It’s hot and my ankle is swelling from all the weight I’m putting on it, but I’m starving and I don’t have Preston’s car anymore because he only lends it to me when I’m dealing, so my only form of transportation is on foot. I’m counting how many blocks I have left in my head… five or maybe it’s six…

My phone rings and I answer, knowing the ringtone belongs to Preston. Part of me doesn’t want to answer it because I know he’s going to want me to do something I probably don’t feel up to and I won’t tell him no, because I owe him for taking me in when no one else would.

Before Preston came along, I was living with Mr. and Mrs. McGellon, a foster family who liked to lock me in the basement for hours whenever I smarted off or did something wrong. I would have been okay with sitting in the dark listening to the drip of the pipes, but I’ve hated basements ever since I was six. One time when Mr. McGellon threatened to put me down there, I’d shoved him out of frustration and when Mrs. McGellon threatened to call the police, I took off. I lived on the street for about two weeks, and then got busted when I stole some food from a grocery store and ended up spending time in juvie anyway. After I got out, when no one else wanted to take me in, Preston and his wife stepped up. They were young and I think social services was looking for a reason to get rid of me at that point, so they more than willingly turned me over to them. Still, they were there for me.

I answer the phone and put it up to my ear right before it goes to voicemail. “What’s up?”

“Kelley’s getting remarried,” he announces in an irritated tone.

“What do you mean she’s getting remarried?” I drag my foot down the sidewalk. “I thought she left you because she felt trapped.”

“Wow, thanks for painfully reminding me why my ex-wife packed her shit and left,” Preston says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Jesus, Violet, sometimes you’re too blunt for your own good.”

“Blunt?” I pause at the end of the sidewalk. “You’ve always told me what a liar I was.”

“You’re a liar when it comes to you,” he replies. “But with everyone else, you’re blunt. I swear to God you like witnessing people in pain.”

I cross the street and trip onto the curb. “Maybe, or maybe I’ve never been taught to censor myself.”

“You’re so full of it right now. You know exactly what you’re doing so don’t try to pretend you’re all naïve and innocent.” His voice drops an octave. “And speaking of innocence, have you finally lost yours yet?”

I fidget uncomfortably, tugging the bottom of my T-shirt down, glad he can’t see me right now. “Don’t be a creepy old man.”

“I’m not that old, Violet,” he says. “And besides I was just making sure you’re okay and that no guys have fucked you over. Asking about your love life would have been Kelley’s job but since she ditched us, I gotta step in and play the part.”

I shake my head. “Play the part of my foster mom?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You’re such a sick freak.”

“Coming from the girl who refused to eat anything but pork ’n’ beans for two straight weeks when she first showed up at my house.”

I swing around a couple holding hands blocking the sidewalk. “What can I say? I was missing the foul taste of prison food.”

“You weren’t in prison,” he clarifies. “Just juvie. Don’t try to make yourself sound more badass than you are.”

“Hey, I’m badass,” I protest, not bothering to wind around water spraying on the sidewalk from some sprinklers in a yard. “I could kick your ass.”

He snorts a laugh and it gets under my skin. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. The next time you come here for a visit and we have some time, I’ll take you in my bedroom and you can try to show me how tough you are.”

I wipe water droplets off my arms. “Why would we have to go into the bedroom?”

His laughter drops to a deep throaty sound. “Think outside of your naïve innocent brain, Violet, and maybe you’ll get it.”

“I’m not naïve or innocent, just a little slow,” I say, catching on to what he meant. “And FYI, you’re disgusting and it’s never going to happen.” I don’t like it when he talks to me like this, but if I say anything serious about it, he’ll probably get upset. I saw him get that way with his now ex-wife Kelley and when Preston gets upset, he gets violent.

“Whatever. Don’t pretend like you’re not getting turned on,” he says.

I’m not. At all. I’ve never even been turned on before, at least from what I can remember and it seems like something I would. When I lived with Preston he wasn’t so flirty like this, but once I hit eighteen and was officially considered my own guardian our relationship sort of shifted, especially when Kelley left him. He’s never actually tried anything with me, just talked a lot of talk, and I don’t say anything about it. I don’t want to lose him—he’s the only thing close to a family I have. Even Kelley doesn’t talk to me anymore.

“I gotta go,” I lie. I still have three or four more blocks to go, but I want to end this uncomfortable conversation. “I’ll call you later.”

“You better.” The deep throaty tone of his voice vanishes. “I have stuff for you to do and you still need to pay me back for the eighth I fronted you the other night and you know I don’t take money, only work.”

I tense, worried I’ve upset him and that he’ll get angry and I’m going to lose the only family I have. Then I’ll be totally alone. “I know. And I’ll call you back. I promise.”

“Good girl,” he says and then we say good-bye and hang up.

The tension raveling in my body makes me want to throw myself into oncoming traffic and see how much I can get my heart rate up and shut the tension down. Just thinking about it takes me from worry to terror and excitement. I’m starting to wander sideways toward the curb, wondering if I’d die instantly if I got hit, when a truck pulls up, backfiring when it slows at the curb.

I keep ungracefully strolling up the sidewalk, not wanting to deal with any more perverts today, when I hear a familiar voice say, “Still putting weight on that ankle, huh?”

I speed up, taking long strides, but the radiating pain in my ankle forces me to slow down. “What can I say?” I call over my shoulder. “I’m a rebel. I like to walk on the wild side.”

Luke inches his beat up truck along beside me, driving up the wrong side of the road toward traffic, but luckily no one’s coming. He has the window rolled down and his arm resting on the windowsill. “Well, you’re only rebelling against yourself since it’s your ankle.”

I shake my head, but a smile pushes its way through and manages to push out the tension the conversation with Preston created. I need to put a stop to this thing I’ve got going with him. I enjoy bantering with Luke a little too much and I found walking in silence with him too amusing as well, especially since he didn’t crack under my silent pressure like a lot of people would have. Plus, Preston helped me and no one’s ever really done that before, except he and Kelley and a couple of other people that breezed through my life.

I halt at the edge of the curb and Luke taps the brakes to slow down his truck. “What do you want?” I shield my eyes from the sunlight as I look over at him.

His intense gaze relentlessly holds mine. “I want to see if you need a ride somewhere.”

I elevate my eyebrows as I lean forward and rest my arms on the edge of the open window, just inches away from his. “That’s really what you were doing? Cruising up and down the streets looking for me, hoping that you can give me a ride.”

He presses his lips together, looking entertained by something I said. “No, I was heading to the gym but then I saw you hobbling around like an old lady and thought Hey, maybe she’d like someone to help her out so that she can make it to wherever she’s going by sometime today.”

I struggle with this one. There aren’t too many people in the world who have made me smile and the majority of them are dead. Luke’s getting close and I don’t like it—don’t like how little control I have over my reaction. If he keeps it up, I’m going to have to jack his truck and drive a hundred down the highway, just to clear out all the feelings that come with that damn smile.