threw her hands up. “So what? And you came from foster care—a crappy foster home, but again, unfortunately that’s also not unusual. That doesn’t make you weird.”

I started to explain that I was weird, but I stopped myself. Ainsley had a point. I didn’t have a common childhood and I didn’t talk, but that didn’t make me some strange, unknown creature.

Ainsley knew a lot about my childhood. She knew it had been rough for me and Rider, and that I’d been burned, but there were things I hadn’t told her. Stuff that I had only ever talked to Dr. Taft about. Things Carl and Rosa knew, because they’d seen the police reports and my case file.

My gaze swung around the room, settling on the owl soap carving before coasting over my neat desk and the thickly cushioned window seat. This bedroom was so different than the ones in that house. Clean, bright and airy. Welcoming.

The back of my throat dried as I looked at Ainsley. Never in the past had I wanted to tell her the things I never talked about, but the need blossomed, burning through my stomach and chest.

I forced my tongue to become unglued from the roof of my mouth. “I have...a problem with noise and talking.” Heat flooded my cheeks as I lowered my gaze to the pillow I held. It was hard to explain why a dance might be too much. “I had to be quiet, because Mr. Henry didn’t like...noise. He didn’t like a lot of stuff, but staying quiet kept me out of...trouble for the most part.”

Ainsley stilled, quiet.

Drawing in a deep breath, I continued. “Rider would always...tell me ‘not to make a sound’ so...I couldn’t be found when Mr. Henry was drunk or when I...did something wrong. Sometimes, he would get mad if I ate cookies or...walked up the stairs too loudly. He never liked it if I spoke. And I...I guess—I know that’s why I don’t like to talk and I don’t like noise. The therapist I saw used to say it was post-traumatic stress syndrome...and conditioning.” The heat lessened as I continued. “Anyway, the night...I was burned, something else happened.”