They arrived at my front door later that afternoon in a flurry of excitement and pastel revision folders.
‘Hi!’ my friends called to Mum, jostling into the kitchen where she was plating up slices of home-made flapjack for Ellis and Billy, who were currently playing Pop Up Pirate with their brother in the living room.
‘Ooh. That looks good,’ Katie said, leaning over the tray. ‘Tests have shown that oats are great for memory.’
‘I hope you girls are here to revise, not to create another one of your videos.’
‘Ugh, Mum!’ I screwed up my face in embarrassment.
‘We shut down ALK Music at the start of Year 10,’ Alicia said, not the least bit ashamed of the shockingly awful lip-sync performances we used to film in the garden.
‘We wondered if Jonah might want to revise with us?’ Katie asked, her face a picture of innocence despite the black eyeliner and fake nose-ring she’d added for reasons that I could only assume revolved around my foster brother’s hotness.
‘Oh, well, that’s very kind of you.’ Mum picked up a tray containing the snacks and three glasses of juice. ‘I’ll see if he wants to join you once he’s free. Oh, and make sure you leave a piece of flapjack for Nicky. She needs as much help with her memory as you lot.’
We set ourselves up in the dining room. I’d have preferred the privacy of the attic, but it was too cramped for three people when the weather was this warm.
‘Did you see him playing that little kids’ board game when we walked past?’ Alicia giggled. ‘It was really weird seeing him smile. Like, he has teeth. Who knew?’
‘Well, clearly Libby did,’ Katie said, flipping open her ring-binder. ‘I have So. Many. Questions.’
‘If you’re going to be taking notes, then I don’t have any answers,’ I shot back.
‘Notes will not be needed. I shall be memorising everything.’ Katie gave a wicked smile that sparked a lurch of possessiveness in my stomach. My friends weren’t cool, but Katie’s confidence made her far cooler than me. More importantly, she wasn’t completely, utterly out of bounds to Jonah.
‘Does he talk, ever?’ Alicia asked, hunching over her notebook.
‘Ever?’ Well, that was an easy answer. ‘Yes.’
‘Like, making conversation or just minimal answers to direct questions? Is he moody, or does he get all polite with your parents? Ooh, does he talk toyou?’ She went on and on until I had to give her something. I was paranoid they’d grow suspicious otherwise, and despite me having told them about every crush I’d ever had – the grand total of three boys, including Year 9 Carlos who, I admit, I did grow slightly fanatical about for a few months – this was far too dangerous to even hint at.
‘He’s quiet, but not rude. Unless he’s triggered about stuff to do with his mum, and anyone would get angry about that. We revised together a couple of times, so talked a bit then. Apart from that, I barely see him.’
‘Does he ever smile apart from when he’s with his brother and sister?’ Alicia asked.
‘Not really.’
Yes. But only at me.
‘Does he have loads of grey jumpers, or is it the same one?’
‘Okay, that’s enough. I know you’re my best friends, but he’s my…’
‘Temporary brother,’ Katie suggested.
‘Well, Mum and Dad have asked if he can stay with us. So it won’t be temporary.’
‘Don’t you have to wait for court?’ My friends had seen enough foster children come and go to have grasped the basics.
‘Jonah’s seventeen, so the judge won’t make him live with his family if he doesn’t want to.’
‘Libby.’ Mum appeared in the doorway, glowering. ‘You know that kind of information is private. Especially when Jonah goes to your school.’
‘Well, it’s kind of a done deal, isn’t it? We know Jonah can stay.’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘We’ve told Jonah that we’d love him to stay. He hasn’t decided if that’s what he wants yet.’
‘What?’ There was no way he was considering going back to his mum. So if Jonah didn’t want to stay here, that meant he’d be looking at a semi-independent residential unit. I couldn’t imagine a single reason why he would choose that over living with my parents, who were known throughout children’s services for their phenomenal skills with troubled teens. Unless the problem wasn’t my parents, of course.
