Tomorrow's Lies (Promises #1) (8 page)

I’m relieved, but I find it hard to believe Flynn isn’t the tiniest bit attracted to Allison Lowry. Sure, she may be an epic bitch, but she is extraordinarily pretty—shoulder-length platinum hair, blue eyes, and long legs. She’s a younger version of her mom. And Allison is crafty, too, just like Mrs. Lowry, but not in the literal way. She’s crafty in a slick, oily way. She’s sneaky and shady, like a snake.

I don’t like thinking about her, and I’m glad she’s mostly ignored me this past week. But all I can picture after hearing of her lusting for Flynn is the two of them together.

Ugh
.

When Mrs. Lowry struts in the barn, wearing one of her signature woolen business suits, I’m actually relieved to see her. I need a distraction.

“Time to get to work, boys and girls,” Crafty Lo announces with a flourish of her slender hands.

“She is a fucking nut,” Mandy mutters under her breath.

I can’t disagree. Mrs. Lowry sure looks crazy as she pats her tight bun of blonde hair and giggles like a little girl.

“Have fun, darlings, and remember to work smart, not hard. There are hot dogs for dinner later. That is,” she qualifies, “if you make your quotas.”

“Naturally,” Mandy says sarcastically under her breath.

And then our benefactor is gone. Don’t for a minute think Crafty Lo lifts a perfectly manicured nail to actually work on any of the crafts bearing her name.
Dream on
.

An hour later, Allison still hasn’t made an appearance in the barn, which is unsettling. She often looks in throughout the day to make sure we’re not goofing off. Her continued absence leaves me feeling nauseated. I can’t help but imagine her in the house, trying her best to seduce Flynn.

The projects help to distract me some. In fact, we are all kept busy with the crafts. There’s wood to be cut for various projects, print screening to be prepped for T-shirts bearing the Crafty Lo logo, and a final big project for the day—a jewelry project involving intricate sets of beads with many tiny pieces that need assembling.

With the project underway, and the day waning, the twins grow tired and weary. They begin to struggle with the little beads and thin wires, both of which are difficult to work with even when fully focused.

Cody appears close to a meltdown after failing for a fourth time to thread a bead onto a wire. Callie, who has better dexterity than her brother, though not at the moment, tries to help him.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he cries out, his plaintive wails full of frustration and anger as the bead drops to the floor for the umpteenth time.

When Callie leans down to retrieve the rolling ball, Cody loses his shit. He knocks the whole plastic container of beads to the floor, scattering shiny orbs of pink, red, and orange. Bouncing and rolling balls that look like wayward BBs go everywhere.

Mandy and I drop to our knees to clean the mess quickly. “If Mrs. Lowry or Allison comes in and sees this,” Mandy says, frantic, “Flynn won’t be the only one assigned twice as much work tomorrow.”

Callie joins the effort, and the three of us are eventually able to capture most of the bouncing beads.

Cody remains seated at the table, arms crossed. “I want Flynn!” he yells out. “Where he go? Why he not here? Flynnie always helps me. He shows me how to do stupid beading stuff so it no drops on the floor.”

Flynn does take care of Cody. He treats him like he really is his little brother.

“These kids should be outside, playing,” Mandy hisses as she smacks a bouncing bead down on the floor. “They shouldn’t be stuck in this barn for hours and hours. They need a goddamn break once in a while. It’s not normal, keeping little kids cooped up all day, working, working, always fucking working.”

She wipes away a tear.

Mandy is usually so calm and collected. I’m surprised by her reaction, but understand it completely. I feel the same way. Every part of this set-up feels so very, very wrong. Mandy and Flynn essentially run the home-schooling, supervise the craft projects, and are in charge of making sure we’re locked in our respective bedrooms every night. Yet we have no privileges or rights. Instead, we contend with things like portioned-out food, loads of work assignments, cameras in the upstairs hallway, high gates at the entrance, and wire fencing.

“This place is sort of like a prison,” I murmur.

Mandy looks over at me and shakes her head. Her eyes are watery, filled with more tears. “You’re just figuring that out?”

“No, but I guess it’s finally really settling in.”

“Just make sure
you
don’t get settled in,” she says. There’s a note of warning in her tone. “Don’t ever get too comfortable here, Jaynie. Make sure you always have an out.”

I can’t help but wonder what she means.

But I’m not entirely sure I want to find out.

Flynn

I
don’t sleep well, haven’t since I was twelve years old. I toss and turn most nights, and when I do drift off, my rest is fitful. Old wounds, on my psyche and in my soul, haunt me when it’s dark.

So this night, same as most, sleep is elusive.

I stare up at the slanted ceiling of the third floor bedroom I share with a kid who reminds me of the brother I lost. A heavy rain is pouring down outside, pelting the window, washing away another fucked-up day, courtesy of Allison Lowry.

Pulling me from a day of work in the craft barn was Allison’s not-so-veiled attempt to have me around while her mother went into town this afternoon. The cleaning projects she had me wasting my time on were ridiculous. Dusting the living room, mopping the kitchen floor, all things already completed on chore day. At the end of the day, Allison had me helping her load the washer and dryer, and then we smoked a cigarette in the back of the house.

Shit, she sure was pissed when she offered me the rest of the pack and I declined. Truth is I’ve been meaning to quit smoking anyway. Plus, Jaynie’s words have been ringing in my head since the day I met her. I don’t care much about the smoking-will-kill-you part—we all have to die from something, right?—but I can’t deny it is
a pretty gross habit.

So, I’m in the process of quitting, really quitting. It isn’t easy, though. Like, I sure could use a smoke right about now. If I’d accepted that pack from Allison, I’d be pushing open the window by my bed, hopping up on the window sill, and kicking back while I exhaled plumes of white out into the rainy night. If Cody were awake, he’d be bugging me to make smoke rings for him. He likes shit like that.

Turning to my side, away from the window, I punch the pillow. “Fuck.”

I did the right thing, I know I did. I don’t like living a life beholden to Allison Lowry, and she was my cigarette lifeline. One less connection to her is a good thing, especially since her advances have become more insistent. This afternoon when she called me up to the second-floor bathroom, where she was taking an all-too-convenient middle-of-the-day shower, she pushed back the curtain
all the way
and asked me to hand her a bath towel.

Yeah, I saw everything. But then I walked away. Good body or not, I have no interest in that conniving bitch.

Thunder rumbles in the background, like a warning. I have a bad feeling this thing with Allison won’t end well. I used to find her harmless, just another girl who liked the way I look. Hey, I don’t see it, but I seem to get hit on everywhere I live. Not that I haven’t indulged—some hot chicks have offered to do some very hot things, and I
am
a guy—but I’m kind of past that stage in my life.

Another aversion I have to Mrs. Lowry’s daughter is that my past hook-ups have always been with girls my age, and usually girls in the system. I’ve never screwed around with any actual family members of my foster families, especially not one four years older.

A second low growl of thunder shakes the house, and then a bright flash of lightning crackles and illuminates the room. Cody stirs in the bed across from mine.

When he starts to whimper, I say in a low, soothing voice, “Everything’s okay, little man. It’s just a storm brewing.”

He’s not awake, but sometimes if I whisper soothing words to calm him, he stays asleep. Keeping his terrible nightmares at bay is my mission, especially with the new girl in the house. The last thing any of us needs is for Cody to have one of his night terror episodes.

When the nightmares come, and surely they will again, there’s only one thing that calms Cody—falling back to sleep next to his twin. Problem is Callie sleeps in the girls’ bedroom down the hall. It doesn’t sound like a problem till you factor in we’re not allowed to wander the halls at night. Cameras make sure the only place we dare venture is to the bathroom located between the two rooms.

Cody mumbles something incoherent and kicks his blankets to the foot of the bed. “Shit,” I mutter.

It’s going to happen, I know it is. A whole week and a couple of days without a nightmare is a record. The Good Dreams gods were blessing us, but our luck is about to run out. I sense it in the storm-electrified air.

Luckily, Mandy and I devised a system not long after I arrived. Mandy was already here, taking care of the twins. I replaced a kid who wanted nothing more than to get out. He used to let Cody scream and scream throughout his bad nights.

What happened to the guy I replaced, who knows? And who cares? He never reported the poor conditions here. Or maybe he did, and Mrs. Lowry paid off any interested parties.

Mrs. Lowry works the system best as she can. She takes advantage of underpaid social workers to make sure they leave her alone. She likes to foster four kids at any one time to make sure quotas are met. Jaynie has been brought in to replace Mandy for when she turns eighteen in July and leaves.

I like Jaynie, but she’ll have to be made aware of this Cody situation soon enough. Maybe Mandy has already filled her in on the fact that when Cody has a nightmare he and I go to their room to stay the night. I don’t know how Jaynie is going to react to me sleeping in there with her, but the system is the system. I sleep on the floor till the cameras are shut off at dawn, then I slip back to our room with Cody in tow. In case Mrs. Lowry does an early morning walk-through. Unlikely, but why take a chance?

Damn. Jaynie sure has a lot to learn while she’s here. She seems so quiet and unsure, another girl broken by the system. I’m happy Mandy has helped ease her in. I’d like to help, too. There’s something about Jaynie that appeals to my protective nature. Not to mention, I find her attractive, despite her love of multi-layered clothing. Too bad for me she clearly has an issue with guys.

That’s another reason I worry she’ll freak when Cody and I show up in their bedroom. Probably tonight by the way Cody is thrashing.

Just then, a thunderbolt of lightning flashes across the sky, followed by an ear-piercing crack.

And that’s when Cody begins screaming.

Jaynie

“S
o, you’re telling me we’re
never
allowed off the property by ourselves?” I am positively incredulous.

“No, never,” Mandy confirms.

“What if we want to take a walk down the mountain, maybe head into town for an hour or two?”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Mandy snorts. “It’s never going to happen.”

Callie is sleeping in the bed next to Mandy’s and she stirs at the sound of our conversation. We’re all up in our bedroom. Mandy and I are discussing life at the house. Tired as I am from the long work day, my hunger for information is keeping me alert. I want more than the bull I was handed when I first arrived.

Callie makes another noise, and Mandy and I peer over at her at the same time. “She’s still sleeping,” I whisper. “We didn’t wake her.”

“Still,” Mandy says in a hushed tone. “I should come over to your bed if we’re going to talk more.”

“Sure.” I scoot over and adjust the bulky sweatshirt I’m wearing over my flannel pajama top.

Mandy tiptoes over to my bed and sits down carefully on the edge. “Is this okay?” she asks.

“Yes.” I wave my hand. “You’re fine.”

Like I mentioned to Callie at lunchtime, I should be fine with Mandy. At least, I hope I am. As if she knows what I’m thinking, she gives me an encouraging smile. And then we continue our discussion.