The Problem with Forever

“Peter’s?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You’ve gone?”

He shook his head. “You thinking about going?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. I’d brought it up to Ainsley last night via IM, and she’d thought going would be an amazing idea. Then invited herself along. “Would you...go?”

“If you wanted me to.” He flashed me a quick grin. “His parties are pretty big. A lot of people show up.”

My stomach dipped. “I think...it might be fun.”

“Probably will be.” There was a pause. “How are Carl and Rosa going to deal with that?”

I almost laughed at the idea. “I...don’t know. I don’t think they’d be totally against it. I mean, they want me...to be more social.”

“Uh-huh” was all he said, and I wasn’t sure what that meant. But then he started speaking again. “Speaking of social, have you thought about Homecoming?”

“I...” My tongue twisted into a pretzel. Several seconds passed before I could get it to catch up to my brain. “Not until I saw the banner last week. I don’t...know. Part of me wants to, but...”

But it was a lot and so much had changed. To some it was just a dance, but it was a dance with people crowded together and loud music. I frowned. A party would also probably be like that, but with slightly fewer people. My palms were suddenly damp and I wiped them across my thighs.

There was a part of me that was excited by the prospect of finding a pretty dress and seeing Rider dressed up, because that alone would be wow, but the school was new, the relationship was new and going to a party was one thing. A dance?

“I just...don’t know. I’ve never been to a dance. Some...homeschooling programs have dances, but I never went to them.”

He was patient while I forced the words out. “Then how about this? Why don’t we skip Homecoming and plan for prom?”

Prom?

Holy crap, that was like forever from now, and that meant Rider was planning for forever from now with me, no matter what doubts Paige had planted in my head. There was no stopping the smile.

“I...I can do that,” I said.

He reached over, found my hand and squeezed it. “Good.”

Smiling like a maniac, I glanced out the window and blinked. I recognized the street from this weekend, the narrow one with the garage, but when he drove past it, my heart started thumping in my chest. “Are you...taking me to your house?”

His sidelong look was sly. “Well, it’s not really a surprise anymore.”

The pounding in my chest moved to my throat.

“Though, it probably isn’t much of a surprise. I mean, it’s just my... It’s just a house. Nothing exciting,” he added, flipping his gaze ahead as he came to a stoplight. The car idled. “No one’s home. Hector’s working and Mrs. Luna won’t get in until around seven or so. I have no idea where Jayden is, but he’s probably out, doing something that’s going to make me want to punch him later.”

Anticipation swirled. I was going to get to see his house, maybe even his bedroom, and besides that being incredibly intimate to me, I was going to finally be able to confirm that he did have a nice home. Deep down, I knew things were good with Hector and Jayden’s grandmother, but knowing wasn’t the same thing as seeing that when he left school, when he wasn’t in front of me, he was somewhere safe.

These were the kinds of things a lot of people never had to worry about, but I did—we did—because we know that having walls and a roof over your head didn’t equal safety.

Sometimes it was the most dangerous place of them all.

Parking on the block he lived on was reserved for residents so he found a space pretty quickly, and didn’t even have to parallel park. When we climbed out into the cool afternoon air, I tugged the sleeves of my light sweater down. Soon, I’d have to break out a jacket.

Rider grabbed my book bag from the backseat, slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re down here.”

He reached down and wrapped his hand around mine, and my heart did a little dance. We walked down the street as the brisk wind played with my hair, tossing strands across my face. The street was nice, lined with bare trees. It didn’t smell bad, like it had outside the group home and Mr. Henry’s house. It was just normal. Not a mixture of urine and sewage and exhaust.

He led me up the cracked cement steps of an older, narrow brownstone. The red brick and green shutters were typical of the style, as was the stacked bay window. There was an autumn-themed wreath, burnt orange and red with little plastic pumpkins, on the door.

Hope swelled as he pulled out his keys. This was good, really good. Wreaths didn’t equate to safety, but all the windows were intact and someone, I was guessing Mrs. Luna, cared enough to decorate for the season.