Little did I know that my foster father had something even worse planned for me and he was only biding his time as he built his trap…
SEVENTEEN
I still remember my excitement for the last away game of the season. We were leaving directly from school in a caravan of busses Friday and traveling to a school at the farthest end of our district. Then, after an overnight stay in a cheap hotel that didn’t mind having a hoard of teenagers crowded into it, the football team would be playing and the band would be marching at halftime. We would spend yet another night and come home Sunday afternoon, exhausted but hopefully victorious.
I was excited for the game of course—there were rumors that several college scouts would be there and Nick stood a good chance of getting a scholarship out of it. Also, I had grown to love Band and the new marching routine we were doing was a fast paced, exciting one with lots of precise maneuvers. I knew my sheet music by heart and I was proud of being First Chair.
But the best thing about this last away game was the long weekend away from the Spauldings. Though Gary Spaulding hadn’t tried to grab me for the past few months, I still felt his mean, piggy little eyes following me when I went around the house collecting laundry and doing my “chores.” And now that Nick had dropped all pretense of being sweet and charming, Nancy’s ire was roused against us too. She was constantly finding fault with me, criticizing the way I did her laundry, and punishing me harshly for the least infractions.
I wanted to shout at both of them that they should just let Nick and me go and find someone else to do their dirty work. Though I didn’t wish the Spauldings on anyone, I felt like I had “done my time” with them and I just wanted to leave.
But I didn’t want to leave Nick and he didn’t want to leave me. The shared adversity had strengthened the bond between us until a lot of our friends at school started asking if we were actually dating.
“Don’t be stupid,” Nick would tell them with a laugh, as he slung a fraternal arm around my shoulders. “Kira’s like my little sister. I’m just looking out for her—that’s all.”
I knew if we complained and anyone took us seriously, we would probably be moved to different foster homes. And Nancy and Gary knew that if they asked CPS to take us away, there might be questions. So all of us were just biding our time…some of us more than others, as I was soon to find out.
Anyway, that weekend started off as planned. We spent Friday night in the motel and the Wolverton Wolves won the game in a blowout on Saturday—57 to 3. It was a decisive victory and afterwards I saw several men approaching Nick who I was sure were the promised college scouts.
But even as I was cheering and preparing to play our team’s victory song along with the rest of the band, one of the teachers came to find me and pulled me away from the stands.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, as she walked me across the parking lot on one side of the other team’s stadium.
“I’m afraid you’re needed at home, honey,” she told me, looking very serious. “I don’t like to be the one to tell you this, but your mom is very ill.”
“What? But she’s not my mom! I mean, she’s just my foster mom!” I exclaimed.
This, predictably, drew a disapproving look from the teacher.
“She’s still the one who takes care of you, isn’t she?” she demanded. “And your father told me the two of you are very close.”
“My foster father you mean?” I demanded, nearly coming to a halt.
“Yes, of course. Come on, honey—we don’t have all day. This is serious!” The teacher took me by the arm and kept me walking.
“But I can’t—” I began…
And then I saw him—Gary Spaulding waiting beside his dark blue BMW. He had a grief stricken look on his face that I could tell was fake at once.
“Hi, sweetie!” he called, as the teacher dragged me over to him. “I’m so sorry to cut your weekend with your friends short but your mom is wanting you. I’m afraid she’s pretty sick and she needs you by her side.” He looked at the teacher. “The two of them are so close.”
She made a face of sympathy.
“Oh, that’s so sweet!”
The idea of me being close to Nancy Spaulding was laughable—I’d rather get close to a rattlesnake and I wanted to say so in no uncertain terms. But the helpful teacher was already handing me over to my legal guardian. Gary Spaulding slipped an arm around my shoulders, his hand gripping my arm like steel pincers.