Nothing Left to Burn (14 page)

I made my way to Mr. Serrano’s office for our weekly appointment.

“Hi, Amanda. Come on in.”

“Hey.”

“Your social worker wants a report. I’ve talked to your teachers, and every one of them has nothing but praise for you.”

My eyebrows shot up. This was news. “Even Mr. Anton?” Mr. Anton was my math teacher, and math teachers were, by definition, not of my world.

Mr. Serrano laughed. “Yes, even Mr. Anton. Your grade in his class has improved.” He tapped a few keys on his computer and rotated the screen so I could see my progress report. “Your grades are good, Amanda, but need to be better.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to mouth off. Mr. Serrano irritated every nerve I had. He wore the same clothes every day—a pair of tan Dockers and a Lakeshore High T-shirt. Okay, so technically, I wore the same clothes too, but that was only because I didn’t own any other stuff. His hair was always carefully combed to the same side, and he wore wire-framed glasses that were slightly bent so that one eyebrow always dipped under the frame and the other arched over. His desk looked like he’d just taken it out of its box. There wasn’t a crumb, a scratch, or even a sticky note on it. All it held was his computer and phone.

“What’s the point? I can’t even afford community college.”

“Amanda, you
can
. I admit scholarships are a bit of a lottery win, but you’ll fill out the financial aid forms. Pell grants don’t need to be repaid, and you definitely qualify. There’s plenty of aid available to foster kids like you who don’t want to be one of the statistics.”

The
dreaded
statistics.

I’d heard this tired old song too many times from foster parents, my social worker, and Mr. Serrano. Homeless and pregnant before twenty, living off welfare and food stamps, couch-surfing among a small circle of dirtbag friends. Mr. Serrano’s stupid statistics kept me up at night. The statistics freakin’ haunted me, because once I aged out of foster care, they wouldn’t just be some threat. They’d be my life.

“I also talked to Chief Duffy at the firehouse.”

I opened my eyes.

“He says you’re a fine firefighter with a keen eye and a strong heart.”

I—um, wow. I blinked away the tears that suddenly filled my eyes. I didn’t know what to say to that. That was almost gushing, and Chief Duffy did not gush.

“He thinks you’d make a fine civil servant—in the police or fire service in a town that would pay for the job.”

Mr. Serrano’s mention of the word
town
ignited a whole new panic sequence. I couldn’t drive. I didn’t have a car. I didn’t have money to buy a car. How could I find a job in such a mythical town if I couldn’t get there? Long Island wasn’t exactly a mecca of public transportation. There was only one solution—I’d have to leave.

The thought was like a kick to the solar plexus.

Mr. Serrano clicked a few more things on his computer screen, and a second later, the local community college website appeared. “My suggestion is this.” He tapped his screen.

“Nursing school?”

He nodded. “Chief Duffy mentioned that all of the volunteers are trained in life-saving skills, which tells me you already have an interest and probably an aptitude for the kind of work that might make others squeamish.”

I thought about that for a minute and decided he was right. I had no issues with blood and guts, like Gage did. I smothered a snort. He nearly puked during our last motor vehicle extraction drill, and that was all staged.

“It won’t be easy, but you could finish the nursing program at the community college in two years, before you age out of your current foster arrangement. With a license and two-year degree under your belt, you’ll find a job fast. It won’t be a glamorous high-paying job, but it sure beats slinging burgers at minimum wage. You’ll be able to afford rent, though again, not something extravagant. If you land work at a university hospital, you might even receive tuition reimbursement benefits. Do you know what that means?”

I shook my head.

“It means your employer will foot some of the bill for you to continue your education and get another degree—your four-year or maybe a master’s. Those credentials, of course, greatly improve your odds of getting the higher-paying jobs.”

I stared at the screen, studying the course outline. It was four semesters. I’d be twenty years old and still in foster care—maybe even still with the Becketts, if I didn’t step a pinky toe out of line.

“If you hate nursing, big deal. You still have a job and a degree you could always use for something else. You could save your way toward a car or a move to a city with a paid fire service. Or you could join the police department. The state police force earns the most, but a few of the counties pay well too. You’ll have benefits and security, and Amanda, those are worth more than the salary.” Mr. Serrano shifted his chair to look me straight in the eye. “I love teaching and love guiding students like you toward solid life plans, but the truth is I worry all the time about losing this job because of things like budget cuts and political changes that alter the state aid we receive for critical programs. You find a job in nursing or civil service, and you wouldn’t have to worry—at least, not as much. Do you understand?”

Wouldn’t have to worry.
I wasn’t sure if I knew what that felt like. It was probably something like believing in Santa Claus.

I leaned forward. “What do I have to do?”

Mr. Serrano’s lips twitched. “Well, as I said, your grades are good but could be better. You did well on the PSAT but should take the ACT and SAT. You should know I talked to Mr. Beckett. He and his wife agreed to keep you until you age out.”

My eyes popped at this news.

“He said that?”

“Yes, he did. He said you haven’t been any trouble at all. As long as that continues, I see no reason why Mr. Beckett would change his mind.”

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes with a sigh. The weight that rolled off my shoulders was so heavy I was kind of surprised I didn’t float to the top of Mr. Serrano’s office now that it wasn’t holding me down.

He smiled and held up a finger. “I’m going to give you some homework. Kids complain all the time that school never prepares them for the real world, like balancing a checkbook or understanding a simple job application.” He pulled open a wide drawer in the cabinet behind his desk, rifled through some files, and started pulling out brochures and flyers and stapled sets of documents. “I want you to read all this. The library has several programs you should attend. There are also some websites you should visit that provide all sorts of advice and guidance for transitioning out of foster care. And finally, there are some after-school jobs you should consider applying for. You need income, and you need to establish credit as soon as possible, so when the time comes for you to sign a lease, you’ll have a credit rating and references.”

A lease? Credit? Holy crap. Panic was creeping up the back of my neck again, its long bony fingers about to squeeze. But I took the stack of papers Mr. Serrano had thoughtfully put into a big manila envelope and slid it into my backpack. I’d read them. I would read every freakin’ one of them.

I would
not
be one of the statistics.

And that meant I had to stay far away from Reece Logan.

***

Monday afternoon, behind the school, I watched Reece race Max up and down the bleachers, trying damn hard not to be impressed with his lightning-fast progress and failing miserably. They’d done four laps, and even Max was sucking wind, but Reece would have done more if I hadn’t stopped him.

“Okay, Logan, that’s enough.” I waved him back down. He handed Max the five-pound hand weights and joined me at ground level, chugging half a bottle of water. “That was good. Really good. How are the leg muscles?”

“Bananas help,” he panted.

“Good. What else have you done today?”

“Uh, this morning, I did some weights in my basement for about half an hour.”

“Okay, let’s hit the rope.”

“Copy that, Captain.” He grinned and hurried ahead. I grinned back before I remembered I was seriously pissed off at him.

“Wait up a minute.”

He stopped, turned, and waited for me to catch up. I watched his eyes drop to my body and tried not to be happy about it, because I wasn’t, damn it. Not one bit. “About the other day. After the alarm sounded.”

Dark eyes stared into mine with a glint, but the jerk didn’t say a word.

I sighed loudly. “Reece. The kiss.”

“I remember.” His voice was suddenly deep and raspy.

“Well, you need to forget it. That can’t happen. Ever. Mr. Beckett was seconds away from walking in on us. If he sees that, you know what’ll happen to me?”

His eyebrows lowered, and he shook his head.

“They can ship me back, Logan. Kick me out.”

“Back? Back where?”

“Into the system. Maybe I’ll get sent to a different foster home. Odds are it won’t be in this town. But it’s more likely I’ll get stuck in a group home until I age out. Know anything about group homes, Logan?”

He shook his head.

“They’re a tiny step up from juvie.” I held up my fingers, less than an inch apart.

He swallowed hard, his eyes solemn. Okay, so I was laying it on a bit thick, but he needed to know I wasn’t kidding around.

Reece took a step closer. “You really like living at the Becketts’?”

I nodded. “It’s been the best so far.”

“Do you miss your mom?”

“Um,” I stammered, the shock of his question like a punch to the gut. And then I thought about that. Did I miss Mom? “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I raised my hands, then let them fall. “Every time I think of her, all I feel is mad. And feeling mad kind of makes you forget everything else.” I liked feeling mad a hell of a lot more than feeling sad. “She wants to see me.”

Oh
God, blurt much?
I had no idea why I told him that.

“Will you go?”

“What’s the point? So she can tell me what I already know?”

“What’s that?”

I couldn’t suppress my frustration. “Oh, how sorry she is, and she never meant to hurt me, and how things will be better when she gets out—like I’d believe a word of that.”

Reece angled his head, studying me for a moment. “But what if it’s true? I mean, wouldn’t that change things? You’d have your family back.”

My
family
back
… There was something in his tone that made me think of Matt—something
final
. He didn’t get it. But I did. My mom might not be dead, but my family wasn’t something that could be repaired. “Like I said, what’s the point?”

He rolled his eyes. “To know where you stand. To know somebody loves you,” he elaborated.

I snorted.
Love.
“Love is a friggin’ lie, Logan! Fiction. A fantasy!” I waved my hands in the air. “Love is how my mother ended up going to prison and how I ended up—” The look in his eyes pinched my heart. He pressed his lips together, looking like a kicked puppy, and suddenly, all I could think about was his lips on mine, and that made mine start tingling and—
crap
! “Logan, take my advice. You want to know where you stand? It’s wherever your feet stop. Simple. And love? Do whatever you have to do to avoid it.”
Crap, crap, shit.
My eyes burned, and my voice cracked, and I’d had enough. “Forget about the tug rope today. Go meet Bear.”

He studied me for a minute and finally nodded, jogging off to the school’s main entrance. The library would be open for only another half hour, so I hoped Bear was prepared.

Logan needed all the help he could get.

“He’s really improved.”

I whipped around at the sound of that deep voice and found Max standing against the fence that bordered the field. “Yeah.”

“So why do you look so miserable?”

Sighing, I shook my head. “Ever want something you know you’ll never get?”

He laughed. “Yeah. A Maserati.”

My lips twitched. Max might be a conceited jerk sometimes, but he was funny. He pushed off the fence and started coiling my rope.

“What’s going on, Man? You got a thing for Logan? Is that why you look like you’re gonna cry?”

A thing for Logan? Holy crap.

“He…ah, hell, he gets inside my head, Max. I feel bad for him. All that crap with John?”

Max’s lips tightened. “Yeah, well, maybe he wouldn’t have so much crap with his dad if he hadn’t taken the car without a license.”

Matt’s accident.
“Yeah. Maybe.”

Max handed me the neatly wound rope, and I slung it over my shoulder, along with my backpack. “Can I ask you something, Man?”

“Sure.”

“I heard you tell him your mother wants you to visit.”

I froze.

“Why don’t you want to go?”

I turned and started walking. “If you heard me tell him that, you must have heard my answer too.”

He caught up to me. “I did. But I don’t buy the
why
bother
thing. I think you’re scared.”

Yeah. Right.

“I’d go with you. I don’t have my license, but I’d take the train with you. So you had someone you could trust.”

Tears stung my eyes again. I held out my hand. “Thanks, Max.”

He grinned, and it was a real smile, not one of his charm-you-out-of-your-panties grins. “No sweat.”

He clasped my hand, thumbs up.

The way the guys always did it.

“So do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. I kind of hate her, Max.”

“Nah. You’re pissed off. Might be good to get it off your incredibly nice chest.” He nudged me with an elbow, dark eyes pinned to my boobs.

I rolled my eyes. “Knock it off, Tobay.” I slapped his arm, but he only raised his eyebrows, silently demanding my answer. “I’ll think about it, okay? I haven’t seen her for ages. It’s…”

“I know, Man.”

A sudden thought struck. “I still won’t go out with you, you know.”

He shot me a look. “I didn’t ask. I’m just offering to come with.”

I stopped and faced him with a frown. “Okay, why?”

Max shook his head, laughing. “Because we’re squadmates, girl. Two in. Two out. That’s the way it works.”