Prologue
16 years ago
Samantha Raney took a deep breath and
followed her DSS caseworker into the group home. She shoved her
fear deep down and told herself over and over again that this would
be a better life, even if she was passed around the system. Her
mother died from a drug overdose a year ago and left her in the
hands of her junkie boyfriend, Earl. Her mother was never going to
win mother of the year, but at least she made sure that Sam had
something to eat and clean clothes to wear. Earl was always gone
and Sam had to fend for herself, which was difficult since no one
was going to give an eight year old a job. She ate as well as she
could on the free lunches at school and did her best to make it
through the weekends without shoplifting a piece of fruit here and
there. She finally reached her wits end and turned herself into the
Department of Social Services.
As she stepped through the doors, the noise
assaulted her first. She took in the drab but fairly clean living
area and scrunched up her face at the smell of feet. A pair of
little boys who looked to be about five were fighting over which
cartoon to watch and a pair of pre-teen girls were chasing each
other around the room squealing and laughing.
Sam sighed and stood quietly while her
caseworker introduced her to Ms. Smith, the home director. She was
shown her bed, which was in a large room with about 8 other girls.
She immediately curled up with a book and tried to block out some
of the noise.
About a month later, she walked into the
living area and found that the incessant noise was louder than
usual.
The majority of it was coming from a boy of
about 10 who was yelling at a harried, defeated looking Ms. Smith
about it not being his turn to wash dishes.
“This is bullshit! I shouldn't have to wash
fucking dishes or sweep floors or any other chores you want to
throw at me. You people get paid to work in this hell-hole.”
“Derrick Watts, you watch your language,
young man! You know that the chores are rotated. That's just how
things work. If you don't watch it, you're going to get moved
again, and there aren't many places left. Do you want to end up
some place where they keep you sedated and make you live in
isolation?”
“It would damn well be better than this
shit!”
Sam had heard enough. She marched over to
Derrick and yanked him away from Ms. Smith.
“Let's go,” she said fiercely.
*
Derrick was flabbergasted and didn't resist
when she dragged him in the direction of the kitchen.
“I'll wash, you dry,” the little girl
said.
He stood frozen for a moment before his
speech came back to him.
“Who are you?”
“Samantha Raney,” she said, holding out a
now-soapy hand, “but you can call me Sam. I'm 8.”
Derrick looked down into bright green eyes
and wondered why such a fierce little thing was in a place like
this. At her look at the dishes and then back at him, he
automatically started drying the dishes as she passed them over. He
didn't know why he was following her lead...he didn't follow anyone's lead, but there was just something about her.
“I'm Derrick.”
“Yes, I gathered that from your lovely
conversation with poor Ms. Smith, as well as every other yelling
match you've had with just about all of the adults here.”
Derrick actually felt a pang of guilt and
looked over his shoulder to find Ms. Smith. Ms. Smith was watching
and actually smiling. A warm feeling started filling him up. He was
always the bully. That was his insurance that someone actually saw him. Maybe that was the wrong tact.
He looked down into Sam's green eyes and gave
her a slight smile. She grinned back and bumped his hip with
hers.
*
It wasn't an instant transformation, of
course. Derrick's bullying tendencies still came out and Sam would
have to reign him back in, except when he was protecting Sam
herself, which he did need to do occasionally.
The years passed and Derrick was never moved
again and Sam requested not to be moved into a foster home.
16 years ago
Samantha Raney took a deep breath and
followed her DSS caseworker into the group home. She shoved her
fear deep down and told herself over and over again that this would
be a better life, even if she was passed around the system. Her
mother died from a drug overdose a year ago and left her in the
hands of her junkie boyfriend, Earl. Her mother was never going to
win mother of the year, but at least she made sure that Sam had
something to eat and clean clothes to wear. Earl was always gone
and Sam had to fend for herself, which was difficult since no one
was going to give an eight year old a job. She ate as well as she
could on the free lunches at school and did her best to make it
through the weekends without shoplifting a piece of fruit here and
there. She finally reached her wits end and turned herself into the
Department of Social Services.
As she stepped through the doors, the noise
assaulted her first. She took in the drab but fairly clean living
area and scrunched up her face at the smell of feet. A pair of
little boys who looked to be about five were fighting over which
cartoon to watch and a pair of pre-teen girls were chasing each
other around the room squealing and laughing.
Sam sighed and stood quietly while her
caseworker introduced her to Ms. Smith, the home director. She was
shown her bed, which was in a large room with about 8 other girls.
She immediately curled up with a book and tried to block out some
of the noise.
About a month later, she walked into the
living area and found that the incessant noise was louder than
usual.
The majority of it was coming from a boy of
about 10 who was yelling at a harried, defeated looking Ms. Smith
about it not being his turn to wash dishes.
“This is bullshit! I shouldn't have to wash
fucking dishes or sweep floors or any other chores you want to
throw at me. You people get paid to work in this hell-hole.”
“Derrick Watts, you watch your language,
young man! You know that the chores are rotated. That's just how
things work. If you don't watch it, you're going to get moved
again, and there aren't many places left. Do you want to end up
some place where they keep you sedated and make you live in
isolation?”
“It would damn well be better than this
shit!”
Sam had heard enough. She marched over to
Derrick and yanked him away from Ms. Smith.
“Let's go,” she said fiercely.
*
Derrick was flabbergasted and didn't resist
when she dragged him in the direction of the kitchen.
“I'll wash, you dry,” the little girl
said.
He stood frozen for a moment before his
speech came back to him.
“Who are you?”
“Samantha Raney,” she said, holding out a
now-soapy hand, “but you can call me Sam. I'm 8.”
Derrick looked down into bright green eyes
and wondered why such a fierce little thing was in a place like
this. At her look at the dishes and then back at him, he
automatically started drying the dishes as she passed them over. He
didn't know why he was following her lead...he didn't follow anyone's lead, but there was just something about her.
“I'm Derrick.”
“Yes, I gathered that from your lovely
conversation with poor Ms. Smith, as well as every other yelling
match you've had with just about all of the adults here.”
Derrick actually felt a pang of guilt and
looked over his shoulder to find Ms. Smith. Ms. Smith was watching
and actually smiling. A warm feeling started filling him up. He was
always the bully. That was his insurance that someone actually saw him. Maybe that was the wrong tact.
He looked down into Sam's green eyes and gave
her a slight smile. She grinned back and bumped his hip with
hers.
*
It wasn't an instant transformation, of
course. Derrick's bullying tendencies still came out and Sam would
have to reign him back in, except when he was protecting Sam
herself, which he did need to do occasionally.
The years passed and Derrick was never moved
again and Sam requested not to be moved into a foster home.
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