RINA'S POV
TEN YEARS PRIOR
Easton got suspended. So did Kyle, but as the aggressor, Easton got more time in the hole. Even still, both were back at school far too soon for my liking. One of the positives of Easton's return was that the unwanted attention I'd been receiving from the male population seemed to die down, like his threat to Kyle to stay away from me had far-reaching applicability. The other brightside of Easton's return was the fact that at least now, we could finally get the assignment for AP Literature behind us. Maybe then I could go back to pretending Easton didn't exist like I wanted to.
Over email, I invited Easton over to look over each other's answers. Though I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of Easton knowing where I lived, I wasn't about to go over to his house. At least here, Monica presence might deter Easton from being an asshole.
The Sunday before our project was due, Easton showed up at my doorstep, sipping from a gas station Styrofoam cup of coffee with his bookbag slung low on his shoulder. Outfitted in a black North Face jacket and dark-washed jeans, he had a puzzled expression on his face as his eyes raked over my form from head to toe.
"I thought I had the wrong house," he said before I'd even had the chance to greet him.
"Why? Did I give you the wrong address or something?" I asked, meeting his puzzled gaze with one of my own. I took in his appearance as I did. He looked tired, his eyes shadowed and bleary and his shoulders tensed.
"No, it's just I know the people who live here," he said, his gaze drifting over my shoulder to where Monica was busy laying out an assortment of snacks. I told her not to bother this morning, that this wouldn't take that long, but she'd waved me off. Clearly, she was hoping this would be more of a social event than I intended it to be. "Mrs. Snyder?" He called out, his voice friendly, smooth, and just a little smug. Monica perked up at the sound of his voice, hardly bothering to set the bowl of popcorn she had in her hands down on the kitchen counter before shuffling in our direction.
"Easton Clarke! You're the young man Rina was supposed to be meeting with?" She yanked Easton down to kiss both of his cheeks, her voice as high-pitched and excited as I'd ever heard it. Placing her hands on both of his shoulders—no easy feat considering Easton stood nearly a foot taller than her--"Well, look at you! You've turned into the spitting image of your father. How's your sister doing? Gosh, I haven't seen her in years!"
"Hera's good. She's about to graduate from Boston. Dad's trying to convince her to go to law school, but I think she's thinking Peace Corps instead. You know Hera. Always trying to be the hero," he chuckled, his voice suddenly absent of all its usual condescension. Maybe he only saved that for when he was talking to me.
"That girl would give the shirt off her back to the devil himself if he really needed it," Monica sighed, her eyes brighter than I'd ever seen them. "God, I miss her. You tell her to stop by the next time she's in town, alright? I'd love to catch up."
"Of course, Mrs. Snyder. I'm sure she would love to," Easton smiled. His eyes finally flickered over to where I was standing behind Monica, my arms crossed over my chest. When his eyes caught mine, he smirked. That confirmed what I'd already suspected. He was showing off, using his evidently close relationship with Monica to make it clear that I didn't belong here—not in Wellsprings, not at school, and not even in the Snyder home. And the worst part? He was right. I was only passing through and long after I was gone, Easton would remain.
Monica must have noticed how uncomfortable I looked because she glanced between the two of us, falling uncharacteristically silent, before she cleared her throat and said, "Well I'll just leave you two to it. Call if you need anything, alright? There's soda in the fridge if you get thirsty."
She grabbed a basket of clean laundry off the couch and shuffled up the stairs, leaving Easton and I alone in the foyer. Wordlessly, I walked towards the kitchen table and started laying out my notes. Easton watched me for a moment before shutting the front door and following after me.
"So, are you, like, their niece or something?" Easton asked, taking the seat across from mine. He sounded casual, but his face looked far too intrigued for my liking.
"No," I said. He looked at me with raised eyebrows, expecting me to elaborate, but I ignored him, pretending to focus intently on my notes instead.
"But you're living with them?" He pressed.
"Obviously," I said, gesturing towards my pajama bottoms and bare feet.
"So, who are you then? Like how do you know them?"
I rolled my eyes. Despite his feigned innocence, I knew Easton well enough by now to recognize when he was digging for dirt. "I'm sorry. Did I miss the part of this project where we're supposed to share personal information with each other?"
"It was just a question, Rina," he said. His voice sounded sickly sweet and I didn't have to look at him to tell he was smirking.
"It's never just a question with you," I snarled. "So, you read the book, right?"
"Yeah, I finished it last night."
"You JUST finished it last night?"
"Well, yeah. The project isn't due until Wednesday."
"Yes, and it's Sunday. Are you telling me you haven't started fleshing out your arguments yet?"
"Is that not what we're here to do now?"
I groaned, the pounding headache I went to bed with last night making a reappearance. "I told you we were just going to compare our answers today. I didn't want this to eat up the whole morning."
In fact, I didn't want to have to meet with you at all, I wanted to add but thought better of it. The last thing I needed was to piss Easton off ahead of turning this project in.
"It's not going to take THAT long, Rina. It's five questions. We can get them done in an hour."
"Well, mine are already done. Why don't you read through my answers and work on yours at home? You can email them to me tonight."
"And let all of Mrs. Snyder's snacks go to waste? I don't think so. I'll finish them now and you can touch up my answers if you feel like it."
I sighed. "Quite honestly, I thought you were just coming over to drop off your portion of the project. I didn't expect to devote this much of my weekend to helping you finish your answers, and besides. I think we can both agree that the less time the two of us have to spend together, the better. I made you a copy of my answers for your reference. Just email me yours when you're done."
Like a crack in his armor, I saw a flash of anger on his face for just a moment before he regained his usual arrogant demeanor. Like flicking a switch, he was back to looking like the arrogant dick I'd grown to hate. "How about this?" He asked. "I'll do it your way. But you have to answer one first."
"Does the question pertain to the project?" I snapped.
"Not exactly."
"Then no." I had no interest in entertaining whatever game he was trying to play.
"Then I'm staying to finish my project. You know, I haven't had one of Mrs. Snyder's double chocolate chip cookies in a while. She always used to make 'em fresh for me when I was a kid. I bet if I asked nice enough, she'll do it now. I know she's still got a soft spot for me."
"Give it a rest, Easton. You don't have to go out of your way to ostracize me in my own home. I get enough of that at school."
"Hardly. You seem to be fitting in just fine now."
"Yeah, no thanks to you," I snarled. He said nothing in response, staring at me like he was waiting for me to make a move. After several moments of awkward silence, I groaned and said, "Ask me your stupid question so you can leave."
He smiled like a little kid, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Since you know the Snyders, does that mean you know what happened to their daughter?"
I swallowed hard. Out of all the things I'd been expecting him to ask, it hadn't been that.
"Just that she passed away," I said back.
He cracked a grin, seemingly pleased with my answer. "Is that what you think?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nobody knows if she's dead."
I glared at him across the table. "You're full of shit, Easton."
"You're seriously living with the Snyders, and you don't know?"
"Know what, Easton?"
"That their daughter disappeared five years ago?" He asked, looking at me like I was dumb. "That they found her car crashed on the side of the highway two counties over, but they never found her? No body, no blood, nothing. It was national news for a while."
I looked down at my notes, a knot forming in my throat. I'd had a few theories about what happened to Ashley, and somehow this was worse than all of them. People always came and went from my life, but nobody ever just disappeared. Not without some sort of reason or explanation. I suddenly felt even worse for Monica.
"Why are you telling me this?" I demanded.
"I just think it's weird that you're living here but you didn't know."
"Bullshit. You always have an ulterior motive. What did you just gain by asking me that question?"
"The answer to my original question. Which was why you're living with the Snyders."
"Oh really? How's that?"
"Well, your last name isn't Snyder, you have very little knowledge about the individuals you're living with, and you talk like an extra from Deliverance. Clearly, you're not a relative. At least not one they know well. And yet you're living with them? That leaves me one of two options. Either you're the product of an unfortunate affair between Mr. Snyder and a crack whore, or you're their new pet foster kid. And because I know Chet has far too expensive taste for whatever trailer park you crawled out of, I can only assume it's the latter."
I stared at him in stunned silence. Partly because I hadn't taken Easton to be so observant, but mostly because I'd once again underestimated Easton's ability to get under my skin. I thought after that party, we could at least be civil with each other, but I guess I was wrong. Despite kissing me, Easton apparently still hated me enough to degrade me like that in my own home.
"Am I right? Are you like, an orphan or something?" He sounded genuinely curious, like he hadn't just read me for filth. The calm demeanor he maintained—so nonchalant, like he was asking about the weather—is what set me off. I could feel my face growing hot, and at first, I was silent and then, like flicking a switch, the anger bubbled up like poison in my throat and all I could do was shout.
"You know, for just a moment, I thought you might not be so bad, Easton," I yelled, my voice getting louder and louder with every word. "I thought maybe I just caught you in a bad spot. You couldn't really be as much of an asshole as I thought that first day, right?" I leaned down, my hands on the table, face to face with him now. He stared back at me, his expression neutral. For some reason, it only made me madder. "I guess I was wrong. I guess you really are just a spoiled rich prick with nothing better to do than harass the one person at school with no power, no money, and absolutely no desire to have anything to do with you. You're right, I'm a foster kid. You know what else you got right? My mother was a crack whore who tried to pimp me out for drug money. And you know what I think? I think that even with all your money and your good looks and your privilege, you're no better than her. So, wipe that goddamned smug look off—"
"Rina!" Monica called out, appearing suddenly beside me. I glanced at her for a moment and her eyes were wide with alarm. As flustered as she looked, she must've sprinted down the stairs. I was so consumed with my own anger, though, I hadn't heard her coming. "What's the matter with you?" Her question should have made me pause, but my attention was still entirely directed at Easton.
The words pet foster kid kept bouncing around in my head, their implications clear. He thought that because I was a foster kid, I was less than human. An animal. A pet. Hardly deserving of my place in any home, let alone this one, with these people that he evidently knew quite well. Well enough to think I was beneath them, apparently. It was a sentiment I'd heard before but hearing it out of his mouth—a near stranger who probably wouldn't even know I existed if I hadn't walked in on him using that first day—had me boiling. Without answering Monica, I continued, "You think you know everything, right? All that money you grew up with has you thinking you're the smartest person in the room. You don't know shit. Not about me, not about where I came from, and probably not about this book either. How about this? I'll do your part of the project and hand it in early. Mrs. Tepper will probably be so thrilled you handed in anything at all that you'll get an A. And then you can fuck off. Don't look at me. Don't speak to me. Leave me alone."
I should have felt bad, maybe even embarrassed, swearing that way in front of Monica. But I felt like I couldn't stop, like a tornado spun out of control. I'd felt angry before, but it was never like this. He had the audacity to look down on me after what I saw him doing that first day?
"Listen, Rina, I'll finish up my answers and email them to you tonight," he said slowly, almost pleadingly, like I was being irrational. "You don't have to get so upset, alright?"
"Oh, no, don't you try to save face now. Why don't you ask my foster mom what you asked me? Why I'm here? You wanted to know, right?"
"It was just a question, Rina," he said sheepishly, like a child who'd gotten caught peaking at their Christmas presents too early. It was like he was saying, Yeah, I did it. But can you really blame me? The curiosity was killing me.
"Rina, you can't blame him for wondering," Monica tried to reason with me, clearly buying into the act Easton was putting on. "We've known Easton since he was a young boy and I'm sure he was just confused about our situation—"
"He called me your new pet foster kid," I interrupted her. I wasn't normally a tattletale, but I was done keeping quiet for him. "Didn't you, Easton?"
"I could have worded it better, but I was just joking around, Rina. Trying to make conversation."
"Bullshit," I growled, crossing my hands across my chest.
"Rina, honey, let's not use words like that in front of guests."
"He is not my guest. I've asked him multiple times to leave." Looking towards Easton, I said, "You've been here before, right? So, you should know where the door is."
"Rina!" Monica exclaimed. She was looking at me like I'd grown a second head, and I could only imagine all the regrets she was having about fostering now, but I didn't care. If I was too much, at least I'd get taken someplace else. Hopefully someplace where I'd never have to look at Easton's arrogant face ever again.
"It's alright, Mrs. Snyder. I can tell Rina's a little overwhelmed. I can go ahead and head out. Thanks for hosting," Easton said. He looked at me, making a show of looking regretful before saying, "I'll email you my arguments, alright?"
"Don't bother," I snapped.
"I will," he insisted. "I'm not going to take credit for your work, okay?"
"How diplomatic of you," I snarled.
Wordlessly, he gave Mrs. Snyder a half hug and grabbed his backpack off the kitchen table before heading towards the door without another glance in my direction.
Good, I thought. With any luck, he'd never look at me again.
It was six p.m. when Monica finally knocked on my door. Following Easton's departure, I'd stormed up to my room without a word of explanation for my behavior. Monica had given me space, something I was grateful for, but I knew we'd have to talk about my outburst sooner than later.
"Come in," I called out, taking off my headphones. She opened the door with a mug of what smelled like hot cocoa in her hand and a sad smile plastered on her face.
I knew she was upset with me, and I didn't blame her. This was the first time she'd seen me act out, and from her vantage point, it probably looked entirely irrational.
"Hi, honey," she whispered, setting the hot cocoa on my bedside table like a peace offering, as if she'd done something that could warrant such a gesture. It only made me feel like a bigger asshole.
"Hi," I said, sitting up.
"You feeling okay?"
"Fine," I said. I reached for the mug and took a long sip. It tasted magical, extra creamy with a hint of caramel. "Thank you for this."
"Of course," she said, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. "Do you mind telling me about what Easton said that made you so upset?"
I sighed. What Easton did started with their daughter's story and if I were to explain the situation and leave that part out, it wouldn't paint the whole picture. But leaving it in? I couldn't bring that up to Monica. It was such an ugly topic, and it wasn't fair to put Monica in the position to talk about it.
"It's alright, honey. You can tell me. Even if you think I won't like it. I just want to understand you better."
That only made me feel worse. Because Monica did care about me. It was so obvious, even if her reasoning for doing so was a little misguided. She had a whole lot of love to give, and I was in no position to turn it away. I wanted it, craved it, because I never had it before. My real mom, if she ever loved me, had no idea how to show it. And it was all I ever wanted as a little girl to have a mother who wanted to listen to me.
"Okay. Well, for starters, I'm not Easton's biggest fan, and so I didn't tell him about my situation because I didn't think it would end well."
"Alright," she said, smiling softly and waiting for me to continue.
"When he asked how I knew you, I wouldn't say. So instead, he asked if I knew what happened to your daughter," I said slowly, pausing to gauge her reaction. Her lips pulled together in a grimace.
"And do you know?" She asked.
"The caseworker said she passed away. That's all I knew. But according to Easton, that's not actually true."
She was silent for a moment, her brow furrowed, like she was thinking very hard about what to say next. "Easton is right," she started. "Our daughter's name is Ashley. One night after Chet and I went to bed, she crept out and left in her car. It seemed she stopped for gas at a station a few miles away and then drove out of town. Her car was found in a ditch about thirty minutes away, her cell phone and wallet still sitting in the passenger's seat. We haven't heard from her since."
I stared at her with my mouth open, partly because it was a terrible story, but mostly because she delivered way more calmly than I could ever hope to do. When I didn't say anything, she moved closer to me and put her hand on my knee. "Listen, Rina, what you have to understand is that Ashley's last year was rough. Chet and I saw the writing on the walls, but we didn't do enough about it. We thought if we pushed her too hard, she'd leave. After all these years, we know now that if we had pressed her about what was going on, established some ground rules, maybe she'd still be here. Maybe she wouldn't have snuck out that night. Maybe we'd have some answers. God only knows," she said hoarsely, her voice starting to crack. I saw tears welling up in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back. "Our hope is to help kids like Ashley, who might have gotten mixed up in something bad, to turn their lives around. So far, we haven't had to do that with you. Your caseworker said you're a good kid, and that was an understatement. Chet and I got so lucky with you, and we love having you here. We didn't tell you about Ashley, not because we wanted to hide it from you, but because we didn't want you to think that we only wanted you to replace her. That's not true. I just wanted to make a difference with somebody who needed it, because I failed to do that with my own daughter. Does that make sense?"
I nodded because I couldn't think of anything to say in response. I had more questions, of course, about what happened with Ashley, but I couldn't bring myself to ask them. I didn't want to press Monica for answers she wasn't willing to give.
Monica asked, "So that's what upset you? That Easton told you about Ashley?"
"No, it wasn't just that. It's what he said after. Easton assumed that, because I didn't know what happened to Ashley, that I didn't know you guys well enough to be living with you. So, he guessed that I was your foster child. But he worded it in such a condescending way, like he was making fun of me. A lot of people look down on me for where I came from, but the way he did it just got to me."
"Listen, honey, I'm not going to defend what he said, but I do want you to understand that he, just like you, has been through a lot. His mother died when he was a little boy and Easton was the one who found her body. He's never been the same since. My daughter was best friends with his sister all through school, and she was always bringing them both over to my house after his mother died. I've known him for a long time, and I know he can be a little abrasive, but in his heart, he's good. I understand that what he said might have hurt your feelings, but I don't think he meant to upset you like he did."
Part of me wanted to argue back and tell her the whole story, but it seemed pointless. Easton was right when he said Monica had a soft spot for him. It wasn't worth it to tear him down in her eyes when I'd be gone in a few months anyways. So instead, I just nodded, smiling at her as I took another sip of hot chocolate.
"Thank you, though, for sharing all that with me. And, about what your mom did to you. If you ever want to talk about it, you know I'm always here, alright?" Again, I nodded, though I had no intention of doing so. The last thing I needed was to discuss my personal baggage with somebody who clearly had enough of her own. "Good. I'm going to get started on dinner. Chet's flight home got delayed so it'll just be the two of us."
She left the room, and I powered up my school laptop, opening my email to check if Easton had sent me his finished project yet. I was surprised to see that he had. He sent it as an attachment with just the words I'm sorry written in the body of the email.