Author's Note: I have a long one tonight! Thank you so much for following and reviewing! Callie's mind is so interesting. I hope I can do her justice. Especially since it's time for her to meet Brandon, and I think her feelings would be quite complicated. When I was watching the bath tub scene, Callie just broke my heart, so that's tomorrow...Please continue to review, it makes me so happy. :)

There's someone else in the kitchen now. A boy, maybe my age, maybe a year older, with black hair and green eyes and bone-structure that's kind of delicate. He's thin and wiry, and seems pretty harmless. Not energetic, like the other one, or snobby, like the girl.

He looks confused as I sit down.

"Who's this?" He asks, turning to his mother.

That rubs me the wrong way. I hate being talked about like I'm not here.

Lena explains I'm going to be staying with them for a while. He sort of pulls it together and just says "Nice to meet you," and slides a piece of lasagna on my plate. That's kind of nice, I guess.

"What about him?" I ask. "How'd you get him? The 99 cent store? I mean they have everything."

There. Let's see how he likes being talked about in the third person.

Everyone laughs a little. "Brandon is my partner Stefanie's biological son from a previous marriage," Lena tells me. I'm trying to work through that sentence in my head when a pretty, blond cop walks through the door. My senses go on high alert. But she doesn't even seem to notice me, she just says something like, "Oh, the lasagna smells great!" And then goes over and gives Lena…a kiss. Wait, seriously? I just stare at them until Jesus says, "What, no one told you our mom's a cop?"

I'm still not sure I understand.

"So…you're dykes," I clarify. The room goes silent.

"They prefer the term 'people,' he says half-hostile, half-patiently. "But yeah, they're gay."

I know I'm on dangerous ground, but I'm still trying to put together the pieces. I gesture to Brandon:

"And he's the real son."

It's deathly quiet now, and I'm regretting it. The words "Group Home" are flashing in my head like a neon sign. Stef just kind of laughs awkwardly, and asks "Who's this?"

Well, that's better than being hit.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I don't feel much like eating, and I don't really bother to try. There's only one way to learn the rules around here—fuck up until you see what you get into trouble for. They didn't bust me for having a smart mouth, which is pretty much a first. I thought maybe they'd yell over the wasted food, but they didn't even seem to notice. I'm in too much pain to eat. I'm pretty sure if I'd gotten anything down, it would have just hit my bruised stomach and come right back up. Instead, I just listen as they talk at me about rules. Curfew, school, permission…Whatever. I'm too tired for this. And like I said, there's only one real way to find out the rules in a foster home.

"Where do I sleep?" I interrupt Stef. I can tell immediately; she doesn't like that.

"Excuse me?" She asks, sort of fake-politely.

"It's not my first time in a foster home," I tell her.

Stef looks annoyed, but Lena doesn't take the bait.

"Let me show you," she says kindly.

I'm really starting to wonder if anyone is this nice. Experience tells me no. I wonder how long it will last. Apparently a while, because Lena's followed me into the living room, talking about pillows and blankets. Then she asks me if I have a toothbrush.

The sheer stupidity of that question shocks me. "No, I don't have a toothbrush. How would I have gotten a toothbrush?" I ask, not bothering to hide my contempt. I didn't exactly have time to stop at a CVS on my way out Juvie.

Lena just sort of exhales and sits down on the couch next to me.

"Okay, Callie? We're on your side. You can take it down a notch, okay?" She asks, looking me square in the eyes.

My cheeks flush and I look down. She's right. She's been nothing but nice to me, and all I've done is poke her and her family with a stick to see if they'll bite. And so far, they haven't.

"Yeah," I agree, quietly.

"I noticed you were really upset today when you were talking to David. Who's Jude?"

This takes me by surprise. I forgot she'd been listening to our conversation. Part of me wants to tell her. This nice woman who asked me if I want a second pillow and didn't yell at me for being about as rude as I possibly could be. Maybe, if I explain about the car, about Juvie, she won't want to get rid of me as fast. On instinct, I decide to go ahead and tell her.

"Listen…the night I went into Juvie—"

Stef comes into the room and I shut my mouth.

Stef does not like me. She is a cop. She would never believe me. And if she doesn't, I realize, neither will Lena.

So I shut up. Again.

Stef is talking to me about clothes, and towels, but my ears only really prick up when she says "bath." I haven't had a bath since…I can't even remember how long. Just 5-minute showers with double-locked doors and lots of yelling about the water bill. Stef leaves and Lena turns back to me expectantly:

"You were saying?"

All my resolve has gone. "I don't have a toothbrush," I mumble. Lena accepts that and gets up to find me one, and I lean back against the couch cushions. That was dumb. I've only known her for four hours, and I almost started to trust her. The last time I trusted someone in a foster home…

No. I don't want to think about that. I just have to remember: the only person I can trust is Jude. Everyone else is just noise.