TW for brief mentions of abuse

They only had to wait another half hour before Phil's cheery face poked through the doors of the school library. There were a few other kids in there with them, but for the most part the school had fallen empty and quiet in less than ten minutes after the final bell had rung. Skye had spent most of her time fooling around on a school computer, trying out some of the new things that Ms. Amador had taught them, and Jemma sat next to her, pressed into her side, reading The Giver for language arts. She held the book in one hand and tapped almost absentmindedly on the table with the other.

The sight of Phil's warm smile filled Skye with a feeling she couldn't quite name. It was good, and a little bubbly, but a little nervous, too. Phil stopped briefly to chat with the librarian, then came over and greeted Skye and Jemma with a beam.

"Hey," he said, his eyes crinkling up with a familiarity that Skye was beginning to find comforting. "Ready to go? I can't wait to hear how your day went." They packed up quickly and followed Phil out of the school and towards the car without comment. Once they were all safely buckled in and on the road, Phil glanced back at them in the rearview mirror, his eyebrows quirked up with questions.

"Well? How was it?" The buoyancy that he had had in the library had deflated, and Skye heard a tinge of worry creeping into his voice. Skye felt bad that she couldn't return his earlier good mood back to him. She pondered the day, weighing the positives and negatives. Hanging out with Fitz had been good, and computer science had been great, but gym with Grant Ward and getting in trouble with Miss Hill had both definitely sucked.

"It was fine," she finally said. She didn't meet Phil's eyes in the mirror, and she tried to sound nonchalant. She decided she wasn't really interested in hashing out every painful detail with him, in the car or otherwise.

Jemma had answered almost simultaneously, although her assessment of the day was that it had been good. Phil nodded thoughtfully at both of their responses.

"Good, I'm glad it went okay. Did you meet any other kids or make any friends? How about your teachers, did you like them okay?"

"Fitz was there," Jemma piped. "He was in every single one of my classes with me. He knows about algebraic inequalities and cell structure and astronomy. Mr. Daniels is our astronomy teacher, and we got to look at satellite photos of star systems, and Fitz and I knew the names of all the constellations."

"Wow, that sounds great," Phil chuckled. "What about you, Skye?"

Skye just shrugged. She thought it was a little funny, how Jemma was suddenly the chatterbox of the two of them, but she couldn't think of anything to say. The memory of the disastrous Flex Time was still clawing at her brain, and she worried that if she tried to talk about school, she would start blubbering about making Miss Hill hate her.

"Did you have a favorite class?" Phil pressed. He sounded concerned, which only made Skye feel worse. He would probably be really disappointed to learn that she got in trouble on her first day. Still, he didn't seem like he was going to give up, so Skye set her jaw and forced herself to answer.

"Computer science was good," she told him, eyes in her lap and fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

"You know, Miss Amador used to be a student of mine a few years ago," Phil said. "I was hoping you would like her. She's really great…" Phil began rambling off on a tangent then, reminiscing about his former students. Skye tuned him out and focused on swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She didn't know why she was still so upset about what had happened with Miss Hill. It wasn't like she hadn't gotten in trouble at school a million times before. Maybe it had something to do with how Skye thought she was going to like Miss Hill at first, or maybe it was because she didn't want to give Phil and May a reason to send her back and separate her from Jemma. She wasn't really sure, but whatever the reason, she couldn't shake the bad feeling that had been plaguing her since the end of the school day.

When they got home, Phil showed them some hooks by the door where they could leave their backpacks, and offered to fix them a snack. Skye and Jemma shared a look at that. Neither one of them had ever lived anywhere that gave you food in-between meals.

"You don't have to have one if you don't want to," Phil backpedaled, misinterpreting their expressions. "It's just if you're hungry. I know I get hungry after school most days, and it'll be a few hours before dinner." After another silent conference, both Skye and Jemma nodded and followed Phil into the kitchen, where he wasted no time in a few apples, some graham crackers, and a jar of peanut butter.

"This is one of my favorites," he said, starting to spread peanut butter across the crackers and sandwiching the pieces together. Skye took one and bit into it hesitantly. She was pleasantly surprised by the taste, and polished off the cracker in a few quick bites. Jemma nibbled on an apple, eyeing the snack with a little more suspicion than Skye had. Skye pushed a cracker towards Jemma with a nod. She was pretty sure that Jemma would like it, but sometimes she needed an extra push to try unfamiliar things. Taking her cue from Skye, Jemma set down her apple and swapped it for Phil's peanut butter creation. After a tentative bite, her face broke into a smile and she, like Skye, wolfed down the newfound treat. Phil watched with amusement, pleased that they had both liked his handiwork.

"I have some quizzes to grade, and I'm sure you both have homework," he said, putting the peanut butter and graham crackers back into the cabinet. "What do you say we all set up at the table and get some work done?"

Skye tried her best not to grimace. She, like pretty much any kid she knew besides Jemma, hated homework. She had been hoping to put it off for a few hours at least, but it seemed like Phil was a "do it straight-away" type of foster parent. That really shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, she thought. Phil didn't seem like the type to leave them to their own devices when it came to homework, which was probably a good thing in the long run. While Skye preferred foster parents who didn't care one way or the other when it came to homework, since that meant she could get away with not doing it, she knew avoiding it always came back to bite.

Resigned to the torturous fate of math worksheets and reading homework, Skye lugged her backpack over to the kitchen table and joined Phil, who was spreading out a stack of quiz papers, and Jemma, who had neatly set up her work across from him.

"It's been a few years since I was in middle school," Phil joked, "but let me know if you have any questions and I'll see what I can do. Mel's a whiz with spelling and vocab, too, so she's always a good one to ask for help as well."

Skye already knew she was going to need Jemma's help with her math, and she didn't want Phil to think she was stupid, so she opted to leave the worksheet alone until she could ask Jemma for help in private. That left The Giver. Complicated feelings about Miss Hill swirled up in her chest as she opened the book to the first page for what felt like the millionth time that day. She tried to focus, but the words seemed to float in and out of her brain before she could piece together what they were actually saying. The kitchen was quiet, except for the tick of the clock and the occasional scratch of Phil's pen on the quizzes. The silence was burrowing into Skye's head and making her feel crazy. She knit her eyebrows together and tried to pour every ounce of energy into absorbing the stupid book. Beside her, Jemma whisked through some kind of diagram that must have been for her astronomy class. There were dots all over the page that were supposed to be stars for Jemma to label. Jemma rocked back and forth ever so slightly as she worked, shifting her weight to and froe to some internal rhythm that only she could sense. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it, it looked so natural. Skye began to bounce her knee up and down under the table, hoping that getting her body moving would make her brain start to move as well. Sometimes that trick helped if she got stuck at school.

"Skye?" Phil's voice cut through the haze and caught her attention. "Is everything okay?" She felt a frown start to crease her face.

"I'm fine," she muttered. For some reason, her tone came out harsher than she meant it to. She felt a little bad, but she was on the defensive.

"Okay. You're just shaking the table a little. I wanted to make sure you were all right." He was smiling, but Skye didn't want to smile back. It was Flex time all over again. Her frown deepened into a scowl. She planted her foot against the floor, digging her heel in to stop her leg from bouncing up and down.

"I'll stop," she said, ducking her head.

"It's okay," Phil said quickly. "It's not bothering me, I just know sometimes when I get agitated I start fidgeting like that."

"I'm not agitated," Skye lied. She didn't take her eyes off of the book for fear that they would reveal the truth. "I'm sorry for fidgeting."

She thought back briefly to a foster mother she had had once when she was much smaller, a lady named Mrs. Murphy. She was a stern, older woman who seemed like she would have fit right in with the nuns at St. Agnes. She hadn't liked fidgeters either, and Skye had had a hard time keeping still at that age. Any time she had gotten too hyperactive, which in Mrs. Murphy's opinion was anytime she had wanted to run, climb, jump, or wiggle around like any normal five-year-old, Mrs. Murphy would make her sit in the "stillness chair." Skye shuddered, thinking of the hard, wooden chair and the way that Mrs. Murphy would strap her to the seat with bungee cords and tie her hands down to the arms of the chair to keep her from moving. She had spent a lot of time in that chair before she had been sent back to St. Agnes for kicking the chair over one night and knocking it into Mrs. Murphy. There was a very stern entry about "violent outbursts" in her file after that incident, she was sure.

"It's really okay, Skye," said Phil gently. When she didn't respond, he tried to change the subject. "How's the book? Is that for Miss Hill's class?" Skye just shrugged.

"It's fine. It's about a kid who's scared of airplanes or something." Jemma glanced over at Skye then, a look of sadness on her face. No, not sadness, Skye corrected herself. More like disappointment.

"Well, the aeroplane is only really there for a moment," Jemma explained. A sour taste burned in Skye's mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knew she hadn't understood anything in the dumb book. Jemma was watching her as she spoke, and Skye could tell that Jemma was picking up on her frustration. "Maybe we could read it together?" Jemma offered. Gratitude flooded Skye's senses. Jemma understood, and Jemma never judged her or thought she was dumb. She could always count on Jemma for help.

"That's a great idea," Phil chimed in. "Reading out loud helps me understand better, sometimes. Plus, that way I'd get to hear the story, too." His eyes twinkled, and Skye couldn't help but crack a small smile. Of course Phil wanted to hear the story, even if the book was dumb and didn't make any sense.

For the next half hour or so, she and Jemma took turns reading pages of their book out loud to each other. Jemma read more than Skye did, even though her voice was shy, since she had less trouble with the harder words. Phil, to his credit, didn't watch them as they read, which helped make them feel less self-conscious, but Skye could tell he was paying attention. Skye still couldn't figure out what was going on in the book, but at least she was past the first page now. It seemed to her that whoever the main kid was, he either didn't live in the same world as them, or he was really bad at describing ordinary things.

They were still at the table reading when May walked in. Phil had moved to the stove, and was starting to cook, but he was still listening. He greeted May as she hung up her coat and gave her a peck on the cheek as she came into the kitchen.

"Hello all," she said warmly, giving Skye and Jemma a wave. "I'm going to drop off my stuff in the office, and then I'd love to hear how today went."

"Keep reading," Jemma whispered, nudging Skye as May walked out. "We're almost to the end of the page, and then we can stop." Jemma didn't like to stop in the middle of things, so Skye obliged and forged ahead with the incomprehensible book.

"''Did you find it?' Jonas asked,'" Skye read. She didn't put much emotion or intonation into her reading, but Jemma didn't seem to mind. "'He was fask… fask-in…'" She looked up at Jemma helplessly.

"Fascinated," Jemma supplied without a second thought.

"Oh, yeah, okay, I knew that," Skye chided herself. "'He was fascinated. It didn't seem a terribly important rule, but the fact that his father had broken a rule at all aw… aw-wed…'" She trailed off again.

"Awed. Like amazed. In awe," came Jemma's helpful addition. Skye scowled at the page.

"'awed him. He glanced at his mother, the one respons… responsible for ad…ad-her…" A sound of strangled frustration escaped her. "I hate this stupid book!" Without thinking, she flung the book away from her, harder than she'd meant to. The book flew across the kitchen and skidded on the floor, coming to a stop at the feet of May, who had just reentered the room.

"Skye! Hey!" May looked surprised, and Skye felt the color drain from her face. Throwing things was usually a big no for most people, especially when you threw things at people, even accidentally.

"I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Skye spluttered. Her voice caught in her throat, and she could feel all of the anger and embarrassment and choked-back tears from the day bubbling up inside of her, creating a toxic mixture with the terror that had gripped her in anticipation of May's reaction.

May's face was stony and hard to read, but she definitely looked unhappy. Off to the side, Phil looked a little taken aback, and Skye didn't have to look at Jemma to know the girl was probably petrified.

"Skye," May's voice was low and serious. Not a good sign. "We don't throw things in this house." She bent down and picked up the book, smoothing out the crumpled cover. Skye felt her chin start to tremble, and her eyes started to swim. She blinked hard, trying not to cry.

May walked over to the table, set the book down, and took a seat. "Why did you throw this? What's going on?" Skye was surprised at the reaction. The last house she had thrown something in, a snow boot that she had gotten frustrated with doing the laces on, her foster dad had thrown it right back at her, clocking her in the head. She was pretty sure May wouldn't do that, but sitting down for a chat was definitely not what she had expected either.

All the bad feelings that were churning away inside of her were still stewing, and for some reason Skye felt herself getting defensive at May's off-kilter response.

"It's just a dumb book, and I'm tired of reading it," she snipped, glaring at the tabletop.

"And you thought throwing it was the best way to handle that?" May asked evenly. Skye felt a tear threatening to slip, and she ground her knuckles into her eyes to clear them, hoping that May wouldn't notice. She knew that she was acting petulant, but for some reason she couldn't make herself stop.

"Skye." Phil spoke then. His tone was a little more gentle than May's but no less serious. "I know you're feeling frustrated by the book—"

"I am not!" Skye blurted. She clamped her mouth shut, chastising herself for talking back. She might as well be packing her bags this minute. No one wanted a kid who couldn't read, threw books, and talked back all in one terrible package. She heard a whimper from Jemma's direction, and felt herself snap back to reality. She couldn't get sent back. She couldn't get separated from Jemma. She had to do damage control.

"I'm sorry," she backpedaled, her voice quiet. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I won't do it again, I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Phil said. "Thank you for apologizing."

"If you're not feeling frustrated, then maybe you could tell us what you are feeling?" suggested May. "Is there a reason why you threw the book?" Skye was silent for a moment. She didn't know how to explain the angry, jumbled feelings she had or how the book was out of her hand before she had even realized what she had done. If she'd had a second to think, she probably wouldn't have thrown it.

"I don't know," she mumbled. "I was mad, I guess. I didn't mean to."

"What made you mad?"

Skye shrugged, still avoiding May and Phil's eyes. "I just… don't like feeling dumb." She felt the lump return to her throat, and took a shuddery breath. The tears that she had pushed away all afternoon resurfaced, and a fat one rolled down her face, perching on the tip of her nose. The room was silent for a moment, until Jemma spoke in a small voice.

"You're not dumb, Skye."

"Jemma's right, Skye, you aren't dumb. But I understand how difficult it is to feel like that, even when it's not true," May said. Skye looked up for the first time, and saw that the hard look on May's face had been replaced by a much softer one. "Do you remember what I told you last night?"

"That the important thing was to try," Skye murmured, swiping at her damp face with her sleeve. May nodded.

"Yes, and from what I heard you were doing just that when you were reading. That's all Phil and I ever want."

"It's always more important to me when my students do their best, even if they don't get it exactly right," he said. "And the same thing goes for both of you. Trying and messing up is always better than not trying at all."

"And speaking of trying," May said, looking pointedly at Skye, "let's also try to not throw things when we get angry. Throwing things can be dangerous, and someone could get hurt, or something could get broken. That's why we don't do it. There are other things we can do to control our anger instead."

Skye nodded sheepishly. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Do you have any tricks that you use to calm down?" asked Phil. "I have a song that I hum until I'm not so upset."

"And I take deep breaths and count to ten," May added. "Do you think you could try one of those the next time you feel like throwing something?"

Skye nodded again. "I know I'm supposed to do the counting thing. I just forget sometimes."

"Everyone forgets from time to time. Sometimes we just need a little reminding."

The rest of the evening was thankfully much less eventful. Dinner was quiet, with everyone sharing parts of their day. Skye was deliberately evasive when it was her turn, offering the same noncommittal answers she had given in the car earlier. No one pressed her too much, which she was grateful for. She couldn't tell if it was because May and Phil were satisfied with her answers, or if they were just giving her space after her outburst from earlier, but either way she was happy to avoid interrogation.

Once the dishes were cleared, they had some time before getting ready for bed, which they used to watch TV. Phil found some goofy game show that they all enjoyed, where people tried to cook while dealing with increasingly difficult obstacles, like wearing handcuffs or cooking over a lightbulb instead of a stove. It was funny enough to keep them entertained, although May did tap away at a laptop while she sat with them. Skye wondered if May would ever let her use the laptop at some point, but felt like tonight wasn't the best night to go asking for favors. It was a wonder she hadn't been shipped back to the nuns as far as she was concerned, and she wasn't interested in pressing her luck.

When the show ended, Phil and May ushered the girls upstairs to get ready for bed, and Skye was so worn out from the day that she didn't mind that it was only nine o'clock. She and Jemma showered and brushed their teeth, and Phil stopped by Skye's room half an hour later to say goodnight.

"Get some rest," he said, leaning in the doorway. "I'm sure you're tired after a full day at school, and another one's coming down the pipe." He laughed a little, and Skye offered a weak smile in return.

"I am sorry about today," she mumbled. "I'll be good from now on."

"Hey," Phil said sadly. He crossed towards her and perched on the foot of her bed. "Making mistakes or even making bad choices doesn't mean you're not good. From what I can tell, you're more than a good kid, Skye. I hope you know that." Skye shrugged. She didn't exactly understand what Phil was trying to tell her, but at least he wasn't mad about earlier. Phil gave her a smile, but his eyes still looked melancholy. "I want you to know how good you are, Skye. It's important to me that you know that Melinda and I think you are very, very good, and that you can think that about yourself, too. Okay?"

Skye didn't say anything for a minute, eventually settling for telling Phil goodnight.

"Goodnight, Skye. Sweet dreams, kiddo."

Phil left then, leaving Skye to ruminate on what he had said. She was pretty sure she was not good. Between all the fights and screwups and problems written in file and her penchant for getting into trouble whether she was looking for it or not, her track record certainly didn't suggest she was a good kid. The nuns reminded her consistently of her many shortcomings, doling out punishments and taking away privileges left and right, and she had been witness to a parade of foster parents who thought she was difficult, a handful, surly, defiant, violent, and who had no problem with telling her as much. Once again Phil and May seemed to be proving themselves different than all the others, but Skye knew there would be a point where they would realize like everyone before them that she was more trouble than she was worth. Her one saving grace seemed to be that nothing could tarnish her in Jemma's eyes. Jemma still liked her, no matter how many bad things she did. At least, she hoped so.

When Skye was sure the coast was clear, she snuck across the hall and into Jemma's room, as was becoming routine. Still turning over ideas about goodness in her head, Skye found herself voicing her concerns out loud as she nestled into bed with Jemma.

"Jem? Do you think I'm bad?"

"Is this about the book?" Jemma asked. Her voice was so quiet, Skye wouldn't have been able to hear it if her ear hadn't been right near Jemma's mouth.

"Yeah, I guess. The book, and everything else. Getting in trouble at school. Hurting that Ward kid in gym class. Talking back. All the stuff I do all the time, you know? Do you think that makes me bad?" Jemma was quiet for a long time, and Skye almost thought she had fallen asleep when she finally spoke.

"I think you're brave, and kind to people who need kindness," Jemma said. "You have a short temper, but a lot of people do. At least when you get angry you don't hurt people."

"Sometimes I do. Grant Ward, Michaela Dodson…"

"That's self-defense," Jemma said, cutting her off. "And that's not what I meant. I meant you're not like… like people who hurt people who can't stick up for themselves." She fell silent, and Skye knew she was talking about people like the kids who bullied them and all of their terrible foster parents.

"Even though no one has shown you how to be good Skye, somehow you're still one of the noblest people I know." Skye was glad it was so dark, because she was sure her face was bright red.

"Well now you're just being ridiculous," she muttered, elbowing Jemma softly. Jemma giggled, and snuggled in closer, wrapping her fingers around Skye's and using her thumb to tap lightly on the back of Skye's hand.

"I'm glad Phil and May didn't get mad at you today," Jemma said, after a minute. "I was worried for a bit."

"I know, I'm sorry," Skye apologized. "I didn't mean to make you worry. I was worried, too. You remember what I told you about Mr. Erickson? And the snow boot?"

"You had a lump on your head for a week," Jemma fretted. "You don't think May and Phil would ever throw a boot at you, do you?"

"I… I don't know," Skye admitted. "I don't think so. They seem… different, I guess. But foster families have seemed different before."

"The Walkers," murmured Jemma, barely a whisper. Skye's heart ached thinking about what the Walkers had done to her sweet Jemma. She squeezed her friend's hand, and Jemma returned the squeeze, signaling that she was okay.

"I hope May and Phil stay nice," Jemma said, her voice growing thick with impending sleep. "I think I like it here."

"I think so, too," Skye said, as they both gave in to exhaustion and fell fast asleep.

Book quotes come from The Giver by Lois Lowry, a book I did not write and do not own, but did read in middle school.