Parallel (Travelers Series Book 1) (2 page)

After the episode with Lester, I learned from one of the social workers that he’d suffered a heart attack and ultimately broke his neck when he went barreling down the stairs. The police would later say Lester got off easy, which left Patsy facing seven counts of child abuse and some serious jail time. But at fifteen, no one was eager to take on a girl with ‘violent tendencies’, so I ended up at Dominion House.

When I first arrived at Dominion two years ago, I had to share a room with three other girls in tiny bunk style quarters, not much larger than a shoebox. Now that I’m seventeen, I’m considered a last year resident. The only perks that come with this distinction is a new dorm assignment, which means a bigger room (but not by much), and a new roommate. For her sake, I hope she’s easy to get along with. I managed to spend the last two years without any major mishaps. Sure, I got into some scuffles—just like prison, there’s a hierarchy to maintain here—but nothing near as bad as what I did to Lester.

Being the first to occupy the room, I settled in with high expectations for a fresh start. I only pray my roommate won’t mind that I already staked my claim on the bed by the window. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I like to look out the window and gaze up at the stars. But I imagine it will be a small concession on her part, as I left her plenty of closet space. Despite what others might think about foster kids and our proximity to the nation’s capital, Northern Virginia is still one of the wealthiest areas in the country, rivaled only by the suburbs of New York City. So it’s not unusual for many of the girls that enter Dominion to have a lot of personal effects, handed down by previous foster families.

As I lay on my bed, imagining for the nth time all the possible scenarios in which my parents could have survived that plane crash, I hear a soft knock on the door. Almost immediately, I recognize the glorious platinum blonde hair as my new roommate strolls in. She’s even more gorgeous now than when I last laid eyes on her. Not that I’m jealous—just stating the facts.

“Jaime?” I can’t believe my luck. The odds of her walking through that door were pretty slim. Not only do I have a new room assignment that doesn’t involve a power play for the top bunk, but I actually get paired up with a friend. Looks like my last year here is going to be much more tolerable than I first imagined.

“Etta, I can’t believe it!” Jaime drops her worn hand-me-down bag at the door and runs towards me. Her bear hug gives me a chance to fully breathe in her scent. It reminds me of cotton candy.

“What are you doing here?” I hold my old friend at arm’s length, giving her the once over. “I can’t believe it either.”

Jaime smiles and proceeds to hug me all over again. “I’ve always wondered what happened to you. I missed you so much after you left. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten about me.”

It’s hard to forget a girl like Jaime. “It’s been like what, four years?” I’m almost eighteen, so if you want to get technical, it was more like three and a half years ago. “What happened to the Thornberry’s?” From what I remember, the family that fostered us several years ago had been stuffy and boring. “I thought you’d have been adopted by now.”

Oliver and Melissa Thornberry were an affluent family that couldn’t have children of their own. Because Mr. Thornberry was a major political player in Washington, they figured fostering a couple of kids would boost their public image and appeal to voters by appearing more family oriented. Once it became clear I was a potential liability, they sent me packing and kept Jaime.

Jaime snickers. “Oh, Melissa pulled a Martha Stewart and got busted for insider trading. Oliver was only too happy to send me back once he realized his own wife would be housed by the state. When his personal life became tarnished, I wasn’t such a political asset anymore.”

Yup, this is the same Jaime I so envied and loved.

Jaime’s giggle is infectious and I can’t help but laugh right along with her. “I guess I shouldn’t feel guilty about planting stink bombs in their toilet then.” Not only did that period mark the beginning of my teen years, it was also around the time I had a fascination with pranks—explosives to be more exact. And that my friends, is how I got kicked out of the Thornberry house after just two months.

“Well, you certainly made an impression, that’s for sure.” Jaime hops on the bed I’d already appropriated for myself. “This is great! We have so much to catch up on.”

Great, just when I thought I wouldn’t have to fight for a bed.
Please don’t be claiming that bed as your own.

But in the end I was right. Jaime is so ecstatic about having a closet almost entirely to herself that she doesn’t even complain about my claiming the bed by the window. After arranging all her clothes, she plops herself onto the bed (her own this time), and we end up sitting across the room from each other, trying to come up with something to say.

I’m relieved that Jaime turned out to be my roommate, but we’d only really known each other for a couple of months before the Thornberry’s kicked me out. God, it seemed like ages ago. It’s doubtful we have very much to catch up on, but if I want to survive my last year here, I have to remember that she’s not only an old friend, but an ally. It’s us against the system.

Three and a half years is a long time between friends, so I don’t know just how much she’s actually changed, but Jaime seems harmless enough. There doesn’t seem to be any indications of any harmful side effects from living with a highly influential family like the Thornberry’s. She could have turned out differently—like a spoiled rich bitch. But instead, she’s the same old beautiful bubbly girl I remember from when I was fourteen.

We spend the remainder of the night catching up, gabbing about what’s gone on in our lives the last four years. Jaime goes on and on about going to college next year and all the cute boys she’s going to meet, while I avoid the topic all together—college is out of the question for me. Instead, I tell her about my exploits, moving around from home to home. Somewhere in the conversation, I realize she managed to live a pretty normal life, while mine seems to mirror the life of a hobo.

It’s almost 2AM by the time we finally fall asleep. My daydreams begin to invade my subconscious and I welcome the reoccurring dreams that invade my sleep each night. I live in a beautiful two story colonial where I have my own bedroom. Sometimes the scenes vary, but they always take place in the same house.

In tonight’s episode, my father and I are in the kitchen laughing over a plate of heavenly lasagna. A woman I don’t recognize is also there and she’s happy that we are all together, enjoying the home cooked meal she had prepared.

The dream sequences have become pretty commonplace the last couple of weeks. I don’t know why I keep dreaming of the same people night after night, but I’m not complaining. If I can’t be part of a family in real life, at least I could imagine myself in a world where I do—even if it’s only in my dreams.

D
ominion House for Girls is located right inside the Alexandria city limits and is funded by generous donations supplemented by the Commonwealth of Virginia. Thus, Dominion operates a bit differently than other state run institutions. Even though the donors like to consider this a progressive institution, the place is nothing more than a gilded probation house. The board that runs the facility consists of private benefactors who believe in keeping positive appearances—so they can have something to brag about at their fancy country clubs. Thus, Dominion House is fashioned more like a boarding school. Heaven forbid we give the impression we are anything other than aberrant foster kids. So, due to their desire to maintain a respectable public image, we are allowed to leave the grounds during limited hours, attend public school, and some of the girls are even allowed to maintain their own personal funds, if they have any.

Jaime is one of the fortunate ones who actually has access to money. Her parents died when she was six, making her an orphan like me and leaving her with a sizable trust, unlike me. When she lived with the Thornberry’s, she attended one of the local private schools in the area—she had to pay her own tuition of course. To this day, I can’t understand why Jaime doesn’t take advantage of all her money and go to a real boarding school. Anything has to be better than this dump. It’s no wonder she went on and on the other night about going to college. She can afford to go.

Dominion House is conveniently situated near the local high school, so those of us that don’t have emotional or behavioral disabilities are allowed to leave the grounds and attend Alexandria High. Apparently, my being labeled delinquent doesn’t qualify me for in-house instruction. Not that I mind. For the eight hours that I get to leave the grounds, I feel like a normal teenage girl.

After class, I drag myself back to our room and find Jaime propped up on her bed typing away on her laptop. Personal funds are overseen by designated trustees, but we can purchase things like computers or books for educational purposes. I don’t have the means for something like a laptop, so I have to rely on the library if I want to do research or check emails. Not that I have anyone emailing me—unless you count spam. I mumble a weak greeting to Jaime, drop my books at my desk and sprawl on top of my bed.

At first I ignore it, but Jaime’s stares get the better of me. “What?” I finally ask. I know it’s not like she’s purposely trying to be rude, but her stares are starting to get on my nerves.

Jaime laughs the way all beautiful girls do: hearty and confident. “Nothing silly. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to come back to all this without you around.” She waves her hand around to indicate the glumness of the room.

“I guess,” I say, not knowing how else to respond. Jaime is a quite a sight, sitting on her bed, all bouncy and perky, while I’m just, well, me. I don’t get exactly why she’s acting thrilled about the situation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to finally have a friend around here, but it’s not like we’re tragic characters in a Charles Dickens tale. I mean, being an orphan sucks and all, but hey, that’s life.

“Hey, we’ve been stuck in the dorms every night this week,” Jaime says as she slides the laptop off her lap. “Why don’t we go somewhere else to study for a change?”

“I don’t see how the library can be any more scintillating than this.” I really don’t want to walk all the way to the library. It’s a ten minute walk and I can spend that time doing something more productive, like watching a repeat episode of
Fringe.

“No, I mean, let’s go get some coffee or something.”

Not only is a laptop out of the question, but so is a simple cup of Joe. Even before I came to Dominion House, I had to save my pennies. It’s not like I have a trust that doles out an allowance every week—like someone else I know. Maybe I was a bit rash in dismissing the library. At least there, the books are free.

Jaime must have picked up on my hesitation. “My treat of course. You look like you could use a grande-double-mocha.”

I have no idea what the hell that is, but I’m not going to let on that I don’t.

Crap.
This leaves me with two options: I can be proud and decline or accept her offer and be gracious. In the end, I cave. “Sure, it’d be nice to get out of here for awhile.” It’s just a cup of coffee, right?

“Great!” She grinned. “Let’s go to Battle Grounds.”

Both Dominion House and the coffee shop are located within the historic section of Alexandria, better known as Old Town, but it still takes us fifteen minutes to get there on foot. Battle Grounds got its name due to its close proximity to the statue of the Confederate soldier on the corner of Washington and Prince Streets. The soldier doesn’t have a name, so it’s simply known as The Confederate Statue. I guess the proprietors of the coffee shop wanted to keep with the theme of the block, even though a Civil War battle never occurred here—at least not to my knowledge. The shop is actually a renovated old colonial style townhome that most likely served as a family homestead before the surrounding area was slowly eaten up by the ever growing population. It isn’t a large building, but it has a balcony off the second story, and the shop fits in well amongst the other historical buildings along the drag.

We haven’t even placed our order when Jaime leaves me in charge of holding our place in line as she goes in search of a bathroom. The aroma of the coffee is so intoxicating that I’m glad Jaime convinced me to come. I wait patiently for the girl ahead of me to order a triple-chai-soy-machiado-whip drink.

And I thought Jaime was weird talking about grande-mocha-whatever’s.

I hear a deep chuckle coming from the other side of the shop. That’s when I notice him across the room, looking directly at me. He’s darkly handsome in a rugged kind of way. The guy definitely isn’t someone I recognize from around town. Granted, I hardly notice people, but it’s not like we live in a big city. One of the advantages of living so close to Old Town is its small-town feel. Not to mention the fact that Battle Grounds is where you’ll find most of the locals, while tourists prefer the predictability of the Starbucks located on the other end of King Street. Then again, its springtime and we always have an abundance of visitors this time of year. The guy’s probably a tourist who stumbled upon the coffee shop hoping to warm up after being out in the brisk cold air.

My attention goes back to the barista, silently wishing she would hurry up on the drink orders. But my curiosity gets the better of me and I chance another look at the stranger. Bummer. He isn’t standing across the room anymore and I don’t want to give the impression I’m searching for him, so I don’t scan the area for signs of him. Besides, they probably already called his order and he took off.

Tired of waiting in line, I decide to ditch it and go in search of Jaime instead. The chick behind the counter is taking way too long to pour coffee and I’m annoyed at this point. If Jaime really wants a drink, she can wait herself.

I find myself going up to the second floor and I check inside the women’s bathroom. I peek under each of the two stalls and find them both empty. Then, after a quick scan of the second floor lounge area, I make my way back down the winding staircase and accidentally bump into the guy I had been ogling from across the room. He’s standing right at the foot of the staircase, blocking my path back to the main section of the café. He hadn’t left after all.