If we're trying to look for silver linings, at least it's harder to fall asleep on an empty stomach. Sure, my insides feel like mush, my throat akin to sandpaper... but at least no sleep means no nightmares.

Am I right or am I right?

I lie awake at midnight, still dressed in my jeans and hoodie from earlier, listening to the distant buzz of the TV downstairs. I haven't been back down since my talk with Stella; I haven't been out of my room since hopping off the express train to vom-town.

The best I could manage with what little energy I had left was to trudge over to my bed and flop down face-first, exhausted. I hadn't even bothered to brush my teeth, although the lingering taste in my mouth is making me regret that oversight.

With a sigh, I roll onto my back and stare blankly at the ceiling.

It might make me pathetic, but I have this sudden urge to call Charlotte. I want her to tell me that everything's going to be okay. I want to listen to her voice, hear her laugh – she always makes things better.

But it's midnight and I don't want to bug her. It's way too late to call.

Her empty bed sits a mere three meters away, blatantly mocking me. Sometimes, I really hate that she's gone.

One more week, that's all I've got left to wait before her visit. Seven more days to go and she'll be here, in this room, in that bed. Then, hopefully, she can fix everything like she always does. She can fix things with Bailey like she always does – like older sisters are supposed to know how to.

I don't know anything, anymore – except that, if Bailey didn't hate me before, she probably does now.

I start to wonder if I made the right call, tattling on her about the Wilson's thing. I wonder if there's a better way I could've handled it.

Maybe I shouldn't have got her into trouble. Maybe I should've said that her first shift was a disaster or something, found some excuse for why she wouldn't be returning for a second one.

But that would've meant lying again.

I hate that I feel so crappy about doing the right thing.

I remember Lucas's words as he told me that Bailey's a good kid. Selfishly, I wish he was wrong. It would make everything so much simpler.

Because, really, the only thing Bailey is guilty of here is making a friend – her only friend, might I add. Not exactly a crime, is it? And, like she said, it's not like she planned any of it. It was entirely circumstantial.

If you think about it, this is all Mr Harden's fault, really.

He's the one that partnered them for that stupid project in the first place. I mean, honestly, what chump ever thought teacher-assigned partners were a good idea, anyway?

I groan and roll onto my side, willing my brain to shut up. I can't remember the last time I had nothing to think about. Sometimes my brain feels so full it hurts, crammed with a bunch of problems.

The list goes as follows:

Problem A – Bailey's friendship with Alex and the rest of the Coleman's.

Problem B – My friendship with the Coleman's (because to say I'd still cross the street if I saw one of them walking towards me would be a lie).

Problem C – This dread I feel over the Crawford's someday finding out about problem A and B, the shit-storm it would cause for our entire family.

Problem D – Whatever this new problem with Bailey is. Scratch that, whatever the real problem with Bailey is. And the fact that she won't talk to me about it.

Problem E – My nightmares. Enough said.

Problem F – This ongoing issue with social. Karen and Noah's random pop-in visits and the stress it's putting on our foster parents.

Problem G – My boyfriend's (sorry, ex-boyfriend's) betrayal... and with my best friend, no less.

See? We're already at G and that's not even all of them. And let's not forget about my upcoming exam results, important enough to dictate my whole future!

There's so much to think about. It's too much to think about – and I don't know what to do about any of it. I can't fix any of it.

In an attempt to fight off the impending hopelessness, I try and find a thing that I can do – a small thing, something. Anything to distract me from the uncomfortable squeeze inside my chest.

I might not be able to do much else... but I can brush my teeth. I can rid myself of the rancid taste inside my mouth.

So that's what I do.

It takes a good few minutes before I manage to drag myself up and into the bathroom. When I reach the sink, I try not to grimace at the sight greeting me in the mirror.

I look like shit.

My face is a shade too pale, looking sickly under the hard light of the bathroom. It contrasts drastically with the dark smudges decorating my eyes – exhaustion mixed with crusty, old eyeliner that I haven't bothered to wash off.

Turning on the tap, I splash my face with some cold water, simultaneously attempting to wash off the makeup and add some colour to my cheeks. It works – sort of – and then I reach for my toothbrush.

It's truly ridiculous, how triumphant I feel over the small act of simple oral hygiene. Even so, the quick trip to the bathroom helps to make me feel more like myself – less zombified, if that even makes sense.

With clean teeth, a fresh face, and zero desire to sleep, I try and think of something else I can do. The ongoing buzz of the TV downstairs sparks an idea, reminding me that I'm not the only one still awake.

I heard Bailey and the boys come up to bed a few hours ago, meaning the only people that can be down in the living room are Stella and George. And, with only a week left before Bailey's birthday, I've not got much time to talk to them about those concert tickets.

Bailey might be pissed at me but she can't turn down a chance to see Atomic Arsonists. Taking her to that concert could be it, the chance I need to make things right with her. This could bring us closer together, more like how things used to be when we were younger.

I need Stella and George to say yes.

Retrieving the tickets from my room on my way downstairs, I tuck them into the back pocket of my jeans. I get as far as the downstairs hallway before my nerve starts to fail me, my hand half raised to knock on the living room door.

Then, I pause.

I'm not really sure at what point I turned into such a baby. Talking to my foster parents never used to be so difficult, never used to fill me with this much anxiety. At least, it hasn't for a very long time.

But, for some reason, as I listen to the sound of George's chuckle drifting through from the other side of the door, I feel myself getting stressed.

Because what if this makes them mad?

Bailey's already asked about the concert. They've already said no. Will they be pissed that I'm asking, too? Will they be angry that I've already got the tickets? Will they be offended, annoyed that I didn't ask them first?

God, I hope not. But, the more I think about it, the more likely the scenario seems.

"...Do you think we're making the right decision?" Stella's voice interrupts my thoughts, a quiet murmur against the gaudy sound of canned TV laughter.

There's a pause before George sighs, a tired sound that makes me frown. "Love. I thought we agreed..."

"I know, I know." Stella sighs, too. "I'm just worried we're making a mistake with this."

My frown deepens, confusion growing as I shamelessly eavesdrop on their conversation. All worry about the concert flies from my mind as I inch closer to the door, trying to catch their words over the sound of the TV.

"...We've spoken to Karen about this," George says. "We all agreed that this is for the best..."

"I know," Stella says again. "I just hate lying to the kids."

"We're not lying. We're holding off on telling them the truth. It's different," George assures her.

"Yeah. I suppose..."

What truth? I wonder. What decision?

But I don't get anything else as the pair fall silent, presumably returning their attention to the TV. And so, as always, my mind has no choice but to jump to conclusions.

The worst conclusions.

Because whatever it is that they've discussed with Karen, it must revolve around us, right? Us kids, us as a family?

What if Karen's pulling our placement? Or, worse yet, what if Stella and George have decided to end our placement? What if this is all getting to be too much for them and they've decided to quit fostering? What if they're holding off on telling us until Karen's found a replacement?

The thought chips at my heart like an ice pick.

I mean, it wouldn't be the first time a foster placement has bailed. You hear stories of it happening all the time – and over much smaller issues than the ones we've been facing recently. Psychotic fathers and attempted kidnappings... who would want to stick around for that?

No. No, I'm being stupid.

I've lived with the Crawford's for almost a decade. They've raised us, loved us, wanted us for years. They wouldn't change their minds now, not after all this time.

...would they?

The longer I stand and dwell on it, the more that little sense of doubt in my head makes sense – the one that tells me I'm right to worry, that I should be paranoid. With each second that passes, the harder it gets to tell myself that the worry and paranoia are completely irrational.

The knock sounds before I realise my hand has moved. At the sound of Stella's quiet, "come in," I have no choice but to follow through – even though I have no clue what to say to them anymore.

I find them cuddled together on the sofa, George's arm nestled around Stella's shoulders. The room is dimly lit, the TV casting stark shadows across their faces as it flickers from one frame to the next.

For a moment, nobody says anything. I stand in the doorway nervously, regretting my decision to come downstairs the moment I realise they're waiting for me to speak.

"Uh... can I talk to you guys for a minute?" I ask, clearing my throat.

But I have no idea what to say.

I've got some tickets to see Atomic Arsonists.

What did you and Karen talk about?

So, about that concert Bailey wanted to go to...

What decision have you made? What exactly does Karen think is 'for the best'?

You know how it's Bailey's birthday next week? Well, I think I've got the perfect present for her.

Are you guys giving up on us? Are you calling it quits?

The response from George is instantaneous. He reaches for the TV remote on the arm of the sofa next to him and turns it off, making a point of giving me his full attention. As he does, the light from the TV gives way to that of the corner lamp beside him, creating a warm and welcoming glow that helps ease my mind a little.

"Of course, kid. Always. You know that."

Stella nods and motions for me to come into the room, the pair of them sitting forward expectantly as I move towards the coffee table opposite. I perch on the edge, hands clasped together between my knees as I try and figure out what to say.

Do I mention the tickets or bring up what I just overhead?

Do I even want to know the truth, whatever secret it is that they're keeping? I mean, they do say that ignorance is bliss, right?

As I silently organise my thoughts, I notice Stella and George share a quick, worried glance.

"Is everything okay, honey?" Stella asks when I don't say anything else. Her voice holds a familiar warmth that inexplicably makes my eyes sting.

I try to ignore the sudden urge to cry.

Concert tickets or what I just heard...

"I'm worried about Bailey," I blurt out of nowhere, catching all three of us by surprise.

I definitely hadn't been planning on saying that. But it's out there now and I can't take it back.

"Bailey?" Stella asks, confused.

"Yeah..." I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I think—I don't know. I think there might be something going on with her. I'm just... worried."

The words tumble out, vague and unhelpful – but they're the only words I have.

Memories resurface of the argument we had about the Coleman's, standing out in that street. I can see that look on her face, the one that scared me shitless.

'Because they make me feel safe.'

I hate that sentence. I hate what it implies. I hate not knowing what it implies.

"We..." Stella starts, hesitating as she tries to figure out how to respond. "Bailey's been—we've noticed..."

She stops and looks to George for help.

"We know what you mean," George sighs, leaning back against the sofa cushions. He studies me warily, his eyes betraying his reluctance. ""We've noticed some things recently, that she's been acting different."

"Distant," Stella adds.

"Exactly." George nods. "And we're... working on it."

"Working on it," I repeat, looking back and forth between the two of them. I don't understand. "Working on it, how?"

"Jade," George says, sighing again as he runs a hand down his face. "It's... we can't really discuss it with you." His smile looks strained as he adds, "I know that's not what you want to hear, but we are dealing with it. We've noticed a change in her, too. You don't need to worry."

In other words, they can't discuss Bailey's personal problems behind her back. If the roles were reversed and Bailey came to them to talk about me, they would hit her with the same spiel.

Confidentiality is a foundation of trust. If they fucked with that foundation, our whole house would crumble around us.

"...Fair enough," I agree reluctantly, sighing. "I just... I don't know. I think there's something she's not telling me. I don't know how to explain it. I just have a bad feeling that she's..." I trail off, trying to find the right words.

In trouble, not okay...

"Struggling," I what I settle for.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Stella places a comforting hand on my knee. "Remember what I said earlier? Worrying is our job. We'll sort it. That's what we're here for. We worry so you don't have to."

"I know, I know," I agree glumly. Although that whole prospect is far easier said than done, because I will always worry about my sisters – it's ingrained into my DNA, it's who I am.

"Look," George starts, his voice kind but cautious. "Bailey's not the best communicator. That's no secret." He leans forward and nudges my foot with his, encouraging me to listen as he says, "But if she is struggling, we're not going to stop until we find a way to help. I can promise you that. And that goes the same for all of you."

I try for a smile and immediately feel it wobble.

"Is this what's been playing on your mind lately?" George continues, sounding concerned. "You've been worrying about Bailey? Is that why you've been so... worn out?"

His concern terrifies me. I don't want him to be concerned about me – he doesn't need to be – so I try to shut it down.

"I'm fine," I assure them, not wanting this conversation to become about me. That's not why I came down here to talk to them.

We don't need to discuss me.

Although, from the look I catch between the two of them, I'm worried that Stella and George disagree.

"Jade, honey..." Stella starts in that voice – the one that tells me I'm not going to like where this conversation is going.

I interrupt before she can get any further.

"Look, you're right," I agree, trying to brush the conversation under the carpet. "Bailey's problems are yours to sort, not mine. I'll stop stressing and let you guys do your thing." George frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but I steamroll straight past whatever words he's trying to get out. "This isn't even what I came down here for, anyway. There's something else I wanted to talk to you about..."

Then, without thinking any more on how they'll react to the news, I dig the concert tickets out of my back pocket and hold them out.

And, thankfully, it's a pretty effective distraction technique.

"I was planning on giving these to Bailey for her birthday," I blurt out, nibbling on my thumbnail anxiously once they've both taken a ticket to look at. "I was thinking... maybe I could take her? I have savings. I can cover the cost of the train tickets and everything... I just wanted to run the idea past you."

"You bought these for her?" Stella asks, finally lifting her gaze from the ticket in her hand to look at me.

She doesn't look pissed, exactly. She doesn't look not pissed, either.

"Er—sort of," I explain. "My friend was giving them away for a discounted price. I got a pretty good deal for them."

George lets out a sigh, running a hand down his face. "Well," he mutters. "This is sure going to beat the boots we got her."

My hopes rise, only to be immediately squashed by Stella.

"That's if we let her go," Stella quickly adds, shooting George a look that clearly reads, 'we need to discuss this first.' Then, she looks back at me, her lips pulled down into a frown. "I wish you'd talked to us about it before taking the tickets."

I wince, unsurprised by her words. I'd sort of already guessed that one was coming – and I really can't blame her. Talking to her and George first would've been the smarter thing to do, in hindsight.

"I know. It was kind of a spur of the moment thing," I admit awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

This was a bad idea...

As if seeing the regret deep inside my soul, Stella attempts to school her face into a smile. It only half works, the remaining crease to her brow carved like concrete.

"It's not that I don't want you both to go, honey," she explains, somewhat hesitantly. "I mean, it's a lovely idea – it really is – and I know Bailey would love to go. It's just..." she sighs, her smile turning apologetic. She rubs her temples, looking back down at the ticket resting on her knee. "There's a lot we'd have to consider."

"I'm happy to cover the cost of everything," I reiterate, not wanting to push my luck but also not wanting money to factor in as one of those considerations. "And I'd keep my eye on her the whole time. I wouldn't let her out of my sight."

"We know that, kid," George assures me. "We trust you."

"And money's not really the issue, either," Stella says, grimacing as she adds, "Not that we'd want you to use all your savings on this. We've seen how hard you've worked for that money. I don't want you spending it all before you've got to university."

"I would be sensible with it," I assure her. "So... what is the issue?"

"The timing," Stella answers. "It's during term time... so you'd both have to take the day off. Maybe even two."

Oh... right.

"I'm not sure how Karen would..." The expression on her face – stressed and anxious – fills in the rest of that sentence, and I instantly feel like a dumbass for not seeing the dilemma sooner.

If Karen found out that Stella and George let us skip school to go to a concert, it wouldn't exactly reflect well on their parenting skills.

On the upside, I guess that means I was wrong a minute ago. If they're still worried about Karen's opinion, I'm less inclined to believe they're throwing in the foster towel just yet. Silver linings, and all that shit.

But that doesn't make the reality of what Stella's saying any less sucky.

"Dammit," I sigh. "I didn't even think about that. I was just..." I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head at myself. "I just thought this would be a great chance for me and Bailey to – I dunno – connect, I guess. It's fine, though. Don't worry about it. I can sell the tickets to someone else."

There are always those headphones I can get Bailey instead.

"Hey now, hold up," George says, placing a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder. "We've not said no yet. Just give us a night or two to mull this over, kid. And don't mention anything to your sister until we've made a decision."

So, of course, I agree and go back up to my room – because what other choice do I have? I've given my argument; I've made my case. Now it's simply down to whatever decision Stella and George come to, and whether they think Bailey's happiness is worth the risk.

Selfishly, I'm sort of glad that decision's not in my hands this time.

It's a liberating feeling, like floating above the clouds for once, rather than being drenched from underneath them. And yet, despite that sense of liberation, the familiar sense of worried paranoia starts to creep up on me like a long, rumbling roll of thunder.

And underneath that thunder sits a single question:

What other decisions have Stella and George been making?

*********

I'm sorry, what's that? Nah, you're crazy. Three months haven't passed... you must've just mastered time travel, or something. Congratulations!

.

.

.

Yeeeaahhh, so... a three month hiatus is a bit of a whoopsie, right? Honestly, my life's been a bit crazy recently and I didn't even notice the time pass. My bad.

I'm going to try and get back into writing more, ideally back to weekly updates if I can. I've missed these characters and I'm excited to jump back into the town of Greencliff & see what disasters await around the next corner - because, let's face it, I'm a meanie and won't give poor Jade a break. Ever.

If I can't get the next chapter written for Thursday, I'll aim for next week. I'd like to get back into my Thursday updates because it definitely helps me structure my writing time.

Anyways, until next time my lovelies - happy reading! X