The Love I Found

Chapter 1

--FOURTEEN MONTHS EARLIER--

"He's staring at you," Marissa James tells me just before she makes a loud snapping noise with her gum. She chews gum like her life depends on it, which wouldn't be so bad if she didn't smack her lips and make that awful snapping sound.

Chew, chew, chew. Snap. Chew, chew.

Marissa seems to have a habit of subconsciously chewing her gum to a rhythm or beat that is playing in her head. If I focus on it for too long it drives me crazy. Then I have to make an excuse about having to go inside, or that I have to go run an errand, anything to get away from the repetitive sounds. There is only so much of the obnoxious gum song I can handle.

She isn't all that bad though. And seeing as she is the only other girl around my age in the neighbourhood, I have decided I can put up with her gum chewing as long as the conversation keeps flowing. Marissa can't chew, chew, snap and talk at the same time. And the girl really loves to talk.

I take my eyes off the street hockey game in front of us and give Marissa a puzzled look. What is she even talking about? Her head bobs to the right, indicating the direction where the person in question is standing.

When I angle my body a small degree to take a peek, the rough concrete of the curb clings to the material of my worn jeans. I should be more careful or I'll end up ripping my pants, right in front of Marissa and the majority of the neighbourhood boys.

I don't really care what those boys think of me, but in this small town there isn't much for a seventeen-year-old girl to do. Late summer afternoons are often spent sitting on the sidewalk with Marissa, watching the boys play hockey and occasionally joining in the "Caaarrrr!" warning that she hollers out for them. I'd prefer if they didn't see my underwear today. If they did, I'd never hear the end of it.

My eyes land on Cal who is standing about thirty feet away. He is leaning against the rickety chain link fence that surrounds our foster home, one leg bent at the knee so that his foot is propped up against the chains. The brim of his black snapback is pulled low over his eyes, making it hard to see exactly where he is looking, but his head seems to be turned in the direction of Marissa and I. He lifts a cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly before giving a single, small nod. I know I have been caught looking at him, and my eyes whip back to Marissa.

Cal Jones isn't exactly the topic of conversation I want to have. I'd rather listen to Marissa's gum snapping than talk about the quiet, brooding boy who lives with me in my newest foster home placement. I briefly think about blurting out a new conversation starter as if I hadn't heard what Marissa said, but the determined look in her eye tells me she isn't going to let me get away with changing the subject.

I haven't known her very long, but I'd be daft if I didn't realize that Marissa has a stubborn streak that runs a mile long. And why wouldn't she?

Whereas I'm petite and nearly flat-chested, Marissa is curvy and has a chest fit for a lingerie ad. My hair is just past my shoulders, a pale yellow. Marissa has dark, wavy hair that nearly reaches her waist. Right now, it is neatly pulled back in two French braids, courtesy of her equally beautiful mother. She complained earlier that it took forever and that her mom always yanks her hair back too tightly, but I don't feel sorry for her. I'd give anything for someone to braid my hair.

Marissa is also a born leader. Someone who easily takes charge and always seems to get what she wants. I am more of a wallflower. A girl that is content to hang back and go unnoticed if it means staying out of chaos. If it means being able to stay...

A small tinge of sadness runs through me when I take in the way Marissa's eyes run over Cal's body, and she says, "Mmm, mmm. I love a man full of mystery. You're one lucky girl, Amelia."

I don't bother correcting her when she says the wrong name. Everyone seems to think Amelia is my name. I don't care enough to tell them otherwise. Amelia. Emilia. Close enough. Amelia seems more like a nice, normal name anyway. I've been called worse.

"I think he's staring at you," I tell Marissa, "He hasn't said two words to me since I moved here... I'm not sure he even realizes that I moved in."

That's not quite true. I had been introduced to him the first day, and he had nodded at me then too. So, he at least knows I am around...

"You, on the other hand," I continue, "have the attention of every boy in this town."

If Marissa wants Cal, she'd have him. I am sure of it.

Marissa sighs and shakes her head. "Unfortunately, not Cal Jones. He has no interest in me. I tried to get his attention countless times when he first showed up around here. Looking back, it's a little embarrassing to admit..." Chew, chew, chew. "I was pretty bummed out about it at first, but I felt better when I realized he doesn't show interest in much of anything. Or anyone." Her eyes are still looking in Cal's direction, but then she turns them back to me. "That is, until you showed up." Chew, chew. Snap.

A soft, awkward laugh escapes me, and I busy myself by leaning over to glance at the fancy watch on Marissa's arm as I try to come up with a reply. That's when I notice that it's almost six thirty. I quickly push myself to my feet and look down at Marissa. "You read too many romance novels. Sometimes we watch TV together, so maybe he's happy to have someone around who turns on the television and picks something half decent to watch, but that's about the only interest Cal has in me."

Marissa moves to her feet as well. "Whatever you say, Amelia." Chew, chew, chew. Snap. "But when your hot, mysterious, foster brother is sneaking into your bedroom, remember that I told you this was going to happen. But only think about it for a quick second, then jump his bones and remember every detail, so that you can tell me all about it. Deal?"

My nose scrunches with disgust. "Can you not call him my brother and talk about me jumping his bones in the same breath?"

Marissa throws her head back and laughs loudly, drawing the attention of the boys playing hockey.

I hope they can't hear us.

"Fooosster brother," she drags out the first word to emphasize it. "Big difference. Now go on, you better get inside before you're late for dinner. You don't need that big meathead yelling at you again."

I cringe at the memory of Mr. Scott screaming down the street at me last Friday evening, and Marissa gives me a sympathetic look.

"Hey, maybe you can come over to my house for dinner again?" she offers.

I force a smile and shake my head. "That's okay. I've been over a lot lately, and I don't want your family to get sick of me."

Marissa's family has only ever been nice to me, but I don't miss the wary glances cast my way from her mother, or the way her two parents exchanged a look when Marissa had spoken about going to my house some time. That "some time" hadn't happened yet, and I expected that it wouldn't. I couldn't say that I minded though.

Marissa's house is large and roomy and their dinners are always something I suspect would be served in a high-class restaurant. I didn't want Marissa to see the inside of the dingy house where I currently reside.

Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Scott have never told me that I was allowed to have friends over, and I don't want to ask. It seems as though I am enough of a burden for them without inviting more children into their space.

"Are you kidding?" Marissa asks a little too enthusiastically, bringing my wandering thoughts back to the conversation. "My parents love you! I guess it is pretty short notice though. Some other time then?" Chew, chew, chew.

"Yeah, sure." I force out another smile, and then I turn away to walk back to the Scott's house; my current home, or at least, the place where I currently live. "Home" seems like too comfortable of a word to use.