You're Not Alone

The car ride to Maryland was uneventful, for the most part.

The Social Services lady (Mrs. Jones, she'd said) had told me that she'd be the one driving me, and I'd made sure that I'd bugged the hell out of her for the four hours that it took to drive from New York to my brother's "humble abode".

I'd play my iPod at full blast, blaring alternative rock music throughout Mrs. Jones' new-looking Mercedes; smiling when I saw the irritated look on her face from the corner of my eye.

"Hey, Jonesey," I said, using the nickname I knew she hated. "How much longer until we get to Greyson's house?"

Mrs. Jones sighed irritably. "Like I told you five minutes ago, we have about two more hours left." Her eyes closed briefly as if she couldn't stand the idea of spending two more hours with me.

After about forty-five minutes or so, we stopped at this old-looking diner to get something to eat. Mrs. Jones sure looked far out of place in her gray pencil skirt and her frilly white blouse, her curly red hair bouncing around on her shoulders as she walked.

Well, I looked completely normal in my gray skinny jeans and a red T-shirt. My dirty old Converse made a horrid squelching sound against the tiled flooring as we walked to our table.

“So, Jonesey...” I began, and Mrs. Jones sighed. “What am I supposed to do in Baltimore? I know where I'm living, but...” I let my sentence trail off as I played with a packet of Splenda, tearing it open and dumping the sweetener onto my tongue.

Mrs. Jones grimaced.

“I mean, how do I know I'm not moving next door to a rapist or something?” I raised an eyebrow, giving her a scrutinizing gaze.

She sighed. “I happen to know that your neighbors are quite friendly. Besides, Baltimore is a lovely place to live. You shouldn't be worried.”

I slumped in the booth. “I wasn't.”

It was quiet after that. We ordered our food, ate, payed, and then left.

The rest of the ride to Maryland was awkward. Not the comfortable kind, the “I'm-in-a-car-with-a-stranger-who's-taking-me-to-go-live-with-my-goodie-two-shoes-brother” kind of awkward.

I took a deep breath as we pulled up the dirt road to Greyson's ginormous house. I mean, seriously? He lives alone, why does he need a three-story house?

I shook my head. I saw the front door open and Greyson stepped out onto the porch, waving at us.

He was smiling, his floppy brown hair blowing in the light breeze and his brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. 'The only things we have in common,' I thought, 'besides our parents.

The black Mercedes came to a stop, and I opened the door and stepped out. Mrs. Jones was already opening the trunk, handing Greyson my bags. You just can't wait to get rid of me, can you?

"You've grown." Greyson murmured, a stupid grin on his face. "Last time I saw you, you still wet the bed." He pulled me into a hug, and I couldn't help but smile.

"The last time I saw you, you did, too." Greyson laughed and gave me a look. "That was one time."

I looked around, fidgeting with my fingers. My gaze lingered on the neighbor's upstairs window, where I could see somebody watching us. It was too far away to see any details, but I could tell that it was a young-looking guy.

“Well,” Greyson said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Welcome to your new life.”