Jessa James - Bad Behavior

I slouch a little. “What… what does that mean for us? Me and my little brothers, I mean. Why… I mean… where will I go after school?”

My voice cracks on the last word. All I can imagine is that I’m going to walk in the door of Grandma Jane’s house, and she won’t be there.

Fuck.

“Well, we’ve contacted the department of children and family services,” Ms. Song says, coming over to put her hand on my shoulder.

“What? Why?” I ask, dazed.

“They will find a good place for you to stay tonight. And then they’ll help you figure out what the next step will be,” Mr. Smith says.

I look at him, my eyes starting to fill. “Are they the foster care people?”

I know all about foster care. Back when my mom abandoned us, until my grandma turned up, the three of us were in foster care for a few weeks. All of us were in different homes.

“Yes, exactly,” Mr. Smith says.

“I’m not going with them,” I utter, growing angry. My tears spill over, slowly leaking down my face. “They won’t even put me and my brothers together.”

“We should just see what they say,” Ms. Song cuts in. “They know best, I’m sure.”

I can imagine my brothers now. I can see Forest being told about Grandma Jane, Gunnar being told that we’re going to different foster care homes.

Gunnar is so young, he won’t even remember me and Forest after a few months.

I clench my fists, standing up so abruptly that my chair tips over.

“Oh, Jameson—” Ms. Song says.

“Hold on there, son.” Mr. Smith grabs me by the arm. “You’re going to have to wait here for a while. The people from DFACS should be here soon.”

Tears are streaming down my face now, snot is oozing from my nose. “No, you don’t understand! I can’t go into foster care! I need my brothers to stay with me!”

“Son—”

“Fuck you! Don’t call me that!” I scream. But despite his age, Mr. Smith is still stronger than me. He manages to wrap his arms around me, pulling me deeper into the office.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“No it’s not! You just told me my fucking grandma is dead!”

I’m hysterical, clawing at him, grabbing fistfuls of his pink and grey shirt, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he just tells me it’s okay, over and over again.

But I know that it’s not.

It’s not okay.

My grandma is dead. My little brothers probably don’t even know yet, but her death marks a turning point in our lives. I know that DFACS will probably try to force me and my brothers into separate foster homes.

Already, I’m scrambling to figure out the details of running away, to make it on my own. Not just me, but my two little brothers, too. Life has taken enough from us, I’ll be damned if I let anyone split us up.

So no, nothing is okay. And I don’t know if it ever will be again.

2

One Year Ago — Asher’s Engagement Party

“And that’s why I make a toast, here at the engagement party. To the happy couple!” Gunnar yells to the assembled crowd standing at the bar. I stand with my arm around my fiancée Jenna, smiling. My expression isn’t fake, but it is strained. It’s always a little weird to be the one toasted. “May you two live a long and happy life.”

Everyone says “hear, hear!” or “cheers!” and lifts their glasses. I raise my glass of champagne, making eye contact with Jameson, who is skulking over in the corner. He looks tall and brooding in his dark jeans and leather jacket, which is kind of his thing.

Cece, Jameson’s grungy surfer flavor of the week, downs her whole glass of champagne in one swallow. I personally can’t stand the bottle blonde, do-I-have-to-wear-shoes-here thing, but to each his own I guess.

He inclines his head towards me, then takes a sip. Jameson has been a serious prick about my engagement to Jenna, so the fact that he was even invited here tonight is a gift from me to him.

I sip my champagne, turning away from him. It made me uneasy to have these feelings about Jameson, who has been my best friend since we were kids.

“Honey,” Jenna says, handing me her champagne glass. She picks a little invisible speck of lint off of my white button down, smiling. “Could you get me another glass?”

“Sure. I could use something stronger, anyway.”

“Just be sure not to get drunk.” She straightens her black mini dress and flips her blonde hair. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong impression of you.”

“Heaven forbid,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I’m serious! There are a lot of people here tonight, not just your grubby friends.”

I’m mildly offended, but glancing over at Jameson and his girlfriend, I can’t really say anything. They are making out now, Cece fisting his leather jacket and pulling him down to her level. Soon enough, they’ll disappear from the party for a while, probably to fuck in a closet somewhere.

I glance at Jenna, who has turned away. I’m almost jealous of Jameson in that regard. Jenna is an ice princess on her best day. But she also happens to be from a family that is wealthier than my family, and my family has money.

The fact that I bagged Jenna, and did it without their help, probably eats my mother and father up at night. That alone is worth ten Ceces, in my opinion.

I turn and head for the bar. The bartender goes to get my drinks, and I’m impressed by how efficiently he moves. Of course he does, I think. Jameson picked this place. Other than surfing, bartending is the only passion Jameson probably has.

Well, that and grimy former strippers.

Still, as I look around at the liquor bottles lined up so neatly, at the bartenders doing their job very diligently, I find myself jealous. If I knew anything about liquor, I would set up a bar in a heartbeat.

I even have a trust fund, set up by my grandparents. I’ve never touched it, afraid to spend even a cent of that money.

I sigh, looking to my right. My little sister Emma is sitting on a barstool at the end of the bar, staring off into space. I look in the general direction that she’s staring, but I just see Jameson and Cece making out.

My eyes linger on Jameson, and I remember my moment of longing. I have a lightbulb moment, of sorts. A fission of energy passes through me, setting my mind on fire.

I could have a bar like this one. Hell, with Jameson’s knowledge and my business prowess, I feel like we could really make something great.

I hesitate, because Jameson has really been a pain in the ass lately about Jenna. He’s been grouchy and downright antagonistic about her, which has led to icy silences and pouting from her side.

But the idea of running a bar with Jameson is so great; him carefully crafting the perfect old fashioned, me handling the day to day worries and the money.

The idea is too appealing to pass up. At the very least, I have to tell him about it.

I move swiftly, my mind made up. I get waylaid by a couple of Jenna’s friends before I can talk to him, of course. But I track him down eventually, before he can make his exit with Cece.

“Hey. You got a minute?” I say.

He swirls the whiskey in his glass and looks at me with amusement. “This whole party is for you. Of course I have a minute.”

“You wanna go outside?” I ask.

Jameson nods and tells Cece he’ll be back. I lead the way to the door, pushing it open. I step out of the air conditioning, trading it for the early evening sea breeze. We’re only a few blocks away from the ocean right now, if the tang of salt in the air didn’t give it away.

I lean up against the rough wood wall of the bar, and Jameson does the same. We both look out at the street while I gather my thoughts.