Driven(book one)(23)

I close my eyes, leaning my head back, sighing as I allow myself to believe that the new facilities can actually become a reality now. That our new approach in treating orphaned children can expand and hopefully become the pioneering protocol for change in our foster system. The premise that kids can thrive in a home environment even when they don’t have their parents or family around. The idea that by creating small groups of these misfit kids under one roof—where they have consistency of guardians, rules, school, counseling—will lead to healthy, more society-ready adults. A place where if they don’t get adopted, as most kids these ages don’t, they will not have to move from foster home to foster home, or feel like a pariah at school because they are embarrassed that they don’t have a home to live in, but rather an orphanage. They will have a place where they belong.

With the money that Colton is helping provide, our new facility is a reality. Random houses in regular cities where kids who are used to having nothing will get something new for the first time in their lives. Somewhere they’ll feel safe, they’ll be loved, and they’ll have a sense of family.

A shiver of pride runs through me as I think of all of the possibilities and all of the hope that we can create with the completion of this project.

And then juxtaposed with the excitement over the new facility is my angst in regards to Colton. I’m so sick of thinking about it, him, and why I should keep my distance—of mentally making my pros and cons list and weighing them against each other. I still can’t figure out what to make of his comment that he doesn’t do the “girlfriend thing.” Why do I still keep thinking about him if there’s nothing there? Because there is. I can’t deny that he’s more than easy on the eyes. And I definitely can’t act as if the sparks that shoot up my arm when he touches me are imaginary. But I don’t want to get involved with him and his purported womanizing ways, especially now that I have to because of work.

I sigh heavily when I hear the sliding door open and Haddie walks out with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a pizza box stacked with plates and napkins on top. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. She walks toward me, the sun framing her tall figure, setting her blond hair alight like a halo surrounding her head. Long, lean legs stretch from short khaki shorts and her oversized bosom is covered in an orange camisole. As usual, she is accessorized perfectly and styled flawlessly. And despite her tireless perfection that makes me feel inadequate in so many ways, I love her like the sister I never had.

“I’m starving,” I announce, sitting up from the chair to help Haddie place everything on the table.

“And I’m starving for information on what’s going on with you. On why you’re out here so deep in thought.” She prods as she pours the glasses with the red wine, and I serve pizza on the plates.

“Just like in our college dorm room,” I state nodding at our meal, laughing at the memory of two frightened freshman thrown together away from home.

She was my freshman roommate. I could have never of guessed that first week of college orientation that the Barbie Doll I was roomed with would turn out to be the person closest to me in the whole world. She had waltzed in our dorm room, a model out of a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, so confident and sure of herself, her ad-worthy family following behind her, taking in the meager surroundings of the painted brick walls and small closet space. My gawky self watched her, cringing inwardly at the thought of having to be reminded every morning I woke up at how inferior I was to a beautiful creature such as her.

I sat picking at the hem of my dress as her parents left for good. She shut the door, turned to me, a huge grin on her heart-shaped lips, and said, “Thank God they’re finally gone!” I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sagged against the door in relief. She angled her head, studying me, sizing me up. “I think it’s time to celebrate!” She said hurrying over to her suitcase.

Within moments, she produced a bottle of tequila, hidden deep in her belongings. She came back toward me, flopping on my bed next to me. She unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up in the air between us, “To Freshman year!” she toasted, “To friendship, freedom, cute boys, and having each other’s backs.” She winced as she took a swig of the strong liquid and then handed the bottle over to me. I looked nervously back and forth between her and the bottle, and then wanting desperately to be liked by her, took a swallow, the burn bringing tears to my eyes.

“My God, we were so naïve back then. And young!” she joins in my reminiscence. “We’ve been through so much since freshman orientation!”

“All we need is that cheap tequila to bring us back.” I laugh and then fall into silence as the impending night starts to eat the sun’s rays. “Eight years is a long time, Had,” I admit, taking a deep drink of the tart wine, letting it soothe the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“Long enough,” she says taking a seat, looking at me over her own, “that I know something is bugging you. What’s going on, Ry?”

I smile softly, so grateful to have a friend like her and cursed at the same time because she knows my every nuance. I feel tears burn in my throat, the sudden force of my emotions surprising me.

Haddie leans forward, her perfectly tanned legs bending beneath her as she reaches out and places a hand on my leg. “What is it, Rylee? What has you so twisted up?”