The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson

wanted to yell at them to leave her stuff alone, but she couldn’t break through the ice.
    The blond policeman riffled carelessly through her clothes. He found Courtney’s picture almost at once. “This your mother, kid?”
    â€œPut that down,” she whispered.
    â€œOh, now she’s talking.”
    â€œShe said to put her picture down, Mitchell.”
    â€œOK, OK. Just trying to do my job.” He put the picture down and continued to poke through the suitcase. “Bingo,” he said, picking up the postcard. He read it carefully before handing it to the other officer. “All here, Rhine. Name and current address. And big surprise! She does know somebody in San Francisco.”
    The one called Rhine read the postcard and then came and stooped down beside her chair.
    â€œIs this your father’s address here?” he asked, pointing at the address on the card.
    She sat perfectly still, staring him down.
    Rhine shook his head, stood up, and handed the card back to Mitchell. “Check out who lives at that address and give them a call, will you?”
    Within a half hour, a red-faced Trotter, holding the hand of a white-faced William Ernest, puffed through the station-house door. Her eye immediately caught Gilly’s, still seated in the room on the other side of the counter. She tried to smile, but Gilly jerked away from the gaze. The policewoman was back from her supper and on duty at the counter.
    â€œMaime…Maime Trotter”—Trotter was puffing worse than if she’d run up her steps—“Got a…taxi…waiting…No money…to…pay…him.”
    â€œJust a minute, please.” Judy, the policewoman, came in and spoke quietly to Rhine, and then Rhine got up and they both went out to the counter. The only part of the conversation Gilly could make out was Trotter’s breathy replies:
    â€œFoster child…Yes—somewhere…San Francisco, yes, maybe so…County Social Services…Uh—Miz Miriam Ellis…yes…yes…no…no…no…Can someone pay the taxicab? Still waiting out there….” Officer Rhine gave Trotter the yellow envelope. She sighed and nodded, taking out some money which she handed to him. He handed it to Mitchell, who handed it to the policewoman, who frowned but went out anyway to pay the cab driver.
    â€œNo, no,” Trotter was saying. “Of course not. She’s just a baby…” Trotter was still shaking her head at Rhine as he brought her back around the counter, W.E. clutching at her shabby coat.
    Trotter’s breath had returned, but her voice shook as she spoke to Gilly from the doorway. “I come to take you home, Gilly, honey. Me and William Ernest come up to get you.”
    Rhine came all the way in and stooped down again beside her. “Mrs. Trotter is not going to press charges. She wants you to come back.”
    Press charges? Oh, the money. Did the stupid man think that Trotter would have her arrested? But how could she go back? Gilly the Great, who couldn’t even run away? Botched the job. She stared at her fingers. The nails were grubby. She hated grubby fingernails.
    â€œGilly, honey…”
    â€œDon’t you want to go home?” Rhine was asking.
    Want to go home? Don’t I want to go home? Where in the hell do you think I was headed?
    When she didn’t answer him, Rhine stood up. “Maybe we should keep her tonight and call Social Services in the morning.”
    â€œYou mean to lock the child up?”
    â€œShe’d be safe. It would just be overnight.”
    â€œYou don’t think for one minute I’m going to let you lock a child of mine up in jail?”
    â€œMaybe it would be best,” Rhine said quietly.
    â€œBest? What do you mean? What are you trying to say?”
    â€œShe really doesn’t seem to want to go with you, Mrs. Trotter. Now, I don’t know…”
    â€œO, my dear Lord,