In Between Read Online Free PDF Page A

was a double negative and horrible English, but I’m wearing the coat right now. Remember the coat? Mr. and Mrs. Scott exchange a look.
    “Katie, you do know we work for a church, right?”
    “I did read something about that,” I deadpan, with a pointed look at his shirt. No, Mrs. Smartly left that detail out, bless her. I take a drink of milk, hoping someone will change the topic.
    “Mrs. Smartly told you all about us, didn’t she? You know I’m the senior pastor at In Between Community Church, right?”
    A spray of milk flies out of my mouth, jetting across the table. Rocky takes two giant leaps, and he’s out of the room, instantly fearful of the girl spewing the two percent.
    Did Mr. Scott just say pastor ? You have got to be kidding me!
    9-1-1, I’d like to report a murder.
    The dearly departed goes by the name of Iola Smartly.

Chapter 5

    A fter a fitful night of staring at the ceiling, I am awakened by the sound of Mr. Scott downstairs yodeling “Oh My Darlin’,” as Rocky, dog in residence, howls along. Rocky’s attempts at singing sound more like he’s trying to communicate the depth of some inner pain, like a spleen hanging out or the discomfort of swallowing the neighbor’s cat whole. And Mr. Scott is no melodious treat either.
    I roll over. 7:00 a.m. I don’t think I fell asleep until 6:59.
    I sigh and rub my eyes, then scan the room. Am I really here? And how can I not be here? I have got to get out of this place. The Scotts and I are so different; it’s just a matter of time before they send me back.
    Throwing the covers aside, I slink out of bed, and dread unsettles my stomach. My black suitcase sits on the floor, and I open it and get a clean pair of jeans. They’re my favorite ones. The knee is ripped out but not in a cool, Abercrombie and Fitch sort of way. I grab some other things and head for the bathroom.
    I take a quick shower, wondering how long I can stay in there before someone comes to get me. Have I mentioned I don’t want to be here?
    My hair still damp, I inch my way down the stairs into the kitchen. The dog is still howling, and his shrill outbursts rock my sleep-deprived head.
    Mrs. Scott sees my grimace and greets me with a big smile. “Good morning, Katie!”
    Mr. Scott sticks his head around the corner from the living room. “Morning, Katie!”
    Great. My foster parents are morning people. Could this get any worse?
    “Oh!” I jump at the intrusion of a wet dog nose.
    “Rocky, get back. He’s just smelling your clothes, trying to get to know you.” Mrs. Scott gives the dog a command, and he charges back into the living room with his duet partner.
    That dog’s way of getting to know me is totally scandalous. If I greeted people like that at school, I’d be arrested.
    “Take a seat, sweetie, and I’ll get you something to eat.” Mrs. Scott guides me to the breakfast nook table and puts silverware in front of me. “Did you sleep well?”
    Choosing to ignore her question, I barely hold onto a smart remark about my lack of sleep. First of all, I don’t do mornings. And second of all, I don’t function well on zero sleep. I just don’t feel I’m at my best when the bags under my eyes are beyond the power of foundation, concealer, or spackle.
    Mrs. Scott brings me my breakfast—a giant stack of smiley faced pancakes. Okay, not bad. I like pancakes. At least it’s not lumpy oatmeal or some cereal with the word fiber in the name.
    My new foster mom flutters all around me, handing me more pancakes, plus fruit, hot chocolate, and juice. Milk is noticeably absent. I guess no one trusts me with that drink anymore. In between handing me syrup every few minutes and refilling my juice, she talks nonstop of where we’ll shop and what we’ll hunt for. Mrs. Scott is just a ball of uncontained energy this morning.
    I can hardly hear her chatter for the torturous sounds of her two favorite guys in the next room. I do catch snippets, such as “I hear tall boots are out,”