He follows me a lot easier than I expected him to, holding onto my hand, maybe too tightly, as if he’s terrified out of his wits.

“I thought you said driving with them was fun?” he questions. “So why would you want the night to end so soon?”

“The driving part is fun,” I assure him as I throw open the front door. The cool breeze kisses my skin and it smells like leaves and grass. “But the movie thing at the end is painful to endure. We always have to watch a kid appropriate movie. Either a cartoon or something rated PG.” I glance back at him. “Although, maybe because you’re older, they’ll let us watch something cooler.”

“Maybe I like cartoons and PG movies,” he counters, holding my gaze as he slides his hand from mine and folds his arms across his chest.

“Do you?”

“Not really. I just wanted to make a point. You shouldn’t make assumptions. Maybe I’m a kid at heart who likes kid movies.”

“You know what, Ayden? I think you and I might be good friends, if you’re lucky.” I snatch his hand again and tug him around the fence and up the driveway toward the open garage of my house. “Although, you still have to pass the music quiz.”

“Music quiz?” he asks, distracted by my mother’s black and red 1969 GTO parked in the garage next to my dad’s 1969 Chevelle SS, staring at both of them in awe, like most guys do.

“Yeah. Music. As in instruments and lyrics and stuff. I might not be able to be friends with you if you like some of that cliché pop music they always play on the radio.”

He cocks a brow at me. “Do I look like someone who’s into that kind of music?”

I release his hand as we near the car then smirk at him. “Well, my initial assumption would be a no, but you told me not to make assumptions.”

“But I didn’t expect you to listen.”

I wink at him. “I’m an excellent listener, along with many other awesome things.” I skip around to the driver’s side and dive into the backseat, giving the horn a couple of honks on my way.

“Get in!” I call out to Ayden as I push the passenger door open for him.

A second later, he slides onto the leather seat beside me.

“Where are they?” he asks as he settles in the seat, fidgeting with the leather band on his wrist.

“Who knows?” I lean over the console and pound on the horn until the door to the house swings open.

My mom and Lila come wandering out, scolding me for the horn honks. Their scolding is nothing new. I easily shrug it off and sit back in the seat as the drive begins.

My mother does her best not to peel the tires until we’re on the freeway, since the last time she did it out of the driveway the neighbors made a complaint. Once we’re on the long, curvy stretch of road, though, all bets are off.

“Just take it a bit easy, Ella,” Lila begs as she clutches the seat, something she always does when we go driving. “We have a newbie to your … um, interesting driving skills.”

“Awesome driving skills.” My mother smiles at me from the rearview mirror and I grin back, knowing what’s coming.

An instant later, she punches the gas and we’re off, flying down the road and weaving in and out of cars.

I relax and breathe in the air blowing through the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ayden picking at his black fingernail polish.

I stick out my hand and wiggle my fingers. “Look. We match.”

Again, he nearly smiles, but I’ve still yet to witness any sort of happiness from him. It’s got me curious, way more curious than the other kids Aunt Lila and Uncle Ethan have brought home. They all have their sad moments, but not like this, so sullen all the time. It makes me want to get him to smile really, really badly.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, without taking my eyes off Ayden. “Can we turn on some music?”

“Sure. What do you want to listen to?”

“Can I just see your iPod?”

She hands it to me, and I give it to Ayden. “Here you go.” I slip off my sandals and kick my feet up on the console. “Impress me.”

I wait patiently as his eyes dance between me and the iPod in his hand. He starts sorting through the songs. I swear he just about grins again when he makes his selection and returns the device back to me. I pause as I take it from him, catching a glimpse of a row of thin scars that look like cat scratches on the top of his hand. Noticing the direction of my gaze, he quickly jerks his sleeve over his hand then rotates toward the window again.

I want to ask him about the scars. I want to ask him a lot of things. But I force my curious side to shut up and focus on the music. The song he chose causes me to laugh, because of all things it’s by Nirvana. I start singing along under my breath, quiet enough that no one can actually hear me, while Ayden thrums his fingers to the beat, gazing out the window at the houses and stores in the distance.

“Are you sure you’re not too hot?” Lila asks Ayden for the millionth time, making her seem way more doting toward him than she was with the other three.

“I’m good,” he responds, scratching at the scars on the back of his hand as he turns inward.

“You know what would be cool,” I say when the silence gets to me. “If Ayden could come to the concert with Dad and me.”

“Oh, he can’t.” Lila fretfully glances over her shoulder at Ayden, who doesn’t say a thing. “Ayden has to take it easy for the first few weeks while he’s here, getting adjusted to everything. I don’t want to over-excite him.”