Not Your Fault

      My eyes are drawn to the lanky-looking girl across the room – specifically, her hands. She’s wringing them mercilessly on top of her long, bouncing legs. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.

           I can only look at her for a few seconds before I feel my leg start to bounce with hers. She’s anxious and I’m the one being thrown into a new home with no warning.

           I hear the man, dressed smartly in a blue- and white-striped shirt, asking questions from the other couch. I hear Mrs. Young answering them next to me. I can hear her fake smile that she’s worn since I met her last night. I don’t know what, exactly, the man is asking or what Mrs. Young is replying. All I can see is the girl across the room as she reaches over to the windowsill to pick up some kind of fidget toy. I wish I had a fidget toy right now.

           I feel someone nudge my shoulder. It’s Mrs. Young. “Olivia?”

           “Hm?” I tear my eyes away from the girl and look up at Mrs. Young’s dark face, which is covered in makeup.  

           “I’ll have to go soon.” She pats my shoulder. “I’ve got another case I have to work on. I know you’ll be happy here.”

           “Oh. Okay,” I say automatically. The girl leans forward in her rocking chair and her leg bounces more intensely.

           “B’bye, sweetie.” Mrs. Young pats my shoulder again – it’s a thing she’s done countless times since we met – and stands up from the loveseat. “I’ll be back to check up on you in about a week. Call me if you need anything, honey.”

           “Yes’m.” I nod and sit stiffly as she starts to walk out, escorted by the man. I’m left alone in the room with the girl. I shift on the loveseat.

           She shifts in the chair.

           My leg bounces.

           Her legs bounce. 

           I twist my fingers together.

           She rapidly presses buttons on her fidget toy.

           I think she’s about to say something when the man comes back in, saving us from our awkwardness. “Hello, Olivia!” He’s way too cheery. “You’ll be sharing a room with Graylem.” The girl lifts one hand from her toy to wave and then starts furiously clicking the buttons again. “We tried to give you your own room, but our son’s in our only other bedroom. He’s at a friend’s house right now. He won’t get back until tomorrow afternoon, but I’m sure he’ll be very glad to meet you. Mrs. Butler will be back soon – she’s at the store right now. I’m Max, but you can call me Dad, or Mr. Max, or Mr. Butler. Whatever you want. I’m sure it’ll be the same with my wife.”

           This man talks way too much.

           “Graylem, why don’t you show Olivia the room?” Mr. Max, as I’ve decided to call him, says.

           “Sure,” Graylem says. It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice. It’s surprisingly strong, and I’m taken aback. “It’s upstairs.” She stands up, tucking the fidget toy into one palm but still noticeably pressing on it. She’s about half a foot taller than me – and I’m not exactly short.

           I shift my small bag onto my shoulder and follow Graylem up the stairs. She takes them two by two, and makes it all the way up before I even make it to the landing. She waits at the top for me, looking sheepish. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

           It must be hard not to leave someone behind when you’re as tall as she is.

           “It’s fine,” I say. My voice is weak.

           Graylem leads me down the hall to her bedroom. She has bunk beds against one wall and a bookshelf beside what I assume is the closet. On the bookshelf, there are books haphazardly stacked on top of books – and, on the top, giant stacks that look ready to tumble down onto an unlucky passerby. I make a mental note to avoid bumping into it.

           “You can have whichever bed you want,” Graylem says. She’s standing beside the bunk beds. “We just put these up this morning and I didn’t know if you’d want the top or the bottom.”

           “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “You can have whichever.”

           “I guess I’ll take top, then, if you’re sure.” She gives me a sideways glance. “You can set your bag on your bed, or on the floor, or whatever. Dad’ll bring up pillows and whatnot tonight, I think.” She plops down on her floor, beside a wooden desk overflowing with papers and pens and everything else. I walk over and set my bag by the foot of the bottom bunk and stay standing beside it.

           Graylem picks up a dark blue, breaking ball from the desk behind her. I see pencil marks on it and a small chunk missing from one side. She tosses it between her hands. She sees me eyeing it and reaches behind her to pick up another one, this one decorated like the Earth. “You want one?” She holds the Earth ball out to me. “I never really use this one. You can have it if you want. I mostly use this thing.” She holds up the beaten-up one. “If you can’t tell.” 

           “Sure,” I say softly. I take the Earth ball and squeeze it. It’s made of some kind of foam. I consider asking her why she uses the fidget toys and balls, but based on my experience with people I don’t really know, she’ll get defensive.

           Mr. Max comes in and saves us from an awkward silence – again - a few minutes later. “My wife is home, if you’d like to meet her sometime. What food do you like? I’m trying to decide what to make for dinner tonight. I wanted to make something you like.” He talks a mile a minute.

           “Anything is fine,” I say. I don’t tell him that I like grilled chicken and macaroni and cheese. I don’t want him to drag the grill out and go to extra effort to make something just for me.

           “How do homemade burgers sound?” he asks. Wow. So he’s pulling out the grill anyway.

           “Great,” I say.

           “They’ll be ready in about an hour.” He waves and I watch him walk down the hall.

           Graylem and I lapse back into the awkward silence for just a minute before she says, “Oh! Do you want a tour? Of the house?”

           “Sure.” Graylem stands up, setting the ball on her desk. She grabs a new fidget toy – this one is two rings that flip over one another – and says, “Let’s go.” She tosses her sand-colored hair, which is starkly different from my black hair, behind her shoulders.

           She shows me the bathroom, the playroom (which houses her two guinea pigs), the kitchen, the living room, and everything in between. She describes her brother’s room as “a disgusting cave that we shouldn’t go in if we want to keep our sense of smell.” I believe her wholeheartedly from the whiff I get when she opens the door for a second.

           By the time she’s done showing me around, Mr. Max is almost done with the burgers. Graylem’s mom is in the kitchen, getting the condiments and everything out. “Hey, Mom! This is Olivia.”

           She turns around and her face lights up when she sees me. “Hi! I’m Michelle. I’m sure Graylem’s shown you all around the house, right?”

           “Yes, ma’am.” I tighten my ponytail, which is only up because I’m very self-conscious of how dirty it is. I don’t think I’ve washed it in a week.

           “Well, I’m very glad to meet you.” She pulls out the last of the condiments and closes the fridge. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes. Are you thirsty?”

           “No, ma’am.” I really wouldn’t mind a glass of water, but I can wait until dinner.

           We all sit down to dinner about ten minutes later. I made my own plate, which I was never allowed to do when I was with my parents. I sat beside Graylem on one side of the table. It’s weird, being part of a family meal. My parents always left me a cold plate of whatever they had eaten, hours before, while I was stuck in my room.

           “So, Olivia, would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?” Mrs. Michelle asks. “You’re twelve, right?”

           “Yes, ma’am.” I set my fork down. “Um… I just finished the seventh grade. I like cats and going swimming.”

           “Do you play any sports?” Mr. Max asks. “If you do, we’ll get you back into it as soon as possible.” I shake my head. I stopped participating in sports after the fourth grade, when my dad married my step-mom.

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           The next afternoon, Graylem’s brother comes home. He’s dressed nicely, like he just got back from a job instead of a friend’s house. His hair, which is neatly combed, is the same dark brown of his father’s. He’s tall like Graylem. “Is this the new foster?” he asks immediately.

           “John!” Mrs. Michelle exclaims.

           “Yes,” I say softly. “I’m Olivia.”

           “Cool.” John waves. “I’m John. Don’t come in my room.”

           I nod, feeling a few tears well up behind my eyes at his coldness. I keep them hidden though, a trick I learned years ago. Mrs. Michelle glares at John and shoos him off to his room.

           “I’m so sorry, Olivia,” Mrs. Michelle gushes. “He doesn’t know how to shut up. Not that that’s an excuse for his behavior. I’ll talk to him.”

           “It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s really not.

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           I stay with the Butlers for a month. Graylem’s nice to me, and she even tells me why she uses the fidget toys. She has an anxiety disorder and fidgeting helps her with it. Even though I don’t really like to read, Graylem shows me some great books that I end up enjoying. I read The Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy and Little Women. She shows me the Pirates of the Caribbean film series and I absolutely fall in love with it. She’s very accommodating and tries to find things that suit my interests.

           Mr. Max and Mrs. Michelle both treat me very well, as would be expected of a foster family. I still think that Mr. Max talks too much, but of course I never say anything. Twice in the month, I get to choose the meal, just like Graylem and John. I’m added into the chore rotation about a week after I arrive. I get a ten-dollar allowance every week.

           The only problem is John. He’s not welcoming, or kind, or great. He mocks me and scorns me when he comes out of his room. He’s even hit me once or twice for ‘walking too close to his room.’ Mr. Max and Mrs. Michelle both know that he doesn’t like me, but I haven’t told them that he’s hit me. I don’t want to have to leave Graylem.

           The main thing that helps me with John is the Earth ball that Graylem gave me the first day I got here. It’s a great stress relief tool – plus, it reminds me of Graylem’s kindness.

           So, it’s been a month. Tensions have risen and fallen, and I’ve mostly found my place in the family dynamic. I’ve made friends with people at the church the Butlers attend and I’m going to start the eighth grade this year. Graylem’s going into the ninth grade and John will be a senior. Soon we’ll be going back-to-school shopping, something I haven’t done in years. My parents always got me the bare minimum and made me reuse things because “money was tight.” Usually the reason that it was tight was because of their poor choices – they both did drugs and drank and met up with other people. They finally split up and neither one of them was allowed to keep me, so I was booted into foster care.

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           We have to leave for the store in a few minutes to go back-to-school shopping. I just got dressed and I’m going to check on the guinea pigs before we leave. Graylem lets me take care of them.

           I walk into the playroom and the first thing I notice is the lack of noise. Usually they burst into squeaks when you touch the doorknob. I’m already a bit unsettled when I walk over to them. I see them, completely still. I think they’re asleep.

           Then I realize: they’re dead.

           I panic. I run out and go to the first person I can get to.

           Unfortunately, that’s John. In his room. Where I’m not supposed to go.

           I forget that for a moment, though. I barge in and say, “Graylem’s guinea pigs are dead!”

           I see John hurriedly trying to hide something. He yanks it away from his mouth and shoves it behind him, on the bed. “Get out!”

           “What are you doing, John?” I ask, stepping closer.

           “Nothing! I said, get out!” He shoves at me as I reach his bed. A tall, thin can – which is what he must have hidden - falls over behind him and spills over onto the sheets of his bed.

           I’d recognize that can anywhere. “Are you drinking?”

           “No! This is just a soda!” he insists. “Now get out!”

           My eyebrows crunch together and my hands form fists. “That’s not soda.” My hands start to shake. “You’re drinking.”

           John starts to stand up, throwing away the can as he does so that I can’t see it. “No, I’m not! You’re a twelve-year-old! What would you know about alcohol?”

           “My parents drank every day I was alive, John. I’d know.” I bite my lip. “How long have you been drinking?”

           “I’m not drinking!” John screams, and he punches me in the face. I stumble backwards and swing my fists wildly, defensively. I run from the room as John kicks me.

           Mrs. Michelle is running up the stairs. Tears are flowing from my eyes and my shaking hand covers what I’m sure is a large bruise on my face. My nose might be broken, too.

           “John’s- drinking,” I manage. “He tried… to hide it.”

           Mrs. Michelle pats my shoulder and tells me, “You can go sit down. I’ll handle John. Thank you, and I’m sorry he hit you.”

           “It’s not your fault,” I say. I go to my bed and sit down.

           I hear Mrs. Michelle yelling at John even though I’m all the way down the hall. Drinking has always been something that they were adamantly against.

           Graylem walks into the room with a Ziploc bag full of ice, wrapped in a paper towel. “For your face,” she says softly. I accept the ice pack and hold it gingerly to the bruise. “Sorry he hit you. And yelled.”

           “Not your fault,” I say again. Why does everyone apologize for things that aren’t their fault?

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           We don’t end up going back-to-school shopping that day. My nose, fortunately, wasn’t broken. John’s fist must have missed it mostly. Still, I have to leave the Butlers’ house now, because it isn’t considered a safe place for me. I’ll be going to live with an older couple with no other children. I barely get to say goodbye to Graylem before I’m carted away, my belongings to be delivered later. I don’t see John or Mr. Max, who wasn’t home, again. I never got to tell Graylem about the guinea pigs. I kind of forgot in all of the chaos.

           This time, as I sit on the couch in Mr. and Mrs. Jones’ living room, I squeeze the Earth ball. It’s all I brought with me. They warmly welcome me and show me my room. It’s a cozy little place, with a bookshelf. The Jones offer to buy me a few of my favorite books. I immediately request A Lady’s Guide to Petticoats and Piracy and Little Women. They apologize for what happened at the Butlers’ house. They promise that nothing like that will happen again.

           I get the nice feeling that they’re right.