Who Owns Kelly Paddik (2 page)

I started to write stories when I was about five years old. When I was seven I decided to
write the story of my life, but I didn't get very far. One of the oldest notebooks started off with:
I am seven. My mom and dad is big. J and D is smal
. That was about as much as I wanted to say, I guess.

“J” and “D” are Jolyn and Danny, my sister and brother. I hadn't seen or talked to them in years, but I thought about them a lot. The last time I saw Jolyn, she was hiding her teeth under her pillow for the tooth fairy. Danny was in diapers. Were they both still living with my mom? Or did they turn out like me and end up in a group home?

I'd written lots of other stories too, about good kids with happy lives. Those stories went on for pages and pages. It was easy to write stories like that. I could pretend that I was one of those kids. It was a little like looking out a window onto another life. I could get out of mine for a bit, and forget who I really was.

Suddenly I heard a lot of voices and footsteps out in the room with the TV. Since it was around three o'clock, I figured it must be the girls getting back from school. Quickly I shoved my notebooks into a dresser drawer. Then I sat on the bed and counted heartbeats.

“Hey, the new girl's here,” someone called.

My doorway filled with faces, though none of the girls came into my room. My eyes kept wanting to lock onto the walls, but I made myself turn and look at the girls. Girls in lockups are supposed to be tougher than those in group homes. I tried to look as if lockups were nothing, as if I spent holidays in them.

“So, what's your name?” someone asked.

“Kelly.” The word kind of flopped out of my mouth.
Great, advertise your nerves
, I thought. “What's yours?” I asked.

The girl asking the questions didn't answer. I guess she figured that wasn't her job. “What are you in here for?” she asked.

I could tell that she was the girl who ran this unit. There's always one who's tougher than everyone else. If you let her know you're scared, she'll ride you. So I shrugged and said, “Beats me. My social worker's in the office. Ask her.”

I didn't want to tell the world about my arm. That was my business. But if I didn't give this girl an answer, it could mean trouble later on. She was already looking at me sideways, her lip curled like a pit bull's. I could see her getting ready to fire another question, but then a loud
voice spoke up behind her.

“C'mon, ladies, break it up. Let Kelly get used to the place before you all jump on her.”

One by one the girls backed away, leaving a woman standing in the doorway. She had a lot of red curly hair that could have spent some time with a comb. And she looked like she could run — not your grandmotherly type. “All right if I come in?” she asked.

I shrugged. What was I supposed to say?
No?

Leaning against the dresser, she said, “I'm Fran. Welcome to Sister Mary's unit.”

So that little nun did actually run this place. I tried not to look surprised. “Yeah, sure,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. Girls probably talked to her like this all day long. Lifting her hands, she ran them through her rebel hair. “How about if I ask one of the girls to show you around and explain the rules?”

“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged again. This place wasn't anything to get excited about. On the other hand, I did need to know how to get to the washroom.

Going to the door, Fran called out, “Chris.”

I held my breath, hoping it wasn't the girl
who'd asked all the questions. But the face that showed up had on a grin that looked as if it belonged there. Her black hair was cut short and her eyes were really dark. She was cool, but not a staff kind of cool, as in
I'll like you as long as you do what you're told
. Chris told me that she was Cree and came from a place up north called Churchill.

“Ever seen a polar bear?” I asked.

“Sure. Have you?” She looked at me kind of strange when she said this. I realized that asking if someone has seen a polar bear isn't usually the first question you ask a stranger. So I pulled out the last thing in my suitcase and handed it to her. It was a grubby, falling-apart white bear. Every girl in a group home has a couple of stuffed animals on her bed — something from home. They always look like they've been through a war.

When she saw it, Chris laughed again. Her laugh was kind of tricky. It got inside you and then you were smiling without even realizing it. I guess the building looked so old and creepy, I didn't think anyone would be laughing in here. It made me wonder why Chris was here if she could laugh like that.

Chris showed me around the unit and
listed off the bath rules, bedtime rules and snack-time rules. They sure had more rules in lockups than they did in group homes. I followed her around, waiting for the rules about blowing your nose and tying your shoes.

Chris was showing me the kitchen seating plan when I saw Fran go into the washroom. Suddenly I heard Fran call out, “Who's the drip that left the tap on?”

Chris burst out laughing. “Ever sick!” she called back.

Fran's head popped out the washroom door. “D'you know what I mean, or d'you know what I mean?” she sang out.

I rolled my eyes. Dumb jokes always had me wanting to crawl into the nearest grave. Suddenly I realized someone was standing behind me, so close that I could feel her body heat. Turning quickly, I saw the girl who ran this unit, the one who'd asked me all those questions.
Pit Bull
, I thought. Why was she so interested in the back of my neck?

“What's so funny?” Pit Bull asked. Her lips were faking a smile, but her eyes wouldn't have fooled anyone.

“Ah, you know Fran — always joking
around,” said Chris. She lost her grin and a new kind of cool came into her face — the kind that puts you into deep freeze. Chris didn't fake things, and she didn't like Pit Bull. “I've got to go talk to someone. See you, Kelly.” She walked away.

I decided the best thing to do was stare out a nearby window. It was either that window or a wall — the last thing I wanted to look at was Pit Bull's face. Things got real quiet beside me, but I knew she was still there. Finally I gave up and snuck a glance at her. She was staring right at me.

“I'm Terri,” she said.

Her eyes were that pale kind of blue that looks like the sky died in them. She'd squinted them into tough little slits. With a lot of black eyeliner around them, they could really nail you to a wall. Right away she started firing more questions at me.

“So, where'd you live before here?”

I pulled down the edge of my sleeve, even though it was long enough to cover the stitches on my left arm. “Siberia,” I said.

“No, seriously.” Her voice giggled, but her eyes kept shoving me against the wall.

Sweet'n'sour
, I thought. “In a group home,” I said.

“Which school did you go to?” she asked.

“Why?” I asked, staring out the window.

“Just wondering if you know any of my friends,” she said.

I doubt it
, I wanted to say, but the fact was that I probably did know them. Everyone knew them. They were the kind of girls most people spent their time trying to forget. I decided this was probably a wise moment to change the subject. “So, what d'you do here for fun after supper?” I asked.

“Rollerskating.” Pit Bull shrugged. “I know, it's kid stuff, but it's something to do. You any good at rollerskating?”

“I'm okay,” I said carefully.

Her pale blue eyes zoned right in on me. “You suck up to staff?”

“No!” I knew right then that I was going to have to stop talking to Chris. She was nice, but she was too friendly with the staff, and that didn't go well with Pit Bull. I didn't like Pit Bull, but I knew how these places worked. I'd had one little chat with Chris, and already trouble was breathing down my neck. I didn't want trouble, I just wanted out of here.

Pit Bull started to nail me with another
question just as Fran came out of the washroom. She was picking at her teeth with a paperclip.

“Hey, Terri — why don't you help me unload supper from the dumb waiter?” she asked. Looking right at me, Pit Bull let a smile ooze across her face. Then she linked her arm with Fran's and walked away.
What a fake
, I thought.
Talk about sucking up
.

I went back to my room and stared out my window. Every time I moved into a new place, there were so many new people — new girls, new staff. None of them ever meant anything, and nothing ever changed. I just kept moving from place to place and meeting more strangers. Who cared about any of them? I leaned against my window and tried to stare past the thoughts that were whirling inside my head. I had to keep looking at what was out there, outside myself, where it was safe. If I didn't, I would start to see what was hidden inside me. I tried never to see those things, but I knew they were there, just waiting for me to remember them.

I could feel that big bum again, sitting on my head.
Get me out of here
, I kept thinking.
Out of this place. Out of my life
.

When I checked the seating plan at supper, I found out that Chris sat at my table. Another girl named Ellen also sat with us, but she was pretty quiet and didn't say much. After filling her plate with chili, Fran joined us. I could see Pit Bull at the next table, her eyes glued to the side of my head.

Chris and Ellen started talking about winning the lottery. Whether you live free or locked up, you'll always find someone dreaming about winning the big one. Chris said, “I'd buy a jeep,
but my granny says a car is a waste of money.”

I'd get a car
, I thought.
A fast car
.

Fran nodded. “I'm with your granny. I'd rather spend the money on a trip. I'd go to China.”

Chris shrugged. “My granny would rather go to Bingo.”

Fran got up for a second helping of chili.
Man
, I thought,
I hope she gets off before those beans start kicking in
. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Pit Bull still watching me. That girl had rabies. “Pit Bull,” I muttered, shifting my chair so I couldn't see her.

“Huh?” Chris asked, her mouth full. She looked at the way I was turned in my chair, then glanced around and saw Pit Bull. Suddenly she started to laugh so hard that everyone turned to stare at us.

“Do you mind?” I hissed at her. All I needed was Pit Bull thinking I was telling jokes about her behind her back.

With a shrug, Chris calmed down. “Pit Bull,” she said, grinning. “That's great. You're a genius, Kelly.”

Just then a beautiful voice came floating up the stairway. I recognized the tune right away. It was one of the old swing songs my mom liked,
but I'd never heard anyone sing it like this.

“Sister Mary!” Chris yelled. Jumping up, she ran down the hallway to hug the nun. Since when did nuns hum big band songs?

Coming into the unit, Sister Mary sat down at our table and gave me a grin. “I just came up to see how Kelly was doing. How's the supper, ladies? I made the chili.”

Girls were crowding around our table. Smiles were everywhere, even on Pit Bull's face. Sister Mary seemed pretty popular. “I've got something for you, Kelly,” she said and handed me a rolled-up poster.

“Sister Mary gives everyone a poster when they come here,” Chris said. “C'mon, open it.”

Everyone's eyes were on me as I unrolled the poster. It was a picture straight out of a dream — a huge sky with one seagull flying, bright white in the sun. But it was wrecked by the words that ran across the bottom: LOVE YOURSELF.
Yeah, right
, I thought, studying the poster.
Hand someone a pretty picture with a few dumb words on it, and all the problems are solved, right?
But I knew better than to say what I was thinking out loud. Faking my best smile, I said, “Thanks.”

Sister Mary looked at me closely. I
wondered if she could see the little white bird inside me that wanted to fly out and away. But all she did was smile and stand up. “Is everyone ready for rollerskating?” she asked.

I rolled up the poster and put it in my room. No way was I putting something that corny on my wall. Out in the unit the girls were getting ready to head to the gym for rollerskating. As we started down the stairs, I saw girls from the other two units ahead of us. Beside me walked Chris, grinning her head off. Every now and then she would glance at Pit Bull and laugh softly.

“How many girls are there in this place?” I asked her.

“Thirty. Ten in each unit.” She pointed down a hall. “That's where the social workers' offices are.”

Oh great
, I thought.
Social workers two floors down
. We reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into a hallway — the long hall I'd seen from my bedroom window. Girls from the other units were watching me and whispering. I tried not to stare back. I could see Pit Bull close by, talking to girls from another unit.
Spreading the word about me
, I thought and watched my feet. The hallway seemed to go on forever. Finally
a staff unlocked a door at the other end and we passed through.

“That's the door to the school,” Chris told me. “The gym's right here.”

We got the skates from the equipment room and put them on. I could hardly wait to get onto the floor. When I was a kid, I took skating lessons. I even won a few contests. I figured I could blow Pit Bull's mind with my skating and then she would treat me differently. Maybe she would even decide to make me one of her friends. That would make life a lot easier in this place. As soon as I had my skates on I was off, skating as fast as I could. I went around and around that dinky old gym, doing all my best moves.

Sometimes skating works for me. The louder the music, the better. I ride the beat and when I'm moving fast on skates, I almost feel free. As I skated around the Marymound gym, I forgot Pit Bull and all her lousy questions. I kept going around and around, trying to work up more speed. My moves fit me like a glove, and my heavy ugly body felt beautiful. I could tell a lot of the girls were watching. When I passed Pit Bull, she looked away. She was impressed, I could tell.