Tomorrow's Lies (Promises #1) Read Online Free Page A

thing I’ve learned during the past three years in the state foster system is that keeping quiet is the best way to stay out of trouble.
    Leaning my head against the side window, I sit quietly and take in my new town.
    Wow, what a shithole. Cracked sidewalks, boarded-up buildings, and houses marred by broken windows inspire little confidence that Forsaken is a good place, like Saundra claims. A dirty curtain sticking out of the second-floor window of one home, pink and felt-like, reminds me of a dog’s tongue hanging out of his mouth on a hot summer’s day. But not in a cute, happy way. This is more like a dog left out with no water.
    We pass one particular house that garners my attention. It’s more a shack than a solid structure, really. A young girl of about six is standing out in the middle of the muddy yard. She’s crying—wailing, really—but no one comes to her aid.
    Between this and my thirsty-dog imaginings, I conclude this town is really living up to its name. Thunder rumbles and I hope for rain. Maybe Forsaken and all its misery will be mercifully washed away. But, of course, that doesn’t happen.
    A smattering of raindrops peppers the windshield, fat droplets that look like oversized tears. I think of the girl crying in the yard and feel like crying right along with her. Crying wouldn’t help. Nothing can wash away the sadness in my soul.
    Saundra flips on the wipers, fiddles with the controls, and finally settles on delay. Sweeping a swath of curly brown hair over her shoulder, she tells me, “It won’t be long now. We’re almost there.”
    We make a sharp turn at an abandoned paper mill and start a climb up a narrow gravel road that hugs the side of a heavily forested mountain. A scary ascent ensues, and I focus on the woods instead of the far side of the road, which appears to drop off to absolutely nothing.
    Yeah, so the trees, let’s think about the trees, and not the possibility of accidental death .
    The trees really are quite pretty. The branches are tipped in springtime buds, painting the forest in a filmy cast, like a light green veil has been thrown over everything.
    When we slow to a crawl, I notice whole sections of the road have been washed down the mountain, forever lost. I shudder. It seems the closer we creep to my new home, the worse things become.
    “I think we should turn around,” I blurt out. “Is it too late for me to go back to the group home?”
    Saundra snorts. “Yes, I should think so.”
    “Why?”
    Aggravated, she replies, “Because it just is, Jaynie.”
    “I think I might want to go back, though.”
    Saundra stops the car right in the middle of the road. Doesn’t matter, no one is around.
    “Listen,” she says as she twists in her seat to face me. “I am not driving you all the way back to Clarksburg. You’ll just change your mind again once we get there. I know it.”
    “I don’t think that will happen,” I mumble.
    “Oh, Jaynie…”
    Saundra shakes her head and slips off her tortoise-shell glasses to rub her eyes. I’ve clearly annoyed her. “You have no idea what you’re saying. You spent one month in group. One month. That’s nothing. You think living in a group home until you’re eighteen is going to be better than living with Mrs. Lowry up on this beautiful mountain?”
    “Maybe.” I shrug. “Group wasn’t that bad.”
    She ignores me, puts on her glasses, and starts driving again.
    I’m stuck.
    Maybe she’s right. Group wasn’t completely terrible, but it certainly wasn’t great. The kids stayed away from me. Rumors abounded that I was weird. Okay, true, I don’t talk too much. And I wear way too many layers of clothing. But the biggest impediment to my fitting in anywhere is the one thing I’m trying like hell to overcome—I lose my shit if I’m touched by a guy. I’m not always great with women, either. That’s the reason for all the clothes. Leggings under skirts and big, bulky sweaters over long-sleeved tees offer a layer of