Chapter One: That Night

                                    

                                          
Callie's POV
It had been a long, dreadful week since the interview with the social worker. This was the longest I'd ever been away from home since I found the Fosters, and it was starting to get to me.
                          
I was beginning to miss the little things. I missed all those late night talks with Mariana, the hushed giggles and groggy voices communicating between us. I missed Stef and Lena's warm hugs and meaningful 'I love you's, and seeing them kiss in my peripheral vision on their happiest days. I missed helping Jude with his homework. I even missed hearing Jesus' sarcastic remarks about who-knows-what from day to day.
                          
And I missed Brandon.
                          
But even as much as I missed those things, I'd been missing them for much longer than a week. Things at home haven't been the same lately. For instance, Mariana and I hadn't been giggling at night anymore, ever since Wyatt told me on my 17th birthday that they had sex! And though my moms' hugs were still just as warm and they told me they loved me just as consistently, I didn't see them hugging each other or them telling each other 'I love you,' as much as I'd like to.
                          
They tried to hide it, but my siblings and I could all see that their marriage just wasn't the same, and that killed us, to see our parent's hearts breaking in sync.
                          
Lately, Jude's been so hostile toward me, ever since he found out about my half-sister, Sophia; he didn't really need my help with his homework as much as he needed it from Mariana. And Jesus hadn't been home for a while now. I still don't see why Moms let him go to boarding school, after he was almost killed in a car accident with Mariana and their birth mom, Ana, who was always causing problems for our family. I mean, we almost lost our brother, they almost lost their son. And when he went to boarding school, we lost him anyway.
                          
I didn't just miss being at home, I missed the feeling of home, when everything was okay with the Fosters. When our family was happy. And now everything was falling apart around us, imploding atop us.
                          
But tonight I was going to change that, because out of all the things I missed, I was striving for Brandon the most . . .
                          
It was just past midnight, and Rita, who was fostering me until I could go back home, had fallen asleep watching Full House reruns hours ago. And like always, I acted on a snap-decision.
                          
So here I stood, in my own front yard, and I couldn't even go inside. But I needed to see Brandon. As much as I wanted to see Moms or my sister or my brother, I needed to see Brandon.
                          
It was like I was hooked on drugs. This past week, I've been itching to see him, thirsting for him, like just looking into his eyes will make all the torture just disappear somehow. Because Brandon always does . . . He makes it all work, he makes it all come together right when it all comes so far apart.
                          
I texted Brandon, but the message didn't deliver, which meant his phone was off. He was always borrowing my charger because he was continuously losing his; something that just doesn't change.
                          
So I walked up to the door, being as quiet as I could in a pair of Chuck Taylor's, and I turned the front door knob. Locked.
                          
And if I was smart, I'd know that the back door was locked too, and there was no sense in walking back their only to have the neighbor's dog snap its teeth at me from the other side of the fence. Luckily, there was one instance where I'd caught Jesus coming in, at two in the morning, from the window in the family room, which, according him, had a broken lock and Moms didn't know.
                          
So I tried it. Avoiding all the sticks and crunchy leaves, I tip-toed to the side of the house and lifted the window up, with no resistance. Attempting to be as quiet and stealthy as possible, which didn't usually work for my lanky body, I put my left leg through the window and followed through with my mid-section. My right leg came afterword, surprisingly, without a sound. I had successfully broken and entered into my own house, and I was a little bit smug about that.