When Cami moves in with the 2 most popular guys in school in a new foster home placement, she realizes that her tragic past just might make it so that she will stay lonely forever.
***
Cami has...
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Mom was acting weird today.
The scent of blueberry muffins permeated the large white pristine kitchen decorated with stainless steel appliances that didn't show even a single smudge or fingerprint, thanks to the housekeeper employed weekly by my parents.
Mom never baked.
I would've written it off as store-bought, but the proof was on the steaming cooking sheet left out on top of the barely ever used oven.
She flitted back and forth between the living room and laundry room with baskets and baskets of laundry piled up.
"Umm...what's up?"
"Oh, good, you're home. Can you get your brother to come down soon? I have a surprise for the two of you, and I need to make sure that he'll be on board."
"Uhh...sure. Let's see if he'll actually listen to me."
Trudging up the stairs to Grey's room had me questioning...lots of things. Mainly the fact that Grey hardly listened to anything I had to say, least of all requests made by our mouther.
"Hey, you in there?"
My fist pounded on his door twice. Three times. Four. Nothing.
Would he absolutely kill me if I went in his room without asking? It wasn't like he could yell for me to come in.
I slowly nudged the door open a crack, then a few inches.
The scent of weed and cologne sprayed over it thickly hit my nose and my eyes watered at the strong combination.
"Dude. You really think that's going to work? Just hop in the shower or throw on some different clothes and wash your hair over the sink real quick. Mom wants you downstairs now. A surprise or something."
I got a guttural grunt from the corner of the room where his bed was hidden underneath piles of fantasy novels (my brother was a closeted romance freak, but he liked people to think he was a Tolkien fan, which was just as worse in my opinion) and grew momentarily surprised.
A grunt was the equivalent of a "be right there", and he gave those out about as often as hundred dollar bills.
So, not frequently.
The scent of fresh baked cookies tore me away from the hallway and running straight back into the kitchen where I found our mom hunched over a piping hot tray of cookies that looked burned around the edges.
"Mom. What are you doing? Maria Hartingrove does not bake. Ever."
"I know, I know. I just want to make a good first impression, that we're a good, normal and stable family."
"And why would you need to do that? Did someone call child services on you? Are they coming to check on Grey? Because if they're coming you might want to deep clean his room before..."
