It had never occurred to me that someone could just give up their kid. Sure, I knew about orphanages but I always thought all their folks were dead. As I sat in the flimsy plastic chair, licking the split in my lip, I could only wonder why Mom hadn’t done it before.
It wasn’t like they made it hard.
She’d filled out some paperwork with the clerk or social worker, whatever. After that, we were ushered into a tiny room and asked a lot of questions. When she leaned in to hug me, I flinched. Before I could pull away, her arms were around my shoulders, and she was hissing in my ear, “Don’t ever let anyone find out what a freak you are. They’ll dissect you.”
She let go, turning away so fast, I didn’t see her face. My last image was her sneakers hurrying across the ugly carpet of the office building. I could only gawk, the skin around my eyes stretched tight.
The caseworker, Katie or Kelly maybe, must have thought I was crying because my mom was leaving me. But no, I’d known she didn’t really love me. That word just kept repeating in my mind, like some horrible but catchy song I couldn’t shake from my head.
Freak. Freak. Freak.
My fists ached from clenching. All I could do was stare into my lap, ignoring the occasional tear that pattered on my skin, while Kelly or Katie prattled on about the foster system. She seemed really excited that I had my own backpack and clothes.
Were these luxury items where I was headed? Was I actually going somewhere worse than before? The thought pulled me from my repetitive playlist and I finally looked up.
Her colorful nails flew across her keyboard with practiced efficiency. How many other kids had cried in this chair today?
“Where am I going?”
“Oh, we’ll take care of that, honey.” She smiled at me, her too-bright lipstick curved in a gentle twist.
“Yeah, I know.” I swallowed. “But where?”
She avoided giving me a direct answer for another twenty minutes before I realized she was probably trying to figure that out in her furious typing. As if my future wasn’t uncertain enough.
I sat there, licking my lips or chewing my nails, reading the various placards on her wall. Her name turned out to be Kayla. She’d been doing this for ten years. There were a bunch of pictures of her and different kids.
That’s all I had to do while this woman figured out where I would stay for the night, lick my busted lip, and analyze the forced smiles in the quilt of photos littering her walls.
It wasn’t until lights out that I understood Kayla’s excitement over my backpack. I’d been dropped off maybe ten minutes prior, and introduced to a sleepy attendant who’d escorted me to the bathroom so I could change for bed, yawning in what might have been a greeting.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
She dropped me off, muttering something to the other girls about being nice to me while she waved a weary hand at one of the empty beds before yawning a goodnight.
I took a second to examine the room. Kayla said I’d only be here a few nights, nothing to worry about.
So maybe a couple months? Forever? Adults hardly said what they meant.
I might as well get familiar with the new home. At least it didn’t smell like the apartment or any of our motel rooms. There was a long line of bunk beds, most covered in the same fragile blanket and floppy pillow. The girl who’d sleep above me had one arm hanging loose, swaying like a dead vine.
There were lamps on each nightstand next to each bed, half of them extinguished. Everything matched, with only the tiniest change in fabric, pattern, or color. Occasionally, there might be some graffiti on the beds, painted in crude nail polish, drawn in sharper, or even scratched in with god knows what.
Lots of trash bags on top of the nightstands, or black plastic poking out of drawers. And very few backpacks.
The girls who were still awake stared as I slung my eight-dollar Wally World bag onto my assigned bunk. Only later would I learn those trash bags were where the girls kept their clothes, ready to go for the next house.
Our belongings were trash. My bag, with its worn strap and a hole in the corner just big enough to lose a pen, was a form of currency and status. And it made me a target.
“Need help?” A bigger girl, probably a teenager, with long brown hair pulled into a tangled braid.
“Um…”
“Here, you'll need to unpack.” The larger girl grabbed my pack before I could react. I reached for it, but her arms were longer, and I hadn't been expecting it. Without another word, she opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand, unzipped my bag, and dumped the contents.
“Hey!” I lunged but she carelessly pushed my face, shoving me into the bunk.
“No need to say thanks.” She smiled, and everything but her eyes were angel sweet. “But the bag's a very generous gift.”
I clenched my fists. My mom had dropped me off without warning. The woman in charge couldn't even bother to say goodnight. And now this?
I didn't have to take it. She was bigger, but I was stronger. I'd been testing things. Making sure that first time wasn't some weird adrenaline thing.
But no, I was strong.
“Awww this is adorable!” The older girl grinned, batting her eyes and cradling her hands. “You gonna show me how tough you are?”
She said it like I was a cute kitten, trying to bite.
“Tell you what.” She leaned down, her pointed chin level with mine. “You get one punch, just one, and I'll give it back.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
She dangled the bag overhead and smiled. “You heard me. Land a single punch, I'll give your bag back.”
Oh, this was too easy. I could flatten her! My fists clenched tighter, almost excited for the challenge…
They’ll dissect you.
My mother's uninvited voice washed over my fury, and I stared at the older girl.
There were other girls, playing games, reading, or talking. They'd see it.
Freak. Freak. Freak.
I let my hands sag to my side and shook my head. “Keep the pens in the front pocket.”
“Good choice, squirt.” The older girl pushed my face back as she stood. I flopped awkwardly on the bed, too tired to adjust, and fell asleep.
