I carried my food to the kitchen. It couldn’t have come at a better time because I was starving. I opened the lid on the first container. Leftover lasagna. Smelling it before deciding to forget a plate, I nuked the whole dish in the microwave. Afterall, it was already noon. I was about to take a bite when a knock sounded on the door again.
I slid my chair back and got up. As I passed in front of the door, my heart sank at the neatly wrapped dark-brown hair bun that flashed in the window. I pushed the screen door open, knowing there was no point in pretending I didn’t know why she was there.
“Good morning, Graham.” Sylvia wearily smiled as she pushed her way through the door. Sylvia was the newest social worker recently assigned to my “case” since I moved in with Grandma. Fresh out of school, she still held that optimistic I’m-going-to-change-the-world attitude all the newbies have. “How are you?”
I leaned against the wall, as if merely standing took all my energy. “How am I supposed to be?”
“I got a call from the hospital.” She had one of those nasally voices that was so distracting, it made me cringe. “The nurse had reason to think your grandma will not be able to come home soon, because she does, in fact, need a hip replacement. They plan to transition her to a nursing home for six weeks since there is no one here who is over eighteen.”
I held my breath, knowing what was coming.
“I tried to get a hold of your mom, but it seems like her phone has been disconnected.” Her eyes hovered over mine. “Do you have a better number to reach her?”
I shrugged but didn’t offer any sound.
“Okay, then,” she went on in a slower voice. “I’m afraid I’m going to recommend you for temporary foster care until—”
“What?” I jolted, standing up straight. “Why can’t I stay here?”
Her brow furrowed before she said very quietly, “You can’t stay alone because you’re only sixteen, and the state won’t allow it.”
“What foster care?” My chest collapsed, remembering the last time I’d tried that. It hadn’t ended so well.
“I don’t know yet.” She rolled her bottom lip under her top row of teeth before steeling her lips into an obviously forced grin. “I’ll find you something comfortable.” Her gaze flashed outside. “Your grandmother did say the neighbor was checking on you.” She pointed to the house next door. “Is it this house right here?”
“Yeah,” I muttered so low I couldn’t even hear my own words.
Her pity-filled eyes shined back at me. I hated it. “I will run over there to chat with them and let them know the situation. Then, I’m headed back to the office to make some calls. Hopefully, by the end of the day I’ll be back to take you to a new home.” Her lips pulled into an uncomfortable wince before she corrected herself, “Er, you know. Not a home but a place to stay for now.” With the compassion of a hammer, she patted my shoulder as if I were a giant baby with a burp that wouldn’tcome out. “Everything is going to be fine.” Avoiding eye contact, she tucked her head and walked back down the steps. My fingers curled into a fist as she returned to her shiny, new SUV like all was well with the world. It was just another day at work for her.
Destroying lives one life at a time. I squeezed my fist tighter, my nails digging into my skin. There’s no way I was going to foster care.
I could run away.
It was a serious thought.
However, I was still on probation, which for sure would put me into juvie. But would juvie be worse than a foster home? It was all so lame. I was not a child. I wrung my hands together, mulling over my options.
I could take care of myself.
I always had.
It was all a stupid game to these people until I became unreachable. I’d go ghost before I’d allow anyone to send me to a lame foster home. As I paced back to the living room, my eyes fell on my notebook, sitting in the middle of Grandma’s coffee table. I plopped down on the couch, opened it and scribbled:
Dear whatever doesn’t kill me:
It’s me and I don’t want to have to be stronger. I’m strong enough. Kindly leave me alone.
four
Elinora
It wasn’t overly late, but I had already dressed for bed, wearing cotton pajama pants—the ones with pink clouds. My hair was still wet and wrapped in a messy bun when the doorbell rang. I focused on reading my book—Little Women—in my pillow pile while I waited for someone else to get it. It only took another moment, and I heard muffled voices.
Footfalls echoed in the hall. My mom’s voice lightly called, “Elinora.”
“Yeah,” I replied without putting my book down.
The door opened, Mom’s face sliding through the crack, pinching in a way that wasn’t common for her, but her eyes were soft. “Are you busy?”
