Chapter Text
“Why does the mind do such things? Turn on us, rend us, dig the claws in. If you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. Maybe it's much the same.”
.
.
.
Jamie walks into school the first day of sophomore year with a scowl on her face, a bruise fading on her side, and a heavy heart she does her best to ignore.
Coupled with all of that there's a healthy amount of disdain.
Why is it even called fucking sophomore year? What’s wrong with Year 12? What’s wrong with sixth form? Back in England, she’d been excited to be out of school altogether by now. She didn’t need to go to school after 16. She’d leave care, get work somewhere, take care of herself and Mikey, and she’d be fine.
Instead, she finds herself in a new all-too-american high school, walking between cheerleaders and jocks, trying to blend into the background of her life.
Here she goes again.
⚜️
The only seat available by the time she finds her homeroom classroom, is right at the front.
She takes the blow in stride, used to things going like absolute shit for her. At least it’s right at the edge of the classroom, next to the windows. She’s on the second floor, and gets a view of the massive football field, seemingly the only part of this school that enjoys good funding.
Jamie slides into her seat a moment before the teacher—a balding man in a cheap looking suit—walks into the classroom.
She crosses her fingers for him to skip the first day of school routine of making everyone introduce themselves. She’s had to do it more often than most, when she’s gotten transferred to a new foster home in the middle of the school year, and it never gets better.
Come on, mate. These kids all know each other already. Don’t do it.
“Good morning, everyone. It’s great to see you for another year,” the man says, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. A few murmurs of agreement float through the classroom. “Well, let’s start by introducing ourselves, shall we?”
Bollocks.
Jamie hates this part. Hates being the centre of attention, and she knows she will be, at least for a little while. For better or for worse—and it’s always for worse—she stands out. Her accent singles her out. Her age does too. She’d be fucked even if she didn’t insist on dressing the way she does, with baggy clothes that feel like armour.
She’s a year older than everyone else, although she’s aware she looks younger, is smaller. Her 17th birthday came and went without fanfare a few weeks ago, and she’d gotten the news she’d be leaving the group home and going to a different place only a few days before, so her mind had been consumed with that anyways.
In any case, she’s not concerned with sentimental shit like that. There’s no meaning to a birthday apart from what it does for her in the real world. She’s one year closer to aging out of the system and being able to pave her own way. She’s 17. Just one year to go.
The introductions drag along and take up the better part of the homeroom hour.
In a small act of fortuitous mercy, the teacher starts by the opposite side of the classroom, which means Jamie will thankfully go last.
She hears each student state their name, their age, what they did that summer, and what they’re looking forward to this school year. It’s mind numbing.
Jamie doesn’t make an effort to learn any names, knowing that she most likely won’t be finishing up the school year with these people anyway. She lets the words wash over her, meaningless.
Michael Davis, Danielle Clayton, Jessica Miller, Abner Gutierrez, Rebecca Jessel ...on and on.
She fantasizes with the bell ringing before it’s her turn, but she’s never been what you’d call lucky.
“Thank you, Mr.Hall, I’m sure we all enjoyed that riveting story of how you got a growth removed this past summer. Next. An unfamiliar face!”
Jamie rolls her eyes, and gets up.
“Name’s Jamie Taylor. I’m seventeen years old. I read a couple of books this summer. Was nice. I’m looking forward to learning new things this year.” The answer is practiced, bland, cookie-cutter perfect.
She’s about ready to sit back down when the teacher waves his hand.
“Is that an accent I hear?” he asks. Jamie clenches her jaw. No shit, Sherlock. This is the worst part, every time. “Well, where are you from Jamie?”
She looks out the window, then somewhere towards the whiteboard.
“Uh, was born in England. Yorkshire. Moved here when I was ten. Haven’t gotten rid of the accent quite yet.”
In fact, it is as thick as ever, like the day she left. Like this one aspect of who she is won't allow itself to be erased.
“That’s so interesting!” the teacher exclaims. “In all my years teaching here I don’t believe I’ve ever had a student from England.”
Christ, he’s a talker .
“What brought you here, Miss Taylor?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Parents wanted to move. I was ten.”
It’s the truth, the barest bones of it. If those parents are no longer her parents, were not her real parents from the get go, if they discarded her as soon as they could and kept her baby brother—well, that’s another thing entirely.
Some of her new classmates seem to think her answer—dry and deadpan—is funny, and she gets a few chuckles.
The teacher opens his mouth to say something else, and that’s when the bell rings.
⚜️
The day drags by in similar fashion as homeroom, class after class of introducing herself, and going over the syllabus for the year. A few people try talking to her, and Jamie does her best to appear engaged, polite if not interested.
No point in making enemies on day one. That will surely come on its own later.
Before she realizes it, it’s time to go home—or as close to that as she can get.
Jamie doesn’t take the school bus.
Instead, she walks, getting acquainted with the streets of her new city. She’s only been here for 5 days, and most of those were spent in a whirlwind of meeting Mrs.Quint, getting her meagre belongings together and moving, signing up for school and buying supplies.
It’s always jarring, moving. She can pretend it slides right past her, but deep down it always knocks her off balance, at least for a few weeks. She was at the group home for 11 months, her longest stint in any one place. Before that, she was doing her time at the jolly ol’ Polk County Juvenile Detention Center.
She’d begun to think she’d age out at the group home. She and the two other girls she shared a room with—Claire and Rosa—had learned to exist in the same space without getting in each other’s way much. There were 12 kids in the house total, so it was a bit crowded, but not unbearably so. And where the food was shite, the supervision was great—meaning very light . She could sneak out, every once in a while. Meet up with people, every once in a while. She’d begun to get comfortable with what her life was. Thought it would stay that way until she turned 18.
No such luck.
Now she’s another happy inhabitant of Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
Maybe next time she’ll get bounced out of middle America, Jamie muses. A state change would be nice. She hasn’t had one of those in ages.
Soon enough, she finds herself in front of the small, old two-storey house belonging to one Mrs.Anne Quint, her current foster parent.
Jamie adjusts her ratty backpack strap against her shoulder, and climbs the few steps up to the front porch. She has a house key, but finds she doesn’t need it when the door handle easily turns. Genuinely, how can people be so trusting?
She steps inside, minding her footsteps. Becoming invisible was something she quickly learned when she entered the system back in England. It usually helped.
She’s not sure how useful it’ll be here. This is the first house she’s been in where she’s the only kid, and it’s a welcome change. Usually, she’d take it as a bad sign—easier to get away with shit if there’s no one else to walk in—but Mrs.Quint has no husband. It’s a relief.
So far she’s had food on the table, Mrs.Quint hasn’t gotten up on her shit, and this morning she got a decent amount of money to buy lunch at school—which she pocketed in its entirety and forced down a shitty free lunch instead.
It’s as best a situation as she can hope for. Better than the group home, even, although Jamie knows to be cautious and never get too comfortable. But it really seems like for Mrs.Quint she’s a paycheck, a way to fill an empty room in a more lucrative manner than hosting a college student or renting an airbnb.
Jamie can work with that. It’s pretty perfect, even.
She can keep her head down, save up for when she ages out, and stay out of the woman’s path. It’s—
“Jamie, you’re home!”
The words greet her as soon as she walks past the kitchen.
She stops, and forces herself to walk back to the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How was your first day of school? Make any friends? Well, I guess you’re too old for that question. But it was nice, yeah?”
Jamie nods.
“That’s good. I know with signing up for school and everything, well, it’s been a whirlwind, hasn't it?”
Jamie nods again, aware that the woman is waiting for some sort of response from her.
“So, before I let you get settled, I bought you some things.” Mrs.Quint stands up. She’s not a tall woman, but she still towers a good few inches over Jamie. “I got you a new backpack. I think yours is lovely, of course, but it’s looking a bit...well, worn. So this one is the most similar one I could find.”
Jamie looks, and sure enough, there is a brand new brown backpack on the unoccupied kitchen chair. It looks like genuine leather, miles better than the piece of crap she’s been lugging around for the better part of three years.
“Like it? Well, go on. It’s all yours.”
She hands it over, and Jamie feels the material under her fingertips. Catches a whiff of its smell from the air. It’s definitely real leather. She could sell it, and get good money for it. Christ, she almost wishes they could get this over with already and she would get sent back to the group home tomorrow. She’s already salivating at the thought of the amount of cash she’s gonna get from this backpack—provided of course, the missus doesn’t take it away before Jamie leaves.
The thought deflates her brief slide into excitement.
“Everything okay?” Mrs.Quint asks.
“Yes,” she responds. “It’s lovely, thank you.” She’s polite to a fault, has trained herself to be.
“Wonderful. I got you something else as well. Now, I’m not the most tech savvy woman, but the guy at the store told me this was a great model. It’s not super fancy, because I can’t believe people spend a thousand dollars on a single phone, but it’s a Samsung, like mine, so it’ll last. That’s important. And the guy said it’s even better than mine, so you can take all your pictures, and have your facebook on it, and talk to your friends, and all that. So here you go.”
Mrs.Quint offers her a white box, and Jamie takes it, dumbfounded.
“Now, your caseworker said it might not be a great idea, but I know how teenagers are. You guys need the internet! So as long as it doesn’t affect your grades, I think we’ll be great. And your grades have always been fine, haven’t they, sweetie?”
Jamie forgets to nod. It’s a cellphone. A brand new fucking cellphone.
Back at the group home, Claire had scored an old one from a boyfriend, and the older kids shared it. She got her share of time each week as long as she took over Claire’s duties for the day.
But this is her own. What the fuck.
“You don’t like it?” Mrs.Quint asks, and Jamie becomes aware she’s staring at the box in her hand like a fucking lunatic.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you Ma’am. I’ve just...never had one.” It’s the truth. And it’s also good to play the sympathy card.
“Well, you do now,” Mrs.Quint smiles. “That’s all then, I think dinner will be ready at six.”
Jamie nods, and climbs the stairs to her bedroom in a daze.
⚜️
(2010. Yorkshire, England.)
Mum and dad are fighting again.
Their screams echo through the house, and Jamie covers her ears. She knows to stay out of their way. Her mom doesn’t like to see her when she gets like this. She hates to look at Jamie, at how much she looks like her, hates to be reminded she’s a mum at all. Jamie knows this.
Denny isn’t as smart as she is, even though he’s older. She may be only 8 years old, while Denny turned 12 last month, but she’s the one who knows when to talk to their mom, and when to avoid her altogether. When their dad is in a good mood and likes to look at her drawings, and when he’s too tired from his work at the mine and they should just hand him a beer and leave him be. Jamie knows all these things, while Denny is too thick-headed to realize them.
Now, Denny walks out of the bedroom they share and gets in their parent’s way, yells like he’s a grown up like them and not a kid like she is. He gets a red welt across his face for his trouble.
Jamie doesn’t say anything, when he comes back to the room with tears welling up in his eyes. Doesn’t tell him he had it coming.
She keeps her mouth shut, but her brother must see something on her face, because he pushes her, hard.
Jamie throws her arms out to stop her fall. Her palms sting.
The cover of her hands no longer a protection, she finally makes out what today’s fight is about.
Her mum is having a baby.
⚜️
Before Jamie realizes it, it’s friday.
An entire week at this new school, already passed as uneventfully as possible. The alumni of Cedar Rapids Jefferson High seem to be a step further in evolution than the kids from the last few schools she’s been in, and by Friday Jamie is no longer news.
Someone had asked if it was true she was adopted. Someone else had said they were a foster kid, too, and offered a table at lunch. Jamie declined. She isn’t sure how the details of her life got out, and doesn’t really care.
Taciturn and quiet as she can be, speaking to the lot of them only when spoken to, the student body seemed to quickly decide she wasn’t worth the excitement or time, and Jamie prefers it like that.
Her Biology teacher steps out of the classroom, and Jamie—like most of the other students, and for the first time in her life—takes out her cellphone to entertain herself.
It seems too good to be true, that she’d lucked out like this. Her brand new leather backpack rests at her feet, and her cellphone is bright and shiny and useful in her hands. Mrs.Quint hasn’t taken any of them away, hasn’t toyed with her or thrown in her face that she has these things out of the goodness of her heart—even when Jamie had to be reminded that they do laundry on wednesdays.
It’s mental, is what it is.
Every night this week, Mrs.Quint has had dinner with Jamie. She’s asked about school, and accepted Jamie’s curated one-liners. She hasn't asked about her phone at all, or what she’s doing on it. She knocks on her bedroom door before she comes in if she needs to talk to her. She hasn’t gone through her stuff that she knows of, even though she could, even though privacy is never guaranteed and your possessions, meagre as they are, are never fully your own.
Jamie has a lock on her door. She hadn’t dared use it her first week here, but yesterday, she’d finally done it, making sure to set her alarm much earlier than when Mrs.Quint wakes up just in case.
Best night of sleep she can remember having in years .
Jamie can’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Decent dinner every night, few dollars of lunch money every day, a nice backpack, a fucking phone . A lock on her door. Everything about Mrs.Quint invites her to trust her, to trust in this, and Jamie can’t allow herself that.
She knows what trust entails. How dropping her guard down can be the start of a nightmare.
She remembers the last time she trusted a foster parent, remembers the kind smiles and comforting words that so quickly turned into the creak of a door opening in the dark, heavy hands and heavier breaths—
“Taylor?”
She looks up, aware she’s still holding her phone in her hand. She hadn’t even noticed the teacher was back.
“Yes?”
“I said, have you chosen a lab partner?”
“I, um, no.”
“Who are we missing? Where are Jessel and Clayton?”
Someone pipes up with something about cheerleading. Jamie furtively drags her hand below her desk, slipping her phone out of view.
“Well, who doesn’t have a partner—”
“I’ll go with Rebecca!” A guy exclaims, raising his hand like a drowning man, the poor sod.
“Very well. That leaves Clayton with Taylor,” the teacher writes something down. “Everyone, change seats to be with your partner. This person will be your partner for the rest of the semester, which is why I’ve let you make the choice. I don’t want excuses later on. No partner changes allowed. Learn to work with people. Now, write this down.”
Jamie wracks her brain, trying to remember who Clayton is, but nothing comes to mind. She wasn't paying attention during any of those introduction sessions the first day of class.
The teacher has them go over their first project, and Jamie dutifully writes it all down, feeling adrift. She hates it. She detests group work. She makes it a point to keep her distance from people, easier that way, and being forced to work closely with someone shoots her routine to hell.
The bell signaling the end of the class finally rings, and she’s picking up her notebook when the teacher calls her out.
“Taylor, Smith,” he says, and poor sod—Smith, apparently—also looks up. “Look for Jessel and Clayton and get them up to speed, will you?”
Fuck.
Jamie nods.
⚜️
She keeps an ear out for the name Clayton in one of her next classes, and doesn’t find any. She has Jessel, first name Rebecca, in her math class before lunch, so at least she can put a face to that name. Rebecca Jessel is a beautiful girl with brown skin and kind dark eyes, and well, Jamie understands poor sod’s desire to be paired up with her.
Jamie sees her chance, and stops Rebecca Jessel right after the bell rings.
“‘Scuse me. Do you know a Clayton? She’s my biology lab partner and I'm looking for her.”
“Dani? Of course! Eddie here’s her boyfriend,” she says amicably, waving her hand at a tall guy with curly dark hair and round glasses.
He pushes his glasses up his nose with the tip of his finger.
“That is not...accurate,” he says.
Fucking weirdo , Jamie thinks. Rebecca laughs.
“She’s our friend,” Rebecca says. “Come along, we’ll introduce you.”
Jamie follows after the odd pairing, damning her biology teacher to hell. It makes her itch, having so many people around. Reminds her of the group home, just kids stacked on top of kids with no one having enough room to breathe .
“Dani!” Rebecca exclaims, and that is when Jamie gets her first look at Dani Clayton.
Shit.
All she sees is a short pink skirt, a white sweater tucked into it. An impressive mane of blonde hair. Clayton looks up, and Jamie takes a look at blue eyes. Has she ever seen blue eyes like that? Not bright, not pale, just...a soft blue. Like bluejeans of the ocean after a storm.
Jamie suddenly feels like poor sod her damn self.
Christ, that’s a beautiful girl.
Rebecca introduces them, and Jamie goes through the motions.
Her hand is soft and her smile is kind. Jamie feels the instant need to turn her nose up at her, at this obvious display of softness. Danielle Clayton looks and talks and moves like a kitten displaying a tender underbelly towards the world, trusting that if she’s nice enough nobody will hurt her.
It’s ridiculous. It’s the type of person Jamie can't stand. But her smile is so honest, so earnest, she feels like a twat for just thinking it.
“You’re the british girl,” Dani Clayton points out.
“That’s me, I guess. I, um, I’m your lab partner? So the teacher wanted me to get you the notes for today. And well, to let you know about the group and the project and such.”
“Oh, I was hoping I'd be paired with you, Becca!” Dani exclaims, turning towards the other girl.
“I’m with Tommy, can you believe it?” Rebecca says.
They laugh. Jamie just stands there. Behind them, Freddie or whatever his name was—Jamie mentally starts calling him glasses— adjusts his goddamn frames again, looking just as out of place as Jamie suddenly feels.
She’s standing right there, and all this Dani person can think to do is tell her friend how much she wishes she wasn’t stuck with Jamie. It makes her blood boil, that old familiar feeling of being shown just how unimportant, how unwanted she is, takes over her in a hot rush.
Dani seems to remember Jamie is right in front her, and is her actual partner, and an actual person.
“No offense, Jamie!” Dani exclaims. “None at all. I'm happy you're my partner. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”
“No worries,” Jamie tells her, sweet as anything. “Not so great to be stuck with you either. Don’t seem like you’ve got much going on in your head.”
She turns on her heel and walks away, ignoring the outraged “ Hey! ” from glasses, the whispered “What the fuck? ” from Rebecca Jessel, and Dani Clayton’s stunned silence.
⚜️
(2011. Yorkshire, England.)
Mikey is the loveliest thing Jamie has ever seen.
He’s small, so very small. He’s all big blue eyes and a surprising shock of blonde hair that no one else in their family has.
He’s special. And when her mum lays a hand on her shoulder and asks if she’s ready to be a big sister, Jamie feels special too.
She’s going to be the best big sister in the world.
⚜️
People stare at her more often that day, as the hours drag by.
Looks born from gossip, and not just general curiosity for the new kid. Clayton must have talked, shared with everyone what a shitty person she is. That’s fine with Jamie. As long as people stay out of her way, she’ll be fine.
She walks home again, cherishing the 30 minutes of solitude and silence.
It’s a good routine, one she wasn’t allowed at the group home. They’d been carted from the school gates into the school bus, straight to the house. Mrs.Quint hasn’t said anything, if she’s even noticed, and Jamie plans on taking advantage of that for as long as possible.
A gentle, warm breeze ruffles her hair. The streets are mostly empty, not yet the time for the work day to let out. The freedom beckons Jamie, whispers playfully in her ears.
She thinks about running away. She’d be better equipped for it now. She’d been desperate when she first tried it at 12, acted like a wounded animal gnawing its own leg off to survive. She’d been stupid, at 15, thinking she could stand a chance, that she could live on her own looking like such a child still, that they wouldn’t find her. But now...Now she’s almost of age. She’s got things she could sell, a steadily growing stash of cash tucked between the leather of her backpack and the inner lining, pushed through a slit she sliced open with a kitchen knife a couple days ago.
She’d stand a much better chance now.
But Mrs.Quint hasn’t given her reasons yet, hasn’t showed her hand, and it’d be just as stupid to run away from 3 meals a day and a lock on her door for no reason.
Jamie craves freedom, but she also isn’t stupid.
It’s not the time. Not yet, at least.
⚜️
(2011. Yorkshire, England.)
Mikey’s crib is shoved against one of the walls in Jamie and Denny’s bedroom.
Denny slams doors for days, yelling to their mom about how it’s bad enough he has to share a room with Jamie, and now he’s stuck with the bastard, too.
Jamie doesn’t know what the words mean, but they make her throat feel tight.
She doesn’t mind sharing with Mikey. Prefers it, really, after sharing with Denny for as long as she’s been alive. Mikey smiles at her, these days. He’s finally learned how to do it, and Jamie seems to be his favorite person to do it for.
Denny only smiles when he’s made her cry.
So she doesn’t mind sharing with Mikey, but the only bad part is that he’s a baby and babies cry.
Some nights, Jamie is the one that has to get out of bed and peek inside the crib, check if Mikey needs his diaper changed. She’s the one that has to go to her parent’s bedroom if it seems he’s hungry, and wake their mum up.
Some nights, she finds her mum already awake, and Jamie doesn’t understand why she hasn’t gotten up and tended to her little brother already.
Wonders if, just like with her, she already wants a break from being his mum.
⚜️
Jamie huffs as she sits up.
She’s always done well in Physical Education, but the tender bruise on her side—almost 2 weeks old, but still prominent, still fading—it’s hindering her movements today.
Usually, she can ignore it. Not so this morning.
This one’s on her, she knows that. She was leaving the group home, and she’d thought she could give herself the best chance possible at her new house—so she’d taken the phone. Nobody would report stolen items they shouldn’t have in the first place.
She hadn’t counted on Claire finding her as she stashed it in her backpack.
Hadn’t realized it would hurt, either, that betrayed look on the other girl’s face, as if sharing a room for 11 months had made them friends , and Jamie had betrayed that. As if they were anything but people thrown together by chance, learning how to survive around one another. Jamie’s never had time for friends.
The knowledge that she was a betraying little shit hadn’t hurt as much as the punches, though, that Claire had delivered while two of the older boys held her down, and which had directly resulted in the greenish bruise still marring her side, from hip bone to ribs.
Jamie closes her eyes, takes a breather.
She’s psyching herself up to finish her reps when she hears a set of footsteps which stop right by her side.
She opens her eyes, and she sees clean white sneakers, the smooth legs, then—Jamie looks away before she finds out what a cheerleader wears under those criminally short skirts. Through the glare of the sunlight, she can make out blonde hair and a somewhat familiar face.
It’s Dani Clayton. And she’s staring at her—at her body.
Jamie looks down to find her t-shirt has ridden up, exposing the massive green and yellow bruise on her side.
She hastily pushes her shirt down, which seems to bring Clayton out of her trance.
“Can I help ya?” she asks, and Clayton nearly jumps.
“Yes,” she finally says. “We need to talk about biology.”
Jamie sits up, uses the time to wipe the sweat from her forehead.
“What about it?” As long as she’s calm, she’s in control. She knows Dani Clayton’s type, has dealt with dozens of her before. She stares up at her, in her pristine cheerleading uniform, and the feeling from a few days ago simmers in her gut.
Think you’re better than me, don’t you?
“We have to hand in our first assignment next week,” Dani says. “And I’m not about to get a bad grade because of you.”
It sounds practiced, to Jamie’s ears. Weak.
“It’s not joint work now, is it?” She’d gotten that much from the last class, although admittedly, she’d been distracted by her phone beneath her desk, looking at the cost of apartments in different cities. “You can do your bit, and I’ll do mine.”
“We have to hand it in the same folder, and both our names should be on the first page. We can’t just throw anything together.” Dani drags her hand over her already perfect hair and tightens her ponytail. “Look,” she says in a softer voice. “I’ll print it. Just send me your part, will you?” She hands Jamie a post-it. She grabs it from her from her spot on the ground. “Here’s my number and my email. Just text me when it’s done.”
Jamie watches her go.
⚜️
(2011. Yorkshire, England.)
Things change at home, and it isn’t just because of Mikey.
Her mum talks to her less and less, is around less and less. When she is, she looks different, prettier, and she smells like perfume. A man she’s never met picks her up, and Jamie has to babysit Mikey until her mum comes back.
Denny is supposed to babysit both of them, but he never does. It’s up to Jamie. She doesn’t mind.
But that’s not the only thing that changes.
Denny’s usual shoving and picking on her turn into bitter, angry words.
“Whore,” he calls her, as he brushes past her on his way to the kitchen.
“Stupid bitch,” Denny whispers, when she drops her plate of cereal one morning before school.
Jamie’s ears burn. Their dad hears him, she’s sure of it, but he doesn’t say anything. He leaves for work right after, and doesn’t come back until after Jamie is in bed, day after day.
Jamie misses the sting on her palms from catching herself before she hit the ground, whenever Denny shoved her. She misses the bruises from brawls she never used to win.
Somehow, the words from the kids at school and from her brother at home hurt way worse.
⚜️
“How are you today, Jamie?”
Jamie sits on the comfortable leather couch of Theodora Crain, her newest mandated therapist. It’s only her fourth session with the woman, her second after moving to this new city, but she’s already made peace with the fact that the weekly therapist sessions will be a staple of her life for the foreseeable future.
Tamara, relentless as she had been, had gotten her to talk when she was in juvie. She’d kept seeing Jamie afterwards, and through the last year, they’d made some leeway with her nightmares. It was the only bad part, she thinks, of moving away one more time. New therapist.
But Tamara had talked to her about Theo, had sung her praises, pretty much. And Theo had told her she’d had a long conversation with Tamara about her, and they’d be working together to continue helping her. She’d even made the trip to Jamie twice, just to meet her and start getting to know her. That had to count for something, Jamie thinks, even if it wasn’t much.
Jamie had grown used to feeling like her life was a game of hot potato for adults to play, but there was nothing to be done about it.
“How are you settling in with Anne?” Theo asks, ignoring the fact Jamie hadn’t answered her first question.
“S’okay,” she says.
“I hear you have a cellphone now,” Theo mentions. “And is that a new backpack?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you feel about all of this?”
“It’s nice.”
Theo observes her.
“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit, shall we, Jamie? Give me three real answers. That’s all I’ll ask of you today, and then you’re free to go.”
Jamie blinks. “Are you supposed to curse in front of kids?”
“You’re 17 years old and have mastered the art of single sentence answers. For some reason I think your internal monologue could rival mine when it comes to cursing.”
She doesn’t have an answer to that. This is nothing like what she was expecting.
“You’re old enough that we can be honest with each other. I think I can really help you, and I also know you don’t think you need help, or you don’t want to be helped. And that’s fine. But I need you to give me something, so we can both do what’s required, and move on with our lives, yeah?”
Jamie is speechless.
“So? Is this place better or worse than the last one?”
Her answer slips out, automatic.
“I’ve got a phone. ‘Course it’s better.”
“There we go, that’s a start,” Theo says, looking at Jamie. She almost wishes she would jot things down like Tamara did, so her blue eyes wouldn’t be trained on her. It’s eerie. “So would you say you’re more comfortable now? Mrs.Quint agrees with you?”
“I think you know by now nobody agrees with me, but yeah, she’s fine.”
“Okay, and how are you feeling? Really?”
Jamie can do back and forth, she can do this with Theo, but she’s not fully buying the cool therapist routine. The diplomas on the wall show her Theodora Crain has a Phd, and you don’t get a fucking Phd unless you have the money to. This woman doesn’t understand her, can’t understand her, below this cool act she’s putting up. So Jamie decides to test her.
“Like shit.”
“Why’s that?”
Jamie tugs her shirt up, exposing part of the green bruise on her side.
To her credit, Theo barely reacts.
“Did you get into a fight at your new school?”
“No,” Jamie says, pushing her shirt back down and feeling stupid after not getting the reaction she was hoping for. “That’s, huh. A parting gift from the group home.”
“What happened?”
Jamie gives her a look.
“If nobody is in immediate danger, I’m not telling,” Theo says. “I promise.”
Jamie doesn’t believe in promises.
We’ll be a family now, I promise, her adoptive mom had said when she was just 10 years old and upended her life, taking her and Mikey all the way across the ocean to the states. That had lasted fuck all of time before she’d found herself back in the system, now in a completely different country, young and trembling and alone, this time. Without her baby brother, this time.
Promises are worthless.
But consequences are what really matter here. What happens if Theo talks.
They might take Claire’s phone—and why would she care? Jamie knows she had the beating coming, can’t really argue with the logic of action and reaction, but still, there’s no love lost there. If Theo tells Mrs.Quint, and she decides she doesn’t want a thief in her house—then all the better. If she can take the backpack and the phone she’ll be so much better off when she goes back to the group home.
Jamie quickly calculates all the risks of trusting Theo, and makes her choice.
“One of my roommates, Claire, had a phone stashed away in the group home. We all sort of shared it. I tried to take it when I was leaving. She found out.”
“Why’d you try to steal it?”
Jamie rolls her eyes. They talked about this last time, about calling things by their name.
“Thought I could give myself a good start at the new house. Thought by the time Claire noticed I’d be long gone, in a different city.”
Theo nods.
“I can’t prescribe you anything, but would you take something for the pain? That looks gnarly.”
Jamie feels a smile play at the corner of her lips, and smothers it down.
“So, I’m a woman of my word. You’re free to go. But before you do...is there anything else you’d like to share with me? Anything at all you’d like to say out loud?”
The freedom outside the door beckons her, but before she automatically says no, Jamie realizes there’s a little nugget of truth begging to be let out.
“I got a lock on my door, at Mrs.Quint’s house. I can lock the door.”
Theo nods. “And how does that make you feel?”
Jamie shrugs, swallows past the tight feeling in her throat.
“Safe.”
⚜️
(2012. Yorkshire, England.)
When Jamie gets home from school that day, she finds Mikey screaming his little head off in the playpen in the living room.
Her dad is at work, and she hears the loud music coming from Denny’s bedroom that means he’s probably smoking cigarettes and ignoring everyone around him.
It’s not the first time.
But it feels different, this time.
She picks Mikey up, and gets him to calm down. She sets him down on the floor, and he happily crawls around. Jamie wonders how long he’s been in the playpen by himself.
Dread growing in her chest, she looks around the house. It feels...different.
When she enters her parent’s bedroom, her mum’s clothes aren’t in their usual spot. Her jewelry isn’t there anymore either.
Her mum’s gone.
⚜️
Their first biology assignment is a genealogy tree, because she’s an unlucky motherfucker.
She’s forced to write down names that she’d rather forget, such as Dennis, Louise, Dennis jr. Michael. She tries to disconnect from it all, but still ends up shedding a couple of hot tears in the shower later that night.
Just when she thinks some wounds are closed, they’re picked back open. Such is life.
The next day, she stays in the library after school hours to use their computers, unwilling to break the quiet routine she’s got going with Mrs.Quint to ask if she has a laptop she can borrow. She puts the thing together, sends it to Dani Clayton, and then texts her to let her know.
Thanks , is the answer she gets.
She takes the bus, forgoing her favorite part of the day—walking home—to get there at more or less the time she usually does. Keep the peace, she tells herself. Mrs.Quint has been fucking golden so far, but Jamie is all too aware how the smallest mistake can get a foster parent bent out of shape.
It’s not until she gets off at the stop nearest Mrs.Quint’s house, that she realizes Dani has sent her a few more texts.
All printed up and ready to be handed in.
And then,
Any folder color preference? I’ve got red and blue.
And then,
I’m going with red.
And finally,
So what are you doing now?
As if they were friends. As if they didn’t sit beside each other in biology class in absolute silence, as if Jamie hadn’t pretty much called her an empty-headed bimbo the first time they’d talked. As if Dani qhadn’t said to her friend, right in front of Jamie’s face, that she didn’t want to be her partner for the class at all.
Jamie doesnt answer her.
⚜️
(2012. Yorkshire, England.)
A few weeks pass, and Jamie keeps waiting for her mum to walk through the door, but she never does.
Mikey turns one.
Her dad brings home flour and a tub of icing from the store, and asks Jamie if she can put a cake together for him. She doesn’t know how. In a rare act of mercy, Denny looks up a recipe in his computer and prints it for her, and she does her best but it still doesn’t taste right.
They sing happy birthday to Mikey, even though there are no candles ‘cause her dad’s forgotten them.
The weeks turn into months, and her mum doesn’t come back. Jamie begins to understand she never will.
They settle into a new life of sorts, after she’s gone. There’s an old lady that looks after Mikey for a few quid while Jamie’s at school, and when she’s home, her brother is her responsibility.
Jamie puts dinner together, and when Denny is at home she has to serve him a plate too, but he spends less and less time with them anyways.
She feeds Mikey, and changes his diapers, and on the days that the old lady that looks after him gets sick, Jamie has to skip school.
Mikey learns to walk, and Jamie is the only one there to cheer him on.
She’s 9 years old now, but some days she feels much older.
She makes mac and cheese on the coldest winter afternoon she can remember. The heater is not working properly, and she writes herself a note to remind her dad about it. She bundles Mikey in one of her old coats, and wears gloves while she stirs the cheesy dinner.
She serves them each a plate, and plops down in front of the TV to have dinner. She’s been trying to teach Mikey to eat with a spoon, but his chubby baby hands drop it every time.
She’s taking the spoon up to Mikey’s lips when she smells it.
And acrid, awful smell penetrates her nostrils, and Jamie realizes it’s coming from her and Denny’s bedroom. She leaves Mikey on the living room floor while she goes to investigate.
As soon as she opens the door, she sees the flames.
There’s Denny’s cigarettes on his bed, and Denny nowhere to be seen, and flames, bright hot flames licking at the sheets and the window drapes.
Her house is on fire.