Forever Remember: The Rose Code

Chapter 8: Obsession

I loved the rush of the wind in my face as the motorcycle flew down the road. The freedom was exhilarating, but I obeyed the speed limit and took the long way to the mall. I needed time to think.

Dean must have been totally wasted to kiss me. What had possessed him to drink so much? I didn't know whether to be irate or worried.

I pondered what Dean meant by 'I'm not your little brother anymore.' Did he mean he wasn't little or he wasn't my brother? Normally, I would ask Melaney to help me resolve this enigma, but now I debated whether or not to tell her. She had already been hurt by him. How would she feel about Dean being the first boy to kiss me?

I wanted to slap Dean. Again. This wasn't the first time he stole something precious from me. My mind flashed back in time, almost seven years ago.

* * *

I was ten, and Dean was nine and a half. He was the first of many foster kids who came and went from our home. He arrived on our doorstep the fall of fifth grade and stayed for over five years while his mother was in jail for stealing money from her boss.

Since I missed my daddy so much, I should had known how lonely Dean felt, being separated from his mother, his only living relative. But instead of understanding, I resented him for invading my privacy. I wanted to be left alone, and he wanted company. He followed me everywhere from breakfast to bedtime. If I escaped to Melaney's house to get away from him, he would steal things out of my room, like mother like son.

One day about a month after Dean came to live with us, he picked the lock on my jewelry box, leafed through my mini scrapbook, filled with newspaper articles about the Price family, and took my Sleigh Ride CD, the same one that had played during the car crash. When I returned home and noticed the jewelry box was out of place and my favorite CD was missing, I was furious and frightened. Did Dean also discover my obsession with Tyler Price?

I found him outside, kneeling on the lawn, in the process of inflating his bike tires.

"Where is it?" I shouted.

"Where is what?" he asked with a slight smirk.

I bent over and slapped him in the face with all my might. He fell sideways and knocked over the bike.

"Give me my CD back or else!" I threatened.

"Or else what?" he growled. "You're going to hit me again?"

He glared at me from the ground. He had four, finger-sized welts on his cheek.

"Violence never solved any problems," he mocked, repeating the lecture that Jonathan had given him for fighting at school. He sat up and crossed his arms. "Listen, Sister. Let's compromise. You share your stuff with me, and I won't tell your parents you slapped me."

What other choice did I have? If he tattled, I would be grounded for eternity, and he would still keep stealing my stuff.

"Fine, but my jewelry box is off limits."

"Agreed," he said, holding out his hand.

I shook his hand and then helped him to his feet. He detached the hose from the tire, picked up his bike, and rode down the street.

At supper, The 'Rents questioned him about the bruise on his face. Dean told them he ran into a tree branch.

Later that night, he returned my CD and asked me why I had so many newspaper clippings about the Price family in my scrapbook.