Callie has always been very picky about who she cares for. Since her mother died and she and her brother were put into the system, caring for the right or wrong person could make or break her. One of her foster mothers taught her that, when she was young. "Caring sucks, Sally." The middle-aged woman had slurred in a drunken stupor. Eight-year-old Callie didn't wince at the misuse of her name, instead trying to teach Jude how to correctly pronounce "spaghetti". "Never, ever care for anyone. You can do nothing but do their laundry and believe them when they tell you that they didn't sleep with that bimbo from work, they will still screw you over."
She may not remember that woman's name anymore, but she can still remember the alcohol on her breath as she leaned in close to her face, can still remember the way the words stumbled off the woman's tongue with difficulty, as if all the booze and pot numbed her mouth.
She denied it at first, until she realized how true it was. How she cared about her father, and then he ditched them, how she cared about her mother, and she died.
Since then, Callie has gripped on to her brother as tight as she could, repeated those words to herself, and charged through life, hard as a rock.
But then, after that terrifying period of being without Jude and listening to her cell-mate threatening to strangle her whenever she even spoke, she was placed with the Fosters, people who smile and talk in soft voices and hug and kiss and care, people who are different from anyone she has ever been placed with, and things change.
She feels this warm ball in her chest whenever Lena saves the last piece of lasagna for her, or whenever Stef cracks some stupid joke that makes everyone snicker. Whenever Jesus burns a CD of some band she loved two years ago, or whenever Mariana gives her a shirt because "it's your color and, whatever, I never wear it anyways".
The person who confused her the most, though, is Brandon.
She felt the warm ball pulse when he stayed up with her until one to teach her all those chords she forgot. She felt it when he talked her through that English assignment that made no sense to her. She felt it when he helped her with dishes even though his night was yesterday and when he stood up for her when some girls where teasing her and when he taught Jude how to play piano. She felt it when he kissed her that one night, when they were both being stupid but they didn't care because it was all him and her and the way he smelled really good up close.
It was gradual, and Callie didn't even notice, but she started to change. She started to actually smile when her teachers grinned at her in the halls, she started to help Mariana with her homework because math has always been easy for her, she was able to hug Lena back, she was able to stop repeating her old foster mother's words under her breath as if she were praying.
"You're different, you know." Jude had told her one night. It was then she realized that she couldn't remember whether or not the woman smelled like beer or scotch. She couldn't remember what she said exactly, word-for-word, or how she sounded saying it.
The Fosters weren't only the first ones to keep Callie; they were also the first to make her care.