Without responding, I pressed play. Not even the Beatles were salve to my wounds. I didn't know what I expected; I should have anticipated pain, agony. The pain of my mother's passing. The pain of Portia leaving. The pain of being alone. Yet even though I knew it would come, I hadn't foreseen the way it would wrap its arms around me, dig its talons into my flesh and soul, and tear at me like a starving animal devouring prey. I couldn't escape it, couldn't welcome it, and struggled to handle it. The only time I'd felt any control since my mother died was when I pounded my fists into Chad's face.Nothing I did for the next three days gave me that same relief. No matter the level of exertion or the menial task at hand, I couldn't release the rage that brewed and bubbled inside. Then she walked in the door. I hadn't heard the car in the driveway, and her presence in the foyer surprised me, along with the large duffle bag she'd dropped at her feet.I came the rest of the way down to

All I had thought about was getting out of the house, escaping the crash before it happened. I couldn't deal with what had gone on with Chet, then Jude, and following that, Hensley and Ernie. I'd sent Jet a text last night to ask her to pick me up this morning, but she'd gone home at the last minute and wasn't around. Bart was the only other person I considered, and he'd surprised me when he didn't hesitate. It was a little over an hour's drive each way, and gas was a precious commodity to college students.Bart showed up this morning at nine sharp. It was a safe bet Jude wouldn't be awake, but Ernie and Hensley would. That enabled me to tell them goodbye and pretend there was something fantastic going on at school that I didn't want to miss. I'd played the dutiful daughter. I came home, I talked to Jude and tried to reason with him-I'd even reported back on how that had gone...sort of-and I'd listened to my parents give me the most crushing news I ever could have received. Through i

"He's not my brother." I tossed the truth out there and let it hang in the air."What do you mean?" A horn honked behind us when the traffic started to creep at a snail's pace. It didn't occur to me that we hadn't moved the entire time we talked. This would end up being a five-hour trip at this rate. "Just what I said. He's not my brother." I saw the confusion, but Bart wouldn't ask. I shook my head and gave in. I'd hopped down this bunny trail. "We were both foster kids. My parents adopted me when I was ten."His focus remained on the stop-and-go traffic in front of him. "What about Jude? They didn't adopt him?""No, but they want to." I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. Here I hadn't even wanted to admit we weren't related, and now I was diving right into the third problem on my list."Isn't he a little old for that? You said he's seventeen, right?"Maybe I could explain Jude's history away without confessing any of my own. "Yeah, but it's more symbolic than necessary

A week later, Portia still avoided me and kept her text messages short. I tried to act as though nothing had happened, yet it seemed that tiny kiss sent her far away. The closeness we'd always shared now strained under the weight of my actions, and I didn't know how to fix it. Other than Portia, I had a total of two friends. Ethan and Carson. The three of us had grown up together. We'd gone to the same elementary school and middle school, and with only one high school in our small town, we landed there as classmates, as well. They hadn't met Portia until the start of our freshman year. Even though they knew of her, and heard me talk about her, their paths didn't cross since I didn't see them when I was at the Shaws' house. Ethan was insanely intelligent even though common sense wasn't his strong suit. Carson was bright and street smart. Though we looked nothing alike, we were all similar in that we'd been outcasts early on and remained that way. Our friendships were forged by that a

It had taken me all of three weeks to break whatever agreement I'd made with Portia not to smoke pot again. The truth was, I thought all her vibrato was overkill. It came from a place of concern, but if marijuana was legal in a handful of states and decriminalized in several more, it couldn't be the death sentence Portia made it out to be. Cancer patients had used it for years to fight nausea and pain. And I was proof it warded off mental anguish, as well.My grades hadn't suffered, Ernie and Hensley were none the wiser, and it hadn't affected my ability to take care of my responsibilities. In fact, the more I smoked, the happier my foster parents believed me to be. I'd simply made a mental note not to call Portia after school, and since we texted most of the time, it didn't matter, anyhow.Portia: I'm coming home this weekend.Me: Are you actually staying the whole weekend or is it a quick trip?Portia: Depends. Can you keep your hands to yourself?Me: Do I have to?This w