Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Grayson — 15 years old (Sophomore year)
“Where are you taking me now?” I ask Diane, grumpily. My mood is sullen and irritable. Diane never comes with good news. The first time I met her, it was the day my mother died and I was separated from Naomi.
Diane is a good woman; I can’t deny that. She truly does care about the kids in foster care. I’ve seen other social workers being careless and jaded. That’s not Diane. She’s meticulous, patient and attentive.
But I’ve somehow associated her with being the bearer of bad news. “The last time you took me somewhere, I had to watch Naomi be happy with her family. I think that’s enough damage to last me a lifetime.”
Diane rolls her eyes, as she parks the car next to a coffee shop. “Are you always this…pessimistic?”
“I’m realistic, there’s a difference.”
She pauses, her hands still on the wheel. “No. I think you’re always expecting something bad to happen to you. You need to cut off that negative thinking before it becomes a pattern, Grayson.”
Scoffing, I turn my head away from her probing eyes and stare out the window. We had a snowstorm last week, but most of it has melted away. This was the first time I spent Christmas and New Year’s without Naomi. Even when we had nothing — barely any food on the table, no new clothes or toys, we still had each other. And for me, that was enough.
It’s always enough.
It was the best holiday, as long as she was with me.
Negative thinking? My life is a goddamn rollercoaster, and I’m literally hanging upside down all the time. I used to at least have one good thing in my life — Noami.
Sometimes I wonder if God has a personal problem with me. But then again, I don’t really believe in God. Because if He exists, there wouldn’t be so much pain and chaos in this world. If God is real, why are children dying of incurable diseases, why is there war and starvation? Why do evil people exist and continue to wreak havoc?
It’s not fair that bad, corrupted people get to continue living their lives, and good— innocent people suffer.
“So why are we here?” I ask again, the impatience barely hidden from my tone.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.” She opens her door and steps out of the car, her heels clacking against the asphalt ground. “C’mon now, Grayson. Just trust me, this time, it’s something good.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” I mumble under my breath, but I follow her out of the car nonetheless. It’s not like I have a choice.
Diane is damn annoying, once she makes up her mind about something. Forget the fact that I’m much taller and bigger than her, and she’ll never successfully be able to drag me out of the car. But knowing her, she will try until she pulls my arms out of their sockets.
She walks into the small, cozy coffee shop, and I’m right behind her. Once I’m inside, I see the way everyone pauses for a second to look at me. People always do that in my presence. I’ve grown another two inches in the last four months, and I’m now six foot four. Since fighting in the pit, I’ve also put on more muscle. I’m big, so people like to stare. They’re probably thinking that “he must be an athlete. Definitely basketball or football.”
But it’s merely a mundane thing.
They stare for a minute, and then go back to whatever they’re doing.
Diane grabs onto my elbow and maneuvers me to a table in the far corner of the coffee shop. We pause in front of an older African-American couple, who are sitting side by side. The man is wearing a black suit and a somber expression. The wedding bands on their fingers tell me they are married. He has his arm around the back of the woman’s chair, like it’s the most natural thing to do. But the air that surrounds him — it’s full of confidence and self-assurance.
And I instantly know. He is the type of man that never cowers.
“Diane,” he greets, his voice deep and gravelly. His gaze slides over me, and he gives me a nod. “Hello, Grayson. Have a seat.”
How does he know my name?
And why the hell am I here to meet this couple?
Diane practically drags me to sit, and I fold myself into a chair, opposite of the couple. I’m suddenly overly conscious of the hole in my white shirt and my faded sweatpants.
The woman who hasn’t stopped staring at me smiles when I’m seated. There’s something kind in her expression, almost like she’s trying to be careful not to spook me.
“Why don’t you introduce yourself to Grayson?” Diane clears her throat, crossing her arms over the table. “We can start there.”
The man nods again, before he removes his hand from the back of his wife’s chair and he leans forward. “I am Benjamin Hale, but commonly known as Judge Hale. An Associate Justice to the Supreme Court.”