Deb stands up from the bed. I half expect her to take the clothes back as she leaves. She doesn’t. She just pauses at the door with one hand resting on her waist, covering a kitten chasing a ball of yarn. “You can wear what you want. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

I’m sure the words are supposed to make me cringe with guilt. They don’t. When you’re a foster kid, people expect you to be grateful for the smallest things, like getting to go out to McDonald’s for some nuggets that taste like they were made from cardboard chickens—the kind of things that other kids don’t think about, much less say thank you for, when it’s their real parents who are paying for it. I stopped being grateful for shit a long time ago.

Deb stands by the door for a minute, but I’m not looking at her anymore. I stare in the full-length mirror of my closet without seeing my reflection. I wait until my door clicks shut and then brush the clothes and bags off my bed and fall backward.

Deb’s footsteps move down the hall. She opens the door to the boys’ room, and their laughter weaves together like magic—like family.

And I want to be a part of that. I do. Deb’s house is the best place we’ve been by far, but it’s not fair to Mom. I can’t let myself be part of this until I can really put her to rest—until someone pays for what happened to her.

I consider curling up in my annoyingly lavender bed and distracting myself by watching Criss Angel pull a quarter from his bleeding arm for the millionth time: a personal favorite. But I crave the familiarity of the night air on my skin—one of the only constant things in my life. It always calms me down.

I grab my beanie and my backpack, checking to make sure my crude wooden stake is still tucked away at the bottom. I always check. When your mom was killed by a vampire, how can you not?

CHAPTER 2

I wander, letting the repetitive sound of tires on asphalt push stray thoughts from my head. I will not think about Parker and Jacob laughing together. I will not think of Deb’s condescending gifts. My body wants to run, find a rhythm and focus on nothing but breathing, but I never run at night. Running’s an invitation for something to chase you. I want to be the predator, not the prey. Besides, I already ran five miles this morning.