Falling Harder Read Online Free

forever.”
    I decide not to
point out that some of the other families I’ve been assigned to were serial
fosters as well. Miss MacCoy does her best, I know, but there’s only so much
that’s even in her control when it comes to where I end up. I’ve never had any
resentment for my social worker, even though we’ve been through a lot together.
    Whenever I’ve
gotten in a really bad jam with one of my families, she’s swooped in to pull me
out again. It’s a comfort to know that I can count on at least one person if
the going gets really rough. She may not be able to work miracles, but I know
that she’s always doing her best.
    “Here we are,”
Miss MacCoy says. Her voice is doing that cheerfully optimistic thing it always
does when I’m about to embark on a new leg of my journey.
    I look up at the
house before us and instinctively grab onto my compass charm. The home itself
looks innocuous enough. It’s a pretty nondescript row house with a cluttered
porch and green awning.
    Even from the
curb, you can tell that this is a home where children live. Rusty bikes litter
the lawn, sidewalk chalk is scrawled all over the driveway, and a dented red
minivan lingers in front of the garage. I hope that the other kids are
something approaching nice this time around. I’ve had my fill of bullies and
tyrants where my other foster siblings have been concerned.
    As I step out of
the car, the front door of the house swings open. I look up and see a middle
aged couple stepping out onto the crowded front porch. The woman is wearing a
dated but cared-for dress that probably dates back to the eighties. Her ashy
blonde hair, streaked almost imperceptibly with gray, is pulled into a hasty
up-do.
    The man is
decked out in an honest-to-god Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts - an outfit I
wouldn't even wear to a dog fight, but who am I to judge? I’ve certainly lived
with worse.
    “Amy!” the woman
chirps, coming down off the porch. “It’s so nice to see you.” Miss MacCoy lets
the woman embrace her, smiling sheepishly at the display of affection.
    “Hello Nancy,”
my social worker says, “You look great. Is that a new shade of lipstick?”
    “It’s called
Mystical Mauve,” Nancy says proudly, “Picked it out just for the occasion.”
    “Paul,” Miss
MacCoy says, offering her hand to the man in the goofy shirt.
    “Come on now,
Amy,” he says, pulling Miss MacCoy into another bear hug, “You know we don’t
shake hands in this house.”
    “My goodness,”
Nancy says, her eyes falling on me, “Is this Nadia?”
    “Sure is,” I
say, wrestling my mouth into a smile, “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs.
Daniels.”
    “Please, it’s
just Paul and Nancy here,” my new foster dad says. His hair is light, like his
wife’s, and the five o’clock shadow on his jaw is almost red.
    “You’re quite
the looker, Nadia,” Nancy says, giving me a not-very-subtle once over. “We’ll
just tell people that you got it from me.”
    “You crazy hag,”
Paul laughs, planting a sloppy kiss on his wife’s cheek. “You’ll have to excuse
us being so giddy. We’re always just so excited to welcome a new addition to
our family.”
    “That’s...very
nice of you,” I say, baffled by their high spirits.
    “I suppose I
should leave you to it,” Miss MacCoy says, “Let you all get acquainted with
each other and whatnot. If you need anything, Nadia, you know where to find
me.”
    My social worker
gives my hand a short, reassuring squeeze and heads back to her car. The Civic
wheezes to life and starts off down the pothole-ridden street. Paul and Nancy
wave happily as the car disappears from view. I watch as the tail lights
flicker out around the corner.
    For some
unknowable reason, my heart clenches uncomfortably. The moment I’m truly alone
with Paul and Nancy, a familiar sense of foreboding comes over me. Their manic
smiles swing my way, and for a moment I’m reminded fiercely of cartoon vampires
with a taste for