Leave the Pieces Behind

Leave the Pieces Behind Chapter 5

Foodie Fact #5: Latte means "milk coffee."

My school's computer lab next to the kitchen was one of my favorite places to hang out when I had a break between classes. Sometimes after school ended, I would spend an hour or so here before I went home, updating my blog or Pinterest in case I couldn't use the one at home since Mom used it for work. I had begged for my own laptop since middle school but had been denied every birthday.

The school had some website blocks, but, for what I had to look up or post, it didn't stop me. Instead of researching recipes to help me with the baking competition—I remained undecided on entering—I visited medical websites and blogs to learn about types of autism. Again, my curiosity got the better of me regarding my fedora-wearing, barefoot neighbor and why he acted the way he did.

Maybe instead of finding him freaky, I would try and understand him in case I had to see him again. I would also control my anger if he did say something rude or just ignored me.

In the middle of scanning the Autism Speaks website, I made the mistake of looking up, catching Foster and Tori kissing in front of the lab. Theirs wasn't a quick peck, but a full-blown mashing of lips with tongues. I wanted to close my eyes, but I stared, riveted to their display.

The other students in the room, or the ones walking by Foster and Tori while they made out, didn't seem to mind. Only I did. It reminded me of watching a car accident.

I forced myself to concentrate on the monitor in front of me, even though it blurred. I really had to get over my stupid reaction to Foster and Tori whenever they kissed or were lovey-dovey with one another.

Someone near the front of the room said Foster's name, and he slapped hands with some guy I didn't recognize. They chatted softly for a minute or so, and after the guy left, Foster scanned the area. When he saw me, he waved and walked toward me.

He took the vacant seat next to me, sitting and ruffling my hair at the same time. "Hey, B.A., haven't seen you in a few days."

We had seen one another, more in passing, but hadn't stopped to talk. Every time I saw him on our street or in the halls or cafeteria, he would just wave or nod at me. He didn't stop to talk or invite me to sit with his crew at lunch. Most of the time, Tori clung to him, wrapping herself around him.

"Been busy with life in general." I gave him my full attention because he would expect it. "I heard raves about your speech at the alumni dinner last week. Is it true you got a standing ovation?"

His cheeks took on a pink shade. "Yeah. I guess I have a way with words. Dad was proud of me that night."

"Just that night?" I nudged his arm.

I meant to tease, but he didn't react like I did. He did lean back in his chair, but with his arms crossed. The relaxed expression on his face vanished. "He's really pushing me this year to excel. The evidence of it so far was my speech. He said it was like throwing my hat into the ring for president."

"But you are president." I pointed out the obvious.

He rolled his eyes but not in a playful manner. It made me want to keep my mouth shut.

"President as in the White House."

"Oh."

He lifted his arms, flexing his biceps. "Dad taped my speech and sent it to my uncle and my grandfather. They're impressed, so score for me."

He didn't sound too thrilled by the praise from his family. Foster loved it when people admired him, especially those who could help him in some way, like his grandfather or uncle who had top ranking positions in the government.