“I guessed that, actually,” I say, not mentioning it was because of the giant, gaudy photo of him in a curly white wig that hangs over their fireplace. I’d just assumed he was a judge … since the alternative is that he’s a sociopath that agreed to be painted like that for fun.
But with these sorts of people, I guess you never know.
Dana’s eyes have taken on a far-off look as she speaks. She’s coming up with this just now.
“I bet he could get into your records if you like. I know he’d do it for you. He just loved you when you visited us for Thanksgiving last year. What do you think? Should I ask him about it?”
I am stuck for a moment, somewhere between the little girl I used to be—the one who stared out of the windows and prayed and wished over and over again every single day for someone to come rushing up the sidewalk claiming they’d made a terrible mistake—and the woman that I am today. The woman in me doesn’t really care anymore who her parents are, or were. They’re just people who gave her up and didn’t care enough to keep her.
But then, what could it hurt? Do I go for it? Do I let Dana’s dad try to uncover my mysterious past or do I just walk away from it and let it go, knowing that the same truth from my first days in foster care is the same truth I live with now. I am really the only person who is ever going to look out for myself when it comes down to it. Even Dana, sweet Dana, is going to leave me behind one day.
All that’s waiting for me in that record is false hope. Right now, I just need to focus on what I can do to change things.
I tell her this, as carefully as I can.
“I used to hope they’d show up and take me back, but now I’m an adult, and I know better. Knowing who gave me up isn’t going to be better than not knowing who gave me up. It might even be … worse … if that makes any sense.” I reach out and give her hand a squeez
e.
“Besides,” I say, leaning back. “I already have a mother. Ms. Martin, remember?”
The idea is so ludicrous that both of us break out in a fit of unattractive, snort-speckled laughter. We draw eyes from the other tables, but I couldn’t care less.
As soon as we’ve gotten ahold of ourselves again, a wicked look comes over Dana’s face.
“You know,” she says. “There might be something else my dad can do for us if you wanted to give it a shot.”
“Yeah?” I ask interestedly. “What’s that?”
She grins. “He’s got a lot of ties to the foster care system. He might be able to get the other kids taken away—and that godawful woman removed as a caregiver.”
Everything in me lights up like fireworks on the fourth of July. “Are you serious? Can we do that?”
She laughs. “Oh yeah. We can definitely do that.”
It still seems too good to be true. “But what about the kids? I mean … Ms. Martin has her flaws but …” I was about to say it could be worse, but could it, really? It could also be so, so much better. I eye Dana. “You really think he could help?”
She nods. “And I’ll make him promise to get them into the best homes.”
A sharp feeling stabs at the inside of my chest. I always felt a little guilty leaving the little ones behind with her. If there’s even the slightest chance that I can give them the chance at a new life, one that doesn’t rely on them having to lie and cheat their way into it, I have to do it.
“Yes! Let’s do it! She has no business keeping kids, and after what she did last year with me here …” I trail off and Dana looks at me quizzically. I sigh and admit the truth to her. I never told her how Ms. Martin had blackmailed me into stealing thousands from the account of the dead girl I impersonated last year. It took me all summer to pay it off, but I never saw one penny of that money for myself.
“I should have told you sooner,” I say, hanging my head. “It was just … even worse, somehow … than all the rest.”
I’m still angry with Ms. Martin about what she did to me, but Dana’s idea sounds like something that could seriously put my old foster mom in her place, and permanently.
“Wow. You have got to be kidding me. That’s it. I’m calling my dad today and we’re telling him everything.” Dana is as excited about it as me, and we both celebrate a small victory. It’s a start, a small one, but enough to make that fickle feeling rise up in me.
Hope.
It’s a new year. I might not get to start over … but at least I get to start something. I’ll change what I can. And what I can’t …
I glance at the retreating backs of the holy trinity as they leave us in the dining hall with the rest of the students under their vice-like control. What I can’t change … I’ll just have to learn to accept.
Chapter 6
I have a meeting with my guidance counselor in the afternoon, and he seems determined to put a damper on my new attitude. The only encouraging thing he has to say over the course of what turns out to be a half-hour long berating at my expense is that he also thinks it’s a good idea for me to join some clubs so I can put them on my college resume. The way he says it, with a long sigh that’s still somehow skeptical, makes me want to throw in the towel on the whole thing before it’s even started.