“Because if anyone and I mean anyone saw me get into her locker, even with Lauren’s permission, I’d have gone to jail and I couldn’t have another arrest on my record.”
“I guess I can understand that.”
“Well, I left a window in the wood shop classroom open and we returned that night but Lauren was too big to fit through, so I agreed to go in without her. I was in an out in less than five minutes with all her stuff. I thought it the perfect pseudo-crime.” I paused.
“But?” He asked, eyebrows raised.
“But, turns out, a few kids, who hated me, saw us while playing basketball on school grounds and turned my name in.”
“What jerks, dude.”
“No kidding.”
“So, then what happened?” He prodded.
“I told the school but to them it didn’t matter why I did it. They expelled me anyway. I was just thankful they didn’t press charges.”
“That’s when you were forced to change families?”
“Yeah, that was the straw that broke that camel’s back, I think. If I had known what kind of family I would have been moved to, I never would have broken into the school.”
“What kind of people were the new family?”
“It wasn’t the family so much as it was the other foster kid I had to share the house with. The first day there, I had a pretty pleasant conversation with the parents about their expectations and all that crap. You know the drill. We were just sitting at their kitchen table, talking, when I heard the door open and this hulking guy around my age fills the door way.
“‘Harper,’ the old lady says. ‘This is John Bell. He’s the other foster child here.’ I stood up and shook the guy’s hand. He sat down with us and seemed pleasant enough through conversation. We all ate dinner together and then watched a little television. All nice and neat and pretty, right?
o;Oh, I distinctly remember feeling hollow.”
“Hollow,” he repeated thoughtfully.
“Yeah. I didn’t realize until much later in my life that the hollowness was basically a complete lack of feeling loved.”
“God, Harper.”
“What?” I said, sitting up.
Callum sat up just as abruptly. “I know exactly what you mean. My void existed until I’d say, sixteen or so and became friends with Charlie and Cherry. That’s when I realized what I’d been missing.”
We just stared at one another but not in pity the way so many people would look at us. No, this was a look of understanding and empathy. Callum half-grinned. I fought the urge to jump off and hug him until he turned blue. The moment passed and we both laid back down.
“So, the first foster parents I can distinctly remember were Mr. and Mrs. Campari. They actually made me call them that. I was four and already realized they weren’t in it for the long haul.
“Mr. and Mrs. Campari lived in Brooklyn, Dyker Heights to be exact, a pleasant neighborhood with manicured lawns and middle income families.
“I don’t remember them being cruel, just detached. I suppose they knew they couldn’t keep me and decided it be best not to form an attachment. I don’t blame them in the slightest.”
“When did you leave the Campari’s?” Callum asked quietly.
“I think I was six?” I stated, trying to fight through the memories. “I remember something about Mr. Campari having some sort of heart surgery. Anyway, that’s when I was moved to another household. I endured four new foster families until the age of ten. They were normal, nothing particularly strange about them. They just couldn’t handle my acting out. At eleven, I moved in with the Strauss’.” I paused, to gather myself and catch a single tear falling down my cheek. I caught the hitch in my throat. “They were my favorite. They were kind and gave me, I think, my philosophy on life as well as the morals I carry and live by. I was lucky to have them.
“I was with them until the age of fourteen. They’re responsible for my most treasured possession.”
“That book you keep wrapped in a cloth?”
I laughed. “Yeah, that.”
“What book is it?”