Poughkeepsie Begins (The Poughkeepsie Brotherhood #0.5) Read Free

they’d swaddled him with—affection, food, fresh sheets—had been new to him. They’d liked to keep him on a schedule. And he was a night owl, so he saw how often they came in throughout the evening to check on him—over and over, like he might melt away.
    The teachers at preschool had been so proud of him, with his new backpack and his pictures of the kitty. And his smile. “I haven’t seen that kid smile since he’s been here. Let’s hope the courts get it right this time,” he’d heard one of them say.
    The day Foster and Foster dressed him up and brought him to the church—No, it wasn’t. It was court—the woman Foster had had red eyes. She’d hugged him so much.
    She’d started crying while talking to the man on the stage. Begging. Beckett had cried too when she started to beg.
    “Please. He’s just our everything. Please.” Foster had gotten on her knees. Man Foster had picked Beckett up and put his other hand on Foster lady.
    But the policeman of the court had taken Beckett away. He hadn’t been a talker either. The Fosters had been so sad.
    Beckett’s mother had been in another room. She’d had a sideways smile when he entered. “I don’t want you, but they sure as shit can’t have you,” she’d said.
    And that was that.
    The teachers at the preschool had given him extra hugs when they saw him in the ragged clothes, the underwear that wasn’t white anymore. His hair had grown long, and his mother had left him on the front lawn again and again, but no one stopped her from doing it anymore.
    Whatever the last straw had been, Beckett couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d had a break with reality like his boy Blake. Maybe he’d only screamed like his boy Cole. But however it had happened, he’d lost his mother. His next memory was traveling from one house to another, never settling for long. He was a handful, they always said.
    Beckett stared at his desk in Mrs. Drivens’ class for a moment and closed his eyes. He supposed that term still applied to him—along with quite a few others. Everyone was seated and ten minutes into the homework review when the classroom door opened. All the kids looked up like animals in a zoo. He did too because curiosity and cats and all that nonsense.
    She was pretty. And she was scared. He could read people, and that’s what he did. She had money. The backpack alone was worth a hundred dollars. The raven black hair had been cut at a salon. Nails manicured—either she was good at it or got it done.
    Shoes were new looking. Short skirt, but not slut short. Soft cardigan. Several boys waggled their eyebrows at her. She had a nice rack.
    Mrs. Drivens took her pass and welcomed her to the room. “Hey, guys, this is Candy Cox. Please make sure she’s feeling welcome.”
    Beckett heard snickering around him, mixed with her name and some low wolf whistles. The unfortunately named Candy Cox blushed fast and pink. She rushed to the back of the room and sat down in the seat next to Beckett, her dark hair swishing.
    Mrs. Drivens called the class back to order in a tone that said she was pissed. Everyone settled. A new girl in school was like a piñata at a party—everyone looking for a chance to hit on her. Poor Candy. Lucky him, he got to take the first swing.
    He found a pencil on the floor next to him and jotted down a note: Sorry about them. Welcome to Poughkeepsie East.
    He slid the note to her. She looked shocked but finally glanced at him. He could see unease cross her pretty face: fancy girl slumming it next to the school stoner. He might as well wear a shirt that said Back up and back off .
    Candy slid the note off her desk and into her lap. She was the most obvious note reader in the damn world. She tucked the note into her binder and nodded at the front of the room: good student paying attention.
    That was that. By third period, four guys would pull her to the side and advise her to sit nowhere near him for the rest of her life.
    She slid forward in her chair