Angel of Redemption (6 page)

I
watch to make sure that the four boys taking the bus actually get in.

“
See ya, D,
”
Brayden says, dangling the House car keys from his finger
and brushing by me. I close the door behind him. Not many kids in the system
get driver
’
s licenses, but it
’
s something my dad thinks is an important aspect of
becoming an adult. It
’
s a privilege for those who have
worked hard and shown responsibility.

“
So what
’
s up with you and the social worker?
”
Tracey asks, startling me.

“
What?
”
I feign ignorance.
“
Nothing.
”

“
Uh-huh. You might want to wipe the
saliva off your chin, then,
”
she laughs. I ignore her and disappear
into my office.

Sitting down at my desk, I try to work. It’s not
easy. My mind keeps drifting. Before I know it, my brother is sitting in front
of me, leaning on his elbows with his hands clasped under his chin. He’s
looking at me expectantly.

“
What?
”
I snap.

“
I
’
ve been sitting here for ten minutes, Dean.
”

Ten
minutes? How did I not notice him for ten minutes?

“
Whatever. Are you ready?
”

“
No
‘
how
you feelin
’
, bro?
’
No,
‘
glad you
’
re
back after your kids nearly gave you the plague?
’
”

“
Are you better?
”

“
Yes, thanks for asking.
”

“
Yeah, it would suck balls if the flu
went around this house, so
…”
I shrug.

“
Fucker,
”
Aiden laughs.
“
So
does your daydreaming have anything to do with a certain caseworker cutie who
stopped by here last night?
”

“
Shit, do you and your wife gossip like
little girls all the time or only when it involves me?
”
I gripe.
“
And I wasn
’
t fucking daydreaming.
”

My
brother leans back.
“
Of course not.
”
He sighs.
“
We weren
’
t talking about you, though. Em seemed
so taken with her, I thought maybe we could ask her to join us for a little
…
”
he sucks his teeth and winks at me,
“
fun.
”

“
Shut the fuck up and be professional
for once.
”

Aiden
doesn
’
t
even try to hide his amusement.
“
You know I
’
m just fucking with you, D. My wife
would have my sack for breakfast.
”

I know he’s kidding, but I still don’t like it.

“You like her,” he gapes. “She’s cute. Why don’t
you ask her out?”

“
Aiden.
”
The warning in my voice is similar to the tone I used with
Jax this morning, but there
’
s no humor in it
—
I
’
m not amused.

“
D, you have to let someone in someday.
Maybe it can be her.
”

“So look: the two new kids are Logan and Matty
Davidson.” I keep talking, filling Aiden in on the new kids, ignoring the
conversation he wants to have—again. I’m not having this discussion. I
live my life the way I want to live it. Nothing and no one is going to change
that.

Kayla

As I sit in the front office of the school, waiting to
register Logan and Matty, I stare down at my iPhone and check emails. It keeps
me from focusing on the fact that I am in yet another office. I feel like I
’
m always in some kind of office. It
doesn
’
t
really matter where I
’
m at or what I
’
m doin
g—
they
’
re all the same. Fading yellow walls with chipped paint,
bone-colored metal filing cabinets, ancient computers that run way too slow
with a heavy
hum
, and disenchanted
individuals sitting behind crappy desks. I need a vacation.

Dean
Wyatt
’
s
office isn
’
t
like that, though. It
’
s gorgeous. I could spend all day in
his office. Not with him in there, of course. The man is gorgeous, too, sure,
but boy is he an ass.

Next
to me, Logan
’
s
knee bounces up and down, making the floor vibrate.

“
Stop,
”
I hear Matty say flatly. Logan snickers.
“
Stop it!
”
Matty repeats with a little more
emotion.

“
Stop what? This?
”

I
look up just in time to see Logan flick Matty
’
s ear. Matty gets up abruptly and
moves to the other side of me, away from his brother.

“
Knock it off, Logan,
”
I scold, shaking my head and frowning.

“
Dude, stop being such a girl,
”
Logan scoffs.

“
Ms. Brooks?
”
A middle-aged woman with wire-framed glasses calls from the
doorway of yet another office. She
’
s
attractive in a very stern type of way. The sign on the wall
reads
“
IMOGENE
SYLVESTER – PRINCIPAL
.”

“
Yes?
”
I answer politely.

“
Come on in, please.
”

Standing,
I motion for Logan and Matty to follow me. I see her eyes scanning over them,
already making judgments.

“
Have a seat. This shouldn
’
t take long, and then we can get the
boys to their classes. Logan, you
’
re a senior, right?
”
she asks, sitting down at her desk and glancing at her
computer.

“
Yup,
”
Logan answers, his tone bored.

“
And, Matthew, you
’
re a freshman?
”
She looks up at him over the top of her glasses. Matty
nods.

“
Here are all of their transfer documents,
”
I say, handing her the files.

“
Thank you, Ms. Brooks.
”
She nods and opens the file.
“
Do
either of the boys require an Individualized Education Program?
”

“
No.
”
I shake my head.
“
They
’
re both currently on track. No IEPs
necessary.
”
I glance at Logan, who has his head
back and is looking at the ceiling. He doesn
’
t put any effort into his schoolwork
and still has a 3.2 average. His SAT scores were 1,940 out of 2,400. He could
easily get into college, assuming he doesn
’
t do anything that will land his ass in jail first.

Principal
Sylvester flips through the papers, sighing every now and then. I hate the
documents in those files. Every time a new placement or educator reads them,
they form preconceived notions of these kids
—
especially
Logan. He gets labeled as a troublemaker and degenerate. Talk about a
self-fulfilling prophecy. There are only so many times a kid can hear he
’
s hopeless before he starts to believe
it and wonders why he should make an attempt if it
’
s only going to end in failure.

I
’
ve been telling both boys for years to ignore the comments.
Logan says he doesn
’
t give a shit, but I know he does. He wants to be a role
model for Matty but doesn
’
t know how, so he doesn
’
t even try.

“
Hold on just a moment,
”
Principal Sylvester says, standing.
“
I
’
m going to give their previous schedules to Mrs. Fowler so
she can find openings in the appropriate classes while we finish speaking.
”

When
she returns, she sits down, folding her hands together on top of the desk and
looking at Matty and Logan.

“
So obviously you know that we have
all the Wyatt House boys here,
”
she starts, her voice stern.
“
We are well aware of the variety of issues that you face
both in your personal lives and at school. You should not be surprised that we
do not tolerate violence on this campus, nor do we allow drugs. There is a zero-tolerance
policy against weapons of any type. If you are caught with such an item while
on campus, it is grounds for immediate expulsion.
”

I
watch Logan roll his eyes. He gets the same lecture every single time he starts
a new school, all because of the initial weapons charge against him when he
stabbed the guy who tried to buy Matty. He wasn
’
t prosecuted, but we
’
re required to reveal any violent
behavior. I want to scream at them that he was just defending his little
brother from a pedophile, but I know that I can
’
t. Confidentiality really can be a
bitch sometimes.

After
about twenty minutes, the boys are released to get their class schedules. I
hand Principal Sylvester my card.

“
If you have any questions or concerns,
please call me,
”
I tell her before following the boys
out. Logan is staring at his schedule with a smile.

“
I take it you
’
re happy?
”

He
sticks his tongue out.
“
I
’
ve got five female teachers. I
’
m all set.
”

It
’
s always a show with Logan, even with
me. He knows I don
’
t buy it, but he does it anyway.

“
What about you?
”
I ask Matty.

“
I didn
’
t want to take algebra again,
”
he grumbles.

“
Why not?
”
I frown.

“‘
Cause I
’
m not good at it.
”

I
purse my lips together. Another self-fulfilling prophecy. Over the years, Matty
’
s silence has been mistaken for
stupidity, and he
’
s
starting to believe it. I grab his chin, trying to make him look at me. At
first he refuses, his eyes darting everywhere other than my face, but
eventually he gives in.

“
Stop,
”
I say firmly.
“
Don
’
t let one jerk teacher make you
believe that crap.
”

Two
months ago, Sandy Barker and I were called in to talk about Matty
’
s refusal to participate in his algebra class. The teacher
suggested
—
in front of him
—
that algebra was a little beyond his capabilities. I was
livid. I filed a complaint with the school, but nothing happened, of course.
Nothing ever happens. Matty tries to turn his head, but I grip a little
tighter.

“
Matthew.
”

“
Okaaaaay,
”
he groans. I let go of his chin and pat him on the cheek. I
don
’
t miss the slight upward curl of his
mouth.

“
You,
”
I say, poking my finger into Logan
’
s chest.
“
Behave yourself
.
Please.
”

“
I don
’
t know what you
’
re talking about.
”
Logan grins innocently.

I
hum.
“
You guys can catch the bus home with
the rest of the boys. I
’
m stopping by later this afternoon, but only for a few
minutes. Enjoy your day, make new friends, and stay out of trouble.
”

Logan
laughs. I say the same thing every time I register them in a new school. It
’
s become my mantra. It makes them
smile, so I keep saying it.

I leave the school and drive through the city to
work. After showing my ID badge at the employees’ entrance, I head to my
office. It’s not really an office—more like a big room with four desks
and no door. Only supervisors get doors.

My
unit consists of myself and three other social workers
—
Sara Dravin, Warren De Jesus, and Dana Jeffries. Sara is a
year younger than I am. She
’
s fun, bubbly, and absolutely loves her job. She
’
s been doing it for three years and
even though she
’
s
had some really devastating cases, she
’
s good at not letting them affect her spirit.

Warren
is thirty-one and fabulously bisexual. He has a wicked sense of humor and
usually says out loud all the crap that everyone else is thinking.

Dana
’
s a little bit older. She
’
s the grandmother of our group and
often scolds us when we start getting too crude for her tastes. I
’
m pretty sure she
’
s going to have a heart attack one of
these days from the stories of our misadventures. Sara and Warren are my best
friends, my partners in crime. We work hard and party harder.

Our
unit is managed by Mrs. Katherine Okoro. We call her Kate. She
’
s extremely tall, standing at about
six foot one, and has a thick Nigerian accent. She just celebrated her
fifty-fifth birthday, but she doesn
’
t look a day over forty.

I
spend the next hour taking advantage of the fact that no one else is in the
office to complete the incident report from the previous night and the transfer
paperwork. When I
’
m done, I slip them into Kate
’
s inbox before heading to a foster
home just south of the city to visit another child in my caseload.

When
I finally get back to the office, I
’
ve
just flopped myself down at my desk when Sara walks in.

“
Did you seriously place the Davidson
boys at Wyatt House last night?
”

“
Yep,
”
I answer.
“
How
’
d
you know?
”

She
shrugs.
“
My computer froze up, and I had to use
yours to type up a court report. You left your email open, and it popped up
with a message from Dean Wyatt.
”

“
Oh. Yeah, that place is swanky.
”

“
Right? Wish there were more group
homes like that. Who was there when you placed them?
”

“
I don
’
t know. I just dropped them off at the
front door and hoped someone would eventually let them in,
”
I deadpan. Sara scowls at me.
“
Emily let me in, but I mostly dealt with Dean. Why?
”
The look that I get from my best friend is comical.