brother.”
When I got there, Luke was crying. He was filthier than usual, with dirt encrusted on his face and ringing his scalp. He also smelled like poop.
The counselor said, “He had a little accident.”
“Don’t tell on me!” Luke wailed.
“I won’t,” I promised.
“He said he’s afraid he’ll have to drink hot sauce again,” the counselor said. “Is that possible?”
I looked her straight in the eyes. “Oh, yes. He gets it all the time.”
That night as we were getting ready for bed, Mrs. Moss was making pudding. The kitchen smelled like bananas and cream. I figured a caseworker would be coming in the morning and was surprised when Simon Parker, a child protection investigator, came to the door a little while later, along with a deputy sheriff.
By then Heather had moved out, but there were still fourteen of us foster children there.
“What happened to Luke today?” Mr. Parker asked Mrs. Moss.
“Oh, that boy forgets to go to the bathroom sometimes.” She clucked as if it was no big deal. “They called me from school to take him home.”
“Where is he?”
She looked at the clock. It was almost ten. “In bed. Where else?” She chuckled pleasantly. “Well, he had better be in bed at this hour.” She went to his room and brought him out in his jammies. His hair was still wet. We all had bathed that evening, and Mrs. Moss had inspected us carefully. Now I knew why.
Mr. Parker walked Luke back to his bedroom. “It’s quite warm back there,” he said when he returned to the kitchen. “And the air circulation is poor.” He glanced at the full ashtray on the table. “The smoking doesn’t help.”
Mr. Moss, who rarely said anything, spoke up. “I’m fixin’ to put in some circulating fans.”
“Other than the musty air and it being a bit overcrowded, I don’t see any problems here,” Mr. Parker said.
“We have a few new sibling groups here on a temporary basis. It’s a shame to separate them, so we do what we can until they can find someone else to take them as a unit.” Mrs. Moss smiled. “Would you like some of my fresh banana pudding?”
Mr. Parker and the deputy declined.
“Well, we do our best with what little we’ve got,” Mrs. Moss continued. She pointed to a shelf of children’s videos. “You may find newer homes but not happier ones.”
Two days later a female investigator interviewed each of us at school. At first I told her everything was fine.
“We’re all alone, hon,” she said in a corner of the guidance office. “Nothing bad will happen if you tell the truth, do you understand?” I nodded, but I still doubted her. “Do you take a bath every night?”
“Uh-huh.” A crack in a wall steadied my eyes and prevented me from feeling as though I were falling.
“Do you help anyone else take a bath?”
I explained how Mandy and I bathed the younger girls and ourselves in the same water and helped with the smaller boys.
“Did Mrs. Moss threaten to burn your Christmas gifts?” she asked.
I was surprised she knew about this. “I always take the blame for the other children,” I replied.
“Anything else you’d like to tell me?”
I seized on this opportunity to complain about my dolls being locked in the shed, and she said she would see what she could do.
On the bus ride home I asked Luke, “What did you tell the lady who came today?”
“I said how Mrs. Moss threw a doll at me ’cause I couldn’t keep my arms raised up during a time-out.” He looked worried. “Was that okay?”
Mitchell, who was sitting behind us, said, “I told her it was because you called her a bitch.”
Luke spun around and made a fist at Mitchell. “And I also told her that I hit you until your eyes popped out and your head split open.”
“What else did you tell the lady?” I asked Mitchell.
“About how Mrs. Moss shoved food down Candace’s mouth till she almost barfed.” He looked out the window. “Anyway, nothin’ I tell will matter because Mrs.
When I got there, Luke was crying. He was filthier than usual, with dirt encrusted on his face and ringing his scalp. He also smelled like poop.
The counselor said, “He had a little accident.”
“Don’t tell on me!” Luke wailed.
“I won’t,” I promised.
“He said he’s afraid he’ll have to drink hot sauce again,” the counselor said. “Is that possible?”
I looked her straight in the eyes. “Oh, yes. He gets it all the time.”
That night as we were getting ready for bed, Mrs. Moss was making pudding. The kitchen smelled like bananas and cream. I figured a caseworker would be coming in the morning and was surprised when Simon Parker, a child protection investigator, came to the door a little while later, along with a deputy sheriff.
By then Heather had moved out, but there were still fourteen of us foster children there.
“What happened to Luke today?” Mr. Parker asked Mrs. Moss.
“Oh, that boy forgets to go to the bathroom sometimes.” She clucked as if it was no big deal. “They called me from school to take him home.”
“Where is he?”
She looked at the clock. It was almost ten. “In bed. Where else?” She chuckled pleasantly. “Well, he had better be in bed at this hour.” She went to his room and brought him out in his jammies. His hair was still wet. We all had bathed that evening, and Mrs. Moss had inspected us carefully. Now I knew why.
Mr. Parker walked Luke back to his bedroom. “It’s quite warm back there,” he said when he returned to the kitchen. “And the air circulation is poor.” He glanced at the full ashtray on the table. “The smoking doesn’t help.”
Mr. Moss, who rarely said anything, spoke up. “I’m fixin’ to put in some circulating fans.”
“Other than the musty air and it being a bit overcrowded, I don’t see any problems here,” Mr. Parker said.
“We have a few new sibling groups here on a temporary basis. It’s a shame to separate them, so we do what we can until they can find someone else to take them as a unit.” Mrs. Moss smiled. “Would you like some of my fresh banana pudding?”
Mr. Parker and the deputy declined.
“Well, we do our best with what little we’ve got,” Mrs. Moss continued. She pointed to a shelf of children’s videos. “You may find newer homes but not happier ones.”
Two days later a female investigator interviewed each of us at school. At first I told her everything was fine.
“We’re all alone, hon,” she said in a corner of the guidance office. “Nothing bad will happen if you tell the truth, do you understand?” I nodded, but I still doubted her. “Do you take a bath every night?”
“Uh-huh.” A crack in a wall steadied my eyes and prevented me from feeling as though I were falling.
“Do you help anyone else take a bath?”
I explained how Mandy and I bathed the younger girls and ourselves in the same water and helped with the smaller boys.
“Did Mrs. Moss threaten to burn your Christmas gifts?” she asked.
I was surprised she knew about this. “I always take the blame for the other children,” I replied.
“Anything else you’d like to tell me?”
I seized on this opportunity to complain about my dolls being locked in the shed, and she said she would see what she could do.
On the bus ride home I asked Luke, “What did you tell the lady who came today?”
“I said how Mrs. Moss threw a doll at me ’cause I couldn’t keep my arms raised up during a time-out.” He looked worried. “Was that okay?”
Mitchell, who was sitting behind us, said, “I told her it was because you called her a bitch.”
Luke spun around and made a fist at Mitchell. “And I also told her that I hit you until your eyes popped out and your head split open.”
“What else did you tell the lady?” I asked Mitchell.
“About how Mrs. Moss shoved food down Candace’s mouth till she almost barfed.” He looked out the window. “Anyway, nothin’ I tell will matter because Mrs.
Similar Books
