The plains outside the car windows are dandruffed with snow. Remnants of wheat and barley barb from the mud. A few horses and cows still venture outside and I beam each time I see one.

Some of them are dressed in horse jackets with their ears tucked into bonnets. Whoever decided to make hats for horses should be knighted or summat. Absolute brilliance!

'You've not come at the best season.'

I turn from the scenery of rural West Country to Bobbi.

She insisted I call her that instead of Ms Emmerson when she picked me up from the train station. Which I call a train station extremely leniently considering it were an unshielded platform surrounded by acres and acres of absolutely nothing.

She's dressed in patched jeans and a knitted jumper, ginger curls gathered into two cornrows, and her brown face is so freckled it almost looks dirty. Some of it might be dirt, judging by the soil stuck beneath her fingernails.

'But trust me,' she continues, 'in a few months you'll be awestruck by how beautiful it gets.'

Bold of her to assume I'll be here in a few months.

My phone buzzez, saving me from having to respond.

Diwa🐞: Hope it's going ok 💞 Ring me when you're free?

You: first of all if you're gonna be a lesbian u have to turn off ur autocaps

You: but yeah its good so far

You: she's nice

You: i think

You: will phone later

'I talked with the headteacher at our local school,' Bobbi says when I lock the phone screen. 'They said they'd be happy to have yeh, if you fancy.'

I tuck my new braids behind my ears though they immediately fall back to frame my face. 'If I fancy?'

'I'm not gonna force you into school. It's your choice.'

It's a trap. Has to be. I mean... she's been way too nice so far.

I force the logical part of my consciousness to ignore that voice. She's the one who decided to start a foster home for problem kids. What, is she gonna be all shocked when the kids have problems? Bobbi got herself into this all on her own.

'Have I gotta do year twelve over or could I start right away?' I ask.

'Up to you.'

Not ready to commit to any answer yet, I turn back to the window.

I'm hardly buzzed at the thought of school or being stuck in it for a year longer than necessary, but if I'm gonna make it work here, a proper fresh start might be best. If I stay back a year, I'd only go back to school in September which gives me half a year to work on the worst of my issues. So maybe I won't maul someone on my first day at school.

If I stay back a year, I can pick different subjects. I might be able to blackmail them to let me take art without a GCSE—or, like, I mean, I could ask politely.

'Lucky you, we've got three rooms vacant so you can choose for yerself.'

No excitement bubbles up in me. The tone of Bobbi's voice functions as a glaring warning sign that reads BOREDOM AHEAD. Her letting me pick my room is only a way to manipulate me to give in to whatever demands she has next. I've seen it before.

'Now, I ain't big on rules,' Bobbi starts, exactly as predicted, 'but we have a few in Oak Shaw and I need you to follow em. I am as lenient as I can be, but I'm serious bout these.'

I hum to communicate that I'm listening though I keep my gaze on the reflective verge posts that zoom past us. One. Two. Three. One...

'First off, I don't condone the use of any sort of slurs or derogatory language under my roof. I get that you kids fight and you can fight all you like, but you don't call anybody the r-word or make fun of them for being gay or anything like that.

'Second, if you're gonna get intoxicated in any way, you tell me. Whether you're at home or somewhere else. You tell me, "Bobbi, I'm gonna smoke a joint". You don't show up from "a walk" with your eyes red and doused in perfume like I can't put two and two together. I won't stop yeh, but I need to know when it's happening.

'Third, you don't feed scraps to the animals. Just cause they'll eat everything, don't mean they should eat everything. A dog ain't a wastebasket.

'And finally, on Saturdays, we eat dinner together at six-thirty. You don't gotta eat the same food as anyone else, but we eat together at the table unless you've got my explicit permission not to be there.'

She falls silent to allow me to take it all in. When I say nowt, her attention poked at my cheek.

'Okay?'

My tongue strikes to declare that I couldn't give a fuck about her fucking rules. I bite it down, forcefully enough for a rusty tang to seep onto my taste buds.

'Okay.'

The plains withdraw behind woods that swallow us whole. Each broadleaf is carefully placed; it's a timber farm, not a forest as I initially assumed. Here, with the trees tall enough to block the sun from melting it, greying bannisters of snow line the road.

'Now, I know you've got a history of fighting.'

Beewolf has been quiet since its sting which left a swelling on my spine. But the welt burns now, pain (what if I have sepsis?) worming across my back.

'You wanna tell me about that? You don't have to.' Bobbi adds the latter bit like she's aware of the tightening of my throat, and somehow it's this very consideration that loosens it enough for me to speak.

'I... get provoked easily.'

She hums. 'How does it make you feel? I'm asking so that we know where we can start unlearning those instincts, what it is we need to substitute. Does it make you feel powerful, in control?'

'No.' My voice slips out pathetically high and cracked.

I twist away, pressing my forehead against the passenger window where I try to see the gap where the glass rests. Understanding though she may be, I don't want Bobbi to see me cry within my first hour of knowing her.

Nearly ten minutes pass before I trust myself to talk again.

'It scares me. I'm paranoid all the time. And–' I cut myself off.

But Bobbi has read my report already. She knows what the doctors think. And like I said, she chose to work with troubled teens so...

'I hear these voices. And I think everyone's out to get me so I have to get them first.'

My hands shake. I shove them into my hoodie pocket.

It won't work if I don't let it. I have to try to make it work here. I promised Nicolás I'd try—I promised myself.

So I guess I've just gotta get used to the feeling of my bones being whittled down with every word.

'Thank you for telling me,' Bobbi says and her voice is so comforting that I almost burst into sobs. 'What about things that help you feel less afraid? Have you got things like that?'

'Art,' I croak. 'My brother. And my best friend.' I shove my hands deeper into my hoodie pouch. 'That's it, I guess.'

Noticing my embarrassment, Bobbi laughs. 'You aren't flunking a quiz if you ain't got at least five.'

My cheeks burn.

She offers me a smile. It's only a momentary glance before she returns her focus to the road but it scrapes the frost from my bones before it has time to gather.

'I don't care what you've done backalong. All I care about is what I see while you're with me. And your case worker told me you're coming of your own choice so that's already a fantastic start to your recovery.'

"My recovery"... Yeah, that's a term that'll take time getting used to.

'I'm happy to have you, Cecilio. Is it okay for me to call you that?'

I've nodded before I've consciously processed the question and the answer takes me by surprise. Because it's true.

The name has lost its claws, lost the petrol it used to douse me in and the match to start the fire with. I hear it as a grouping of letters, uncharged with the abandonment by my parents. The name doesn't connect me to them any more than my blood does.

And my blood connects me only to Nicolás.

Notes

Backalong: In the past.