Wildcat Fireflies (12 page)

I sighed. “I’m taking my GED later. That’s the way it works.”

“By choice?” Nicole shook her head at me. She gripped my fingers like a vise.

We both knew I hadn’t gone to real school. School here was bookless. Kirian taught me to read. Another teen I couldn’t picture taught me the birds and the bees and what to do when I got my period. The elderly guests who could talk, even briefly, gave me other lessons. History. Art. How to sew buttons. How to cure the stomach flu. Decades of life
bestowed an expertise they shared gratefully, one that I would never get sitting in a high school classroom.

Nicole held eye contact with me. “Ms. Asura is not a good person. She turns a blind eye. She likes this place. She doesn’t help.”

“What do you want from me?” I asked, defeated in all the ways that counted.
When did I give up fighting for us, for myself?
I barely recognized my own soul.

Nicole didn’t answer, simply stared at me with an expression that spoke for her.
What can anyone do? There is nothing anyone can do
.

“It could be worse. There are families that abuse the kids. We could be on the streets or we could—”

Nicole stopped me with the saddest smile I’d ever seen. “Just be careful. Please? How can she not know what’s going on here? Think about it.” Nicole hadn’t been here long enough to begin the process of acceptance. First there was denial, and anger, and frantic attempts to escape, then resolve and acceptance. I was already past acceptance, to the void of oblivion.

Ms. Asura called and spoke with Mistress before bringing new kids. They removed kids at night. The one time I asked about that, Ms. Asura said nighttime was easier on the human psyche for change.
Really?
It made the rest of us cry rather than sleep. How easy was that?

I stopped trying to tell Ms. Asura about the kids, about the realities of DG, years ago. I’d long since understood I was on my own. I handled the retribution. But the littlies, the Bodies and Semas of this world, needed someone to stand up
for them.
Maybe I can try again? To show Nicole the only evils in our world are Mistress and luck
.

We each received ten minutes with Ms. Asura, no first name. I knew nothing about her life. I tried to get to know her when I was younger, but she deflected questions deftly until I stopped asking them. She was the indeterminate age of adult. Her fingers were covered in blingy rings, and bracelets jangled with her every movement, echoing the intricate silver earrings touching her shoulders. Her clothes changed, but her jewelry remained static. Her hair, blackened by dye, was harsh against her pale skin, but gave her an authority I envied. Her cheekbones and nose were perfectly symmetrical, too perfect, and her makeup immaculately applied and maintained. I used to think she looked like a movie star playing at being a social worker. I didn’t waste energy on wondering about that, about anything, anymore.

“Hi, honey. How are you?” She put her notebook down and embraced me like she’d missed me.
I want to believe she does
. A cloud of subtle perfume enveloped me with her arms and made the back of my throat close and itch. She held on to me past the moment when I wanted to break away, almost tightening her hold as if she knew to cinch me more.

“Sorry.” She laughed off the hug. “I’ve just missed you so much. We should go shopping. Just us girls.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d promised me an outing. I didn’t answer.

“Tell me everything. How
are
you?”

I perched on the edge of the sofa. “I’m fine.”

“How are you really, Juliet? I’m on your side, remember?”

I nodded. “I’m …” I searched for the right word, the word I think she wanted to hear. “Good?”

She relaxed with a sigh of delight. As if any other answer was unacceptable. “And are you doing okay in your studies? With your duties here?”

“Um, those are good too, I guess.”
Studies? What time do I have to study? What subjects? How to clean grout and old people’s poop? How to cook for kids on a budget designed to slop one pig a couple of times a week? How to do laundry in a machine that’s outdated and never quite spins all the water out of the clothes? How to survive on three hours of sleep, five if I’m lucky?
These were the lessons I’d learned. And learned well.

She tapped her pen, ever ready to take a note, though she never did. “Are you prepared for the GED? It’ll be very important when you turn eighteen to be able to get a job. Your headmistress will write you a recommendation, I’m sure, although she did mention to me that you’re resistant to do what she asks. I hate hearing that you’re not living up to your end of the deal, Juliet. It disappoints me.” She pouted.

I stuttered an apology without knowing why, or what I had to be sorry about.

“I simply need you to try your best, right? Like we’ve talked about before?”

I nodded.

“Now that the not-fun part is out of the way, is there anything you’d like to talk about?” She reached out and patted my leg, my arm. I imagined a mother looking at her child like this—interested, alert, hopeful.

I bit my lip and picked at my hands.
Do I try? Do I say
something? Can she really help?
“Well, Bodie is having a hard time adjusting. I’m worried about him.”

She frowned, leaned in toward me. “What specifically should I know? Is he getting sick, or wetting the bed, or starting fires?”

I blanched. Starting fires wasn’t what I was thinking about, though kids who did that came through here too.

“No, none of that.” I never mentioned the bed-wetting of any kid. I laundered the sheets, so why did anyone else need to know? “But he’s scared, alone … I think Mistress might be … too … hard on him.”

She reached into her briefcase and extracted a wad of forms. “Let me dig out the correct form for a report.”

I swallowed. Panic clawed at my throat.

She paused and considered my expression with a serious one of her own. “You need to know, I’m obligated to write down any concerns you have and share them with your foster care guardian. I also have to put a copy in both your and Bodie’s files. The thicker the file, the more difficult to get placed in a family; people don’t want children who create problems and controversy. They want malleable, dutiful, cute kids.” She paused, letting her words sink deep. “So I want you to be very careful about what you say to me. Make sure it’s the truth.”

Her message was clear—continue with the report and life gets more challenging, or let it go and suck it up. I wasn’t getting a family. But Bodie might.
Can Nicole and I shelter him more? Can we create a better buffer against Mistress?
We had to try. Reporting wasn’t an option. “You’d have to tell Mistress?”

“If you’re telling me he’s abused, then yes, I do.” She
appeared saddened but still primed to take my statement. The paperwork was more important to her than the abuse. “Of course even if you can prove it, investigations take time. When’s your birthday?”

A tickle behind my ear made me look up, above Ms. Asura’s head, to the back corner of the room. High upon a bookcase full of glass vases and porcelain figurines, Mini flicked her tail. She hissed at the back of Ms. Asura’s head, but the social worker didn’t hear her. Mini seemed to shake her head, warning me to be quiet. I needed more sleep.

“I didn’t say abused.” The room spun. Bodie would be belted, or worse, for crying to me. I wouldn’t escape punishment either. I backpedaled. “There’s nothing specific, I—”

She sighed, aggrieved. “I need to know exactly what is going on, if I’m going to protect you. Juliet, I need you to be brave and tell me. Bodie is a handful. Are you sure he’s not just getting a little tough love?”

I nodded, taking the direction. “She made him clean the bathrooms.”

“Oh, well.” Ms. Asura put the forms back into her briefcase and shared a brief frowny smile with me. “Juliet, you know that discipline is completely up to the guardians. Even if we don’t agree, cleaning the bathrooms is not abuse.”

It is when he doesn’t get to eat and is told to use a toothbrush and his own spit
. I couldn’t get the words out of my mouth. It wasn’t worth it to argue.

“Juliet, have you noticed anything else? Last time I was here you mentioned finding dead rodents and lots of insects. Any more of those? Did the traps work?”

Rats, mice, butterflies, and moths floated and drifted
into corners like dust bunnies. The animals seemed to die in places I spent a lot of time, like the kitchen, laundry room, and attic. The bugs seemed to come into the house to die wherever they could.

After Mistress heard of my complaint to Ms. Asura, she had made me cook and serve a rat to the kids. Now Nicole swept the tailed and winged corpses up and away as quickly as they settled in.

Mini flicked her tail again, drawing my attention back to her.

“No, that’s better,” I lied. We’d found a beaver and a couple of stray cats by the back door last week.

“Oh, good!” Ms. Asura clapped her hands. “See, when you tell me things I can help change them. We’re a good team. Juliet, I want you to be able to tell me anything. I’m on your side.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

I nodded, forcing my lips up. I think she believed that she was helping. I hoped Nicole was wrong. “I know.” I lifted my eyes to the bookcase.

“What do you keep looking at?” Ms. Asura turned around in her chair to follow my gaze.

My breath caught, but Mini had disappeared.

“Just a fly.”
Lying. I hate lying
.

“And you’re feeling all right? More headaches? Dizzy spells? Cramps or nausea?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“Great. I just think you’re doing so well, sweetie. You’ll do fine out in the world and that’s all we can hope for. You call me anytime, though, if you need to talk to me, okay? Anytime.”

I wouldn’t call. I didn’t have her phone number. I’d never had it. I would have had to ask Mistress for it.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a few weeks. Why don’t you send George and Matilda in, okay? I’m taking them and the twins with me today to place with a lovely family. Oh, before I forget, Kirian sent you a new postcard from Venice. Where did I put that?” She dug around in the pockets of her case and finally extracted a beat-up postcard showing a boat and the canals of Venice.

I took the card with my fingertips but didn’t read it. Not yet.
I’ll save it. I thought Kirian would take me with him. I thought he wouldn’t leave me here
.

“You look so sad.” Ms. Asura wrapped her arms around me again. “He’s happy. We have to be happy for him. I’m sure you’ll see him again, sooner than you think.”

I nodded, stepping out of her hug to breathe. When had her embraces gone from comforting to smothering? They’d changed. Or I’d changed? Maybe they’d always been that way? Maybe Nicole opened my eyes to a dynamic already present.

I plodded out of the room, trying not to run. Nicole waited for me behind the grandfather clock.

We watched the next kids bounce into the parlor and shut the door behind them. Their delighted squeals flowed under the cracks, out to us.

I needed to pack their stuff. Quickly, or they’d leave without it. Fewer kids meant fewer targets for Mistress. Every instinct said to run out the front door and keep going.

As soon as she could, Nicole dragged me around the corner. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t tell her about your sick stuff, the fainting, right?”

“No, I didn’t tell her.” My whole left thigh was mottled blue and green and my knee was swollen. I was forever injuring myself, but I rarely remembered how things happened.

Her relief was palpable. “Good. We’ll figure it out ourselves. With Google.”

“Google is your God.” I tucked my arm through Nicole’s and headed toward the kitchen.

“Nah, my God has many names, but Google isn’t one of them.” Nicole tugged my hasty French braid. It felt good to laugh. Even for only a moment.

T
he birds were barely singing their first hellos by the time Tens and I took up positions surveilling the estate Tens had seen on his run. I had wrapped one of his flannel shirts over my jeans and cotton sweater and tucked my hair up under a baseball cap. He wore all black, which made him seem even taller and leaner and more devastatingly handsome.

We’d parked the truck at a boat launch, along Wildcat Creek, a couple of miles back. It was not yet spring; fields lay muddy, ready for planting. Maybe corn? That was my
sole image of Indiana from television and movies. That and basketball.

Tens crouched beside me in the shrubs. “This is it.”

We’d snuck up as best we could, trying to appear like two people out for a morning stroll. We’d even brought a leash and put a collar on Custos to give strangers an authentic dog-walking impression. She’d probably eat me if I tried to attach the leash. It was bad enough coaxing her into the mesh collar. It had pink hearts and fake diamonds on it and came, of course, from Joi’s Valentine pooch display, so maybe that had a little to do with Custos’s reluctance. She was lucky I hadn’t decided on the tutu and tiara that came in gigantic for the larger puppy princess.

Tens poked me. “What do you think?”

“It’s creepy as hell.” I couldn’t help the quiver of fear in my knees.

He nodded. “It would make a great set for a horror movie.” I think his eyes might have smiled behind his unnecessary shades. He hid his eyes often.

I tried to laugh past the fear. “That would make us, what? The stupid, snooping, soon-to-be zombified extras?”

“Nah, we’d be the ones to survive because of our wits and stealth.” Tens’s teeth flashed in the muted light of early morning.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I asked Joi, did a little online recon, too. It’s a rehabilitation center. They don’t have a website, but other sites list them as a place seniors over eighty can go to
recover from a stroke, surgery, or broken hip. That kind of thing.” Tens spoke in a low whisper while Custos whined with each breath. She added to the conversation, even as she poked her snout through mole holes in the earth around us. “Joi says she’s never seen the inside, the staff rarely come into town, and she’s never met any patients who recovered there. Sounds like they mainly take indigents and those living alone.”