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little prick,” Paul says.
    “Name calling,
huh? Pretty immature,” Trace grins, “If you’re so tough, just hit me. Come on.
Be a man.”
    “I don’t hit
children,” Paul says, his voice gravelly, “But you’ll be grown soon enough. And
I’ll have your sorry ass on the curb in three seconds flat. See how long it
takes before you get to be a dirty fucking junkie just like your worthless
parents.”
    Garrick flies to
Trace just in time to hold him back. Trace thrashes against his friend, trying
like hell to get to Paul. I watch in silent horror, sure that Paul is about to
get his throat ripped out. But Trace forces deep breath after deep breath into
his body, and manages to get a hold of himself.
    “Pathetic as
always,” Paul laughs, “You girls, go upstairs. I want all of you in bed like
good little kiddies.”
    “It’s only,
like, ten o’clock,” Conway complains.
    “Go. Upstairs.
Now,” Paul says.
    Conway rolls her
eyes and stands, nodding to me to follow her lead. I hurry after my new foster
sister, stealing a glance at Trace as I go. He’s practically trembling with
frustrated rage, and I don’t blame him.
    Paul herds Conway
and me up the basement stairs and slams the door behind him. Supporting himself
on the wall, he staggers into the living room. Nancy is in there too, passed
out on the couch with a bottle of vodka clutched in her hand.
    “Is it always
like this?” I whisper to Conway as we make our way up the stairs.
    “Nah,” she
answers, a bit sadly, “This is a good night.”
    I crawl under
the bright pink but threadbare comforter and close my eyes. Try as I might,
though, I can’t seem to lure sleep to me. It’s ages before I manage to lose
myself to my usual bleak dreams. I sleep fitfully in the strange new place I’m
supposed to call home. As much as I can, I avoid thinking about how many more
nights I’ll have to spend here. I can’t dwell on how awful this place is—that’s
the best way to lose hope there is.
    ~~~
    The sky outside
our bedroom window is barely light when I crack open my eyes again. My heart
sinks as I remember where it is that I am. Swallowing a sigh, I roll over to
see if Conway is awake yet. Her bed is empty, the sheets rumpled and cast
aside. I cast my eyes every which way, looking for her, and something on the
nightstand catches my eye.
    Sitting beside
the alarm clock is a soggy, unwrapped Hostess cupcake. A single, mostly burned
out tea light sits on top of it, the little flame flickering in the near
darkness. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, staring at the tiny treat.
A folded index card stands next to the offering with the words “a sweet for
your sweet sixteenth” scrawled in girlish handwriting.
    Before I can
stop them, baffled tears start to stream down my cheeks. It’s the first
birthday cake I’ve had since my parents passed away—and quite possibly the best
I’ve ever had in my life.

 
    Four
    Trace
    Who is this girl?
     
    I slam my hand
down on the car horn, shattering the quiet of the morning. A satisfied smirk
spreads across my face as I picture Paul and Nancy waking up in a cold, boozy
sweat. Well, good. Serves the assholes right, I say. If they could haul their
asses out of bed to round up the troops for school, it wouldn’t be my
responsibility. But as the only foster kid in the house with a license, it
falls to me to make sure everyone’s sitting nice and pretty in homeroom every
morning.
    The front door
of the Daniels’ house swings open, and Nadia steps out onto the porch. I feel
my throat clench up tight at the sight of her, and wish that I could kick my
own ass.
    This happens
every time I take a look at her, even after the two weeks she’s been in the
house. I need to shake this girly little crush of mine, and soon. It’d be way
too weird to start anything up with her. And besides, I’m sure she doesn’t want
or need any attention from the likes of me. Girls who look like Nadia can do
way better than my sorry