Page 104 of Facing Off
He walks over, but I can tell he wants to run and hug me as happiness flits across his expression.
Once upon a time, I actually would’ve hugged himfirst. Wearing crayon-colored paper crowns and blankets as capes, we called each other forever siblings. He was the kindest older brother I never thought I would be lucky enough to get.
And then he left.
No, I guess that’s not technically true, but it felt that way. How I couldn’t rely on anyone to be there, even when I needed them.
The first time I met Quinn, I was eight years old and had come home from school.
My foster dad embraced me as soon as I put mybackpack down.
“How was your day, kiddo?”
My arms had jerked in surprise, then held on tight. He never called me kiddo or asked me how I was doing. I was confused but also really happy. My heart soared with hope.
Then I noticed the social worker lady, and my arms dropped because it made sense. Whenever she came around, my parents acted a lot nicer.
“We’ve got great news, kiddo,” Dad said, smiling fully. “Go meet someone special in the kitchen.”
I went and saw a boy standing next to my mom. He was scrawny and wouldn’t look up. Long curly hair covered most of his face.
“Remember you always said you wanted a bigger brother?” said Mom.
The social worker lady was watching, so I smiled and nodded, pretending to know what they were talking about.
Back at the group home, big kids taught us that we couldn’t make problems for our parents once we got fostered. If we did, we’d be returned instead of loved enough to be adopted properly.
“You’re finally getting one,” said Dad, coming into the kitchen. “This is Quinn.”
My smile started hurting my cheeks because who was this kid? Was he going to make my parents love him better than I could make them love me?
I kept staring at the boy, trying not to throw up.
And when he’d finally glanced up, I gasped.
He had pretty eyes, but someone had scratched up his face and neck real bad.
Dad wagged his finger at me. “Quinn might look a bit scary, but that’s not his fault. Remember your manners, Sonya.”
Something sad crossed the boy’s expression. Was itbecause Dad called him scary? Thatwaskind of a mean thing to say.
It also wasn’t true. His scars looked bad, but I wasn’tscaredof them. Actually, there was a sorry feeling growing inside my tummy, the longer I saw them.
I stood closer to Quinn. “He’s not scary at all. He’scool!”
The boy’s eyes went wide and shiny. Like he’d been called a lot of things, but never that before.
“You’re raising a great kid,” the social worker lady told my parents.
They agreed and bragged about how much time and effort they spent on me.
For once, I didn’t care about how much they were lying. I was busy looking at Quinn. Was he really my new big brother? Could he talk? He hadn’t said anything yet.
I gave him a little wave and whispered, “Hey, I’m Sonya.”
Slowly, he waved back at me. “I’m, um, Quinn.”
I smiled, genuinely that time, because like how I was looking openly at his scars, he was looking openly back at me. His gaze was curious, weary, but alsopresent.
