“Thanks.” Maya smiled as she unwrapped her sandwich.

“How long have you all been friends?” Maya asked Tyler a little later.

He glanced around the group. “I’ve known Thomas since preschool. His mom was my teacher. Davis and I played peewee baseball together. Melissa started at Sugar Bend Academy in third grade.” He shrugged. “I guess we’ve known each other most of our lives.”

“I’ve never known anyone that long.”

Everyone else had started a robust debate over what Thomas should rename his band, and Tyler scooted a little closer to where she sat, back a little bit from the group. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no one in my life who I’ve known forever. Everyone has come and gone.” She chuckled. “Quickly.”

“The foster system,” he said quietly.

“Yep. Some kids get lucky and their foster parents adopt them. Well, if they’re good people. They’re not always good people.”

“Have you lived with bad people?”

She blew out a laugh. “You could say that.”

He reached over to the dog-bite scar on the side of her calf. She was embarrassed by it—it was still red and bumpy though it happened over five years ago. He traced the puckered skin with his finger, and goose bumps trailed behind his touch. When he pulled his hand away, she could still feel his fingers on her skin.

“They haven’t all been bad. I’ve lived with some nice people.”

“But you never stayed with them?”

“It just never worked out.” She couldn’t tell him about the things she stole, and how the families reacted when they realized the kid they’d kindly brought into their homes had been so sneaky and disrespectful.

“What happened to your parents?”

“They left early on. My dad before I was even born, and my mom when I was three. My grandmother and I never heard from her again. For all I know she’s dead.” Maya propped her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Or maybe she made another family. Who knows?”

“Tell me more about your grandmother.”

“I lived with her after my mom left. She was great. She read cards for people.”

“You mean like tarot cards? She was a fortune-teller?”

“Not really. She just gave people courage to do what they needed to do.”

“I don’t get it. So what did the cards say?”

“I think the cards were a prop, honestly. She’d just get a sense about someone, about what they might be struggling with or hoping for. And she’d help them figure out a way through it.”

“Did she ever help you like that? Give you a not-prediction?”

Maya shrugged, her cheeks warming again.

“What was it?” He bumped his shoulder to hers, and sparks cascaded down from where their skin touched.

Maya closed her eyes, remembering one of the last times she saw her grandmother, when she was in the hospital with all kinds of tubes and lines coming out of her arms and hands. Maria had cupped Maya’s cheek. “One day your family will welcome you with open arms, Maya Papaya.”