Page 155

I sit up and grab her arm to stop her from giving me her coat. I’m not about to take a coat from a pregnant woman in the middle of a rainstorm. “I don’t want it.”

Laura sighs. “Okay, you don’t have to wear it. Just come with me to the car. It’s warm.”

“No. I’m not coming.”

“Daniel, you need to come home—”

“That’s not my home.”

Laura’s brow furrows. “Yes it is.”

I push up off the ground and distance myself from her. “No it isn’t. I heard you talking! I know you don’t want me there!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t have enough room for the baby with me there.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes it is! I heard you.”

Laura shakes her head. “Get in the car.”

“No.”

“I’m not leaving without you. Now, get in the car.” She steps closer. “I have something to show you.”

I know I’m not going to be able to get away from her. She’ll chase me, maybe call the police. She’s my guardian. No matter how much I want to run away, I won’t be able to until I turn eighteen.

Reluctantly, I follow her to the car, my hands in fists at my sides. I sit in the passenger seat with my arms crossed, staring out the window. I don’t say anything as we drive.

Laura doesn’t either. She turns on the heat at full blast, and drives silently down the road. The only sound comes from the motion of the wipers on the windshield. They move at their fastest speed to keep up with the pouring rain.

We drive for about twenty minutes on roads I don’t recognize. This isn’t the usual way we drive to her house. It’s backroads that twist and turn outside of the city. There are lots of trees and bushes. When she finally stops the car, we’re in the driveway of a house I’ve never seen before. It’s a white two-story home with construction supplies all around it. Half of the house is missing its siding and there are ladders leaning against it.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Follow me,” Laura says, opening her door.

She walks up to the house and pulls out keys from her pocket. She sticks one of them into the lock and turns it. Then she opens the front door and walks in.

The inside of the house is even more of a mess. One wall is missing the drywall and has wooden beams exposed. Some of the walls have old wallpaper and others are in the process of being painted.

Laura turns on a light and starts walking up the staircase.The stairs creak with every step. When we reach the top, she turns left and stops in front of a closed door.

“This,” she says, opening the door, “is your room.”

The room is empty with light blue walls and white trim. It’s far more finished than the rest of the house. It looks like it’s ready to be moved into.

Laura steps inside and turns on the light. “I’m thinking your bed can go here by the window.” She pauses, rubbing her chin. “Or maybe over there,” she says, pointing.

I gulp. This is my room?

“We can buy you a bookshelf and maybe your own desk.” She smiles, gesturing around her. “You can decorate it however you want.”

My eyes start to water and I catch my breath. “I don’t understand.”

She walks over to me and takes my hand. “We bought this house last month, and we’ve been renovating it.”