One for the Murphys by Lynda Mullaly Hunt Page B

brains.
    “C’mon,” I say. “Let’s shoot hoops.” I turn to go, praying that she will follow.
    “Well? Is she?” Michael Eric stands. “Is she here to take Carley away?”
    Hearing him say that and looking at his big, blinking eyes gets to me, but I shake it off. “Michael Eric, you’re such a joker.” I look toward Mrs. Murphy. “So is it okay if I go?” I ask her.
    She turns toward me and looks sad, and I want to be able to freeze everyone else in time and ask her why. Because I’m a liar? Or because she’d like me to be her daughter? Or because the thought is so terrible that it makes her cry?
    “Don’t go far,” she says. And for her, that’s a perfect answer. It says
yes, but I’m worried about you.
    I turn to go and Toni does, too. I can tell she thinks something is weird, but what really shocks me is that Daniel hasn’t outed me.
    I hear Michael Eric running, coming up behind me. Before I can say anything, he’s wrapped his arms around my leg and islaughing. “Carley! Carley! Your mom is my mom? And your dad is my dad, too? And you’re gonna stay here with us for always?”
    Daniel finally lets out a small burst of laughter. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell her.”
    “Daniel. Not your business,” Mrs. Murphy says. She is already coming toward us.
    “Wait,” Toni says, with one eye practically closed. “She’s not your mother? Is she an aunt or something?”
    Daniel folds his arms and laughs again, and his mother shoots him a glare that shuts him off.
    “No!” Michael Eric says. “Carley is from the Fosters!”
    “No, Michael Eric,” a red-faced Mrs. Murphy says. “Not from the Fosters.” She puts her hand on the side of his face and bends over to look him in the eye. “Go back to your cars now. Okay, pal?”
    Toni’s face is red now, too, as if she’s been the victim of a practical joke.
    I search my head for something.
Anything
. To explain. Because I wasn’t just silent. When I called the Murphys “Mom” or “Dad” I was lying; I just really liked the sound of it.
    “End the agony already,” Daniel says. “Tell her you’re a foster kid.”
    She turns to me. “You’re a foster kid? This isn’t your family?”
    That hurts. “Toni, I …”
    Her eyes narrow. “You lied to me? About who you are? Is your name even Carley Connors, or is that a big fat lie too?”
    “I’m sorry, Toni. I never meant to lie. But being a foster kid…” I swallow hard and try to count as I speak. “Being a foster kid isjust so… you can’t believe how… humiliating it is… and I…”
    Daniel doesn’t look amused anymore, and his mother looks like she’s going to cry. And I want to run. But I know I can’t. I have to stand and take it this time.
    “I didn’t know what you’d think of it,” I plead. “I’m still
me…
Please, Toni. You’re my best friend.”
    “I’m so
dumb
!” She makes two fists. “I told you everything about me and you just…” She steps away from me. “See ya, Jane Doe, or whoever you are.”
    As I’m trying to get my head around the Jane Doe comment, she spins and bolts out the door.
    The Murphys all look at me. But I can’t look at them, so I study the white threads on my high tops. The last three letters in “friend” are “end.” If you take out the “n” you get “fried.”
    Mrs. Murphy moves toward me, and I back quickly into the wall, hitting my head on the door frame.
    I was right about being a foster kid. It is humiliating.
    “Oh, Carley,” she says in that voice that I just can’t hear now. “It’s…”
    “Yeah, whatever,” I say, cutting her off. And I run upstairs to the fireman room, close the door, crawl under the bed, say a prayer that she won’t come looking for me, and hope that Toni will forgive me.
    For a few seconds, I even try to cry. But I can’t.

CHAPTER 27

Irish Abyss
    M rs. Murphy pops her head in to ask, “Hey, Carley. Got a minute?”
    I’ve been lying in bed for two hours, listening to