Forget-Me-Not Blue, page 17
His face broke into a huge smile. He nodded.
She called up the attic stairs. “Come and see my costume. Take a picture and send it to Mom.”
The next morning, when Con got out of the truck to let her out, she said, “Don’t forget about tonight.”
He rolled his eyes.
She didn’t care. She gave him a quick hug whether he liked it or not.
“’Bye,” she called to the scarecrow, and ran toward the door.
It was a beautiful day.
At lunch, she had given AnaMaria a short, fat carrot from the garden that Sofie thought looked kind of like a gnome, and AnaMaria had given her some chips, which looked like chips, when the office lady touched Sofie’s shoulder and said she should come to the office. It was probably the advocate, who stopped by now and then.
But it wasn’t the advocate. In a little room off the office there were a man and a woman she didn’t know and Mr. Bloom. They were all standing staring at her. For a second, she thought maybe she was going to get the Student Explorer Award early.
But Mr. Bloom didn’t look proud or happy. A knot tightened in her throat.
“I’m a social worker, Sofie,” the woman said. “Your regular one is on vacation this week, so I’ll be helping you.”
She hadn’t asked for help with anything. And if she needed help, she would have called the advocate. They had his phone number on the refrigerator.
“This is a Juvenile Court officer,” the social worker said, gesturing to the man. “He has a judge’s order to remove you from the home where you live, at”—she looked at a piece of paper and read Sofie’s address out loud—“and place you in foster care. That’s my job today. I’ll be taking you to your new home.” She smiled like it would be a big treat for her and Sofie both.
Wait. This was not right.
“I’ve already gotten your things out of your locker,” the social worker said. She smiled and motioned toward the door. “So shall we go?”
This person was very confused. “You’ve got me mixed up with somebody else,” Sofie said.
The social worker shook her head.
The walls of the room began moving closer and making the people taller. Sofie was being squeezed. She had to push back. What would Connie and the scarecrow do if she went to a foster home? The idea was ridiculous.
“I have a good home,” she said. “Our granddad buys fresh eggs from a neighbor and grows food in the garden. He goes to meetings all the time to stay sober. And he’s doing great. I read to him at night and he brings me to school each day in his truck and picks me up when school is out. We go to the garden most days. We put the garden to bed after school yesterday.”
Her voice was threatening to break, but she would not let it. She looked at Mr. Bloom, whose face seemed blurry.
“Mr. Bloom knows my brother is the best brother in the world and he has always looked after me.”
Connie might die if she got taken into foster care. So might the scarecrow.
“I can’t go into foster care. It would ruin everything. I have a real bed now. And two bookcases. Two.” She held up two fingers to make the point. Her eyes moved from the social worker to the other person. Didn’t they understand what it meant to have two bookcases? People with two bookcases did not belong in foster care.
“Tell them, Mr. Bloom. I’m going to win the Student Explorer Award so I have to stay here.”
“I can’t possibly see how it’s in Sofie’s best interest to be taken out of her home,” Mr. Bloom said. “She comes to school every day. She’s my strongest fifth grader. I’ve known her and her brother for years. They’re very responsible kids. Very resilient kids. Everybody should have kids like them.”
His face was deep red like he was about to punch somebody. “I protest.”
The man said, “You’re free to contact the Juvenile Court office to register your protest. But the order is for immediate removal for the child’s safety.”
He nodded to the social worker, who reached her hand out to Sofie.
Sofie shook her head no. “I’m going trick-or-treating with my brother tonight. I have a pirate costume all ready. You’re mixed up or something. There’s nothing bad going on at our house. Our granddad is our guardian. The advocate said.”
Connie would be furious if she went with the social worker. If he were here, he’d fight for her. And he’d expect her to fight for herself. These people were like the man on the bus who had stared at her bare feet that day. They thought they knew something about her and her family. But they didn’t. They were stupid. And mean.
She bolted, but the man was quick and blocked the door. Sofie stared at him. He was big and there was no friendliness in his eyes.
“Why right now? What happened?” She tried to make her voice big and demanding.
Then she had an awful thought. Connie was always saying the scarecrow was too old to be working at that car wash.
Horror froze her. Barely breathing, she asked, “Is my granddad okay?”
The man glanced behind her at Mr. Bloom. “There’s a need for confidentiality.”
What did that mean?
But she understood now that something had happened to the scarecrow. Had he started drinking or using drugs again? Was he in jail? Had he hurt somebody? Was he hurt? Was he...
When they left, AnaMaria was at the water fountain. She looked scared as she watched Sofie and the social worker pass. Sofie wanted to speak to AnaMaria, or touch her. But she was clammy and her tongue was tied by terror.
chapter 33
Sofie sat at the kitchen table wearing her jacket and holding her backpack on her lap. A row of action figures on the windowsill made weird shadows on the floor. The lady, who said to call her Cindy, offered a snack. Sofie said no thanks. The lady asked Sofie if she’d like to see her bedroom. Sofie got a book out of her backpack and said she’d rather read. She was not going to be sleeping here.
She pretended for what felt like a long time, turning the pages. Once, a little boy stuck his head around the door and watched her. She looked at him through her lashes, but kept her head down, turning the page. Eventually he went away. A kid’s TV show was on in another room.
The lady kept coming into the kitchen to stir something in a pot.
“Do you like sloppy joes? That’s what we’re having for dinner.”
She wouldn’t be here for dinner.
“Judd and Marie will be home soon,” the lady said.
Sofie had seen shoes and jackets of other kids by the door. She needed to make her move before there were more people in the house.
The lady talked about Judd and Marie. Sofie didn’t listen. She had to find out what had happened to everybody. All the social worker would tell her about Con was that he was safe. But he hadn’t been unsafe. And safe where? Was he in another foster home? The social worker said she was just covering for the week and didn’t know about Sofie’s granddad. The advocate would be in touch.
If only she’d memorized the advocate’s number, but she hadn’t known she’d have an emergency. Her heart was jumping like a frog. It was so hard to sit here until she got her chance.
She’d asked Cindy if she could call her brother, and Cindy said not until they heard from the advocate. When would that be? Soon, Cindy said.
Sofie startled at the long, loud buzz coming from the basement.
“That’s the dryer,” Cindy said, turning to go down the stairs.
Sofie gave her time to get there and then she crammed her book into her backpack and slipped out the kitchen door. She ran through the backyard, fought through a scratchy hedge where she had to turn and yank her bookbag free. She ran through another backyard, through a front yard, onto a sidewalk.
She ran for as long as she could, zigzagging a few blocks. A dog barked. A lady raking leaves called, “You okay, honey?”
Sofie raised her hand in a wave. “In a hurry!” she called breathlessly.
Around the corner, she slowed to a walk until she was able to run again. Finally, after a few more blocks of houses, she came to a wide street. She saw a bus stop in the next block and hurried toward it.
In the empty shelter, she made herself as small as she could. She prickled with sweat even though the day was cool. Wind carried a piece of paper along, bumping against the sidewalk, until it rolled into the shelter and hit her ankle.
When she saw a bus coming she stood, and the minute the door opened she ran up the steps and showed her pass. She moved to the back and sat down like she rode this bus every day. She looked out the window. She had no idea where she was. Except on a bus that stopped and started a lot and was taking forever.
She was afraid she was going the wrong way. But all buses eventually ended up at the bus barn south of downtown, and she could walk home from there.
She gripped her backpack and willed the scarecrow or Con to be there. And wherever the scarecrow was, she willed him to be sober. If he was at a meeting, that was okay. That was good.
From watching the shadows, she decided the bus was moving east toward downtown. She loosened her grip on her backpack a little.
The bus was on the freeway, going fast. There wouldn’t be many stops before the bus barn.
A police car, siren blaring, whizzed by. The lady, Cindy, might have called the cops. She might have described Sofie. Ten years old. Curly blond hair.
Her heart raced as she dug around in her backpack. They had to bring hats and gloves to school now in case it was cold at recess. Sofie tried to cram as much of her hair as she could up under her hat. She felt the orange knit stretching, getting tighter and tighter as she poked and stuffed.
The lady across from her was staring. Sofie probably looked like a pumpkin head, and that was fine. She just couldn’t look like herself.
She scrambled off the bus the second the back door opened at the bus barn and ran, leaving the stink of buses behind. After several blocks, she was in familiar surroundings.
If the cops were looking for her, where would they look? At first, probably in the neighborhood around Cindy’s house. When they didn’t find her, would they wonder if she had the street smarts to take a bus? If she did, where would she go?
Duh.
She slowed to a casual walk, her head down, most of her hair hopefully hidden. She cut through alleys and parking lots—always watching for a police car. Dogs barked from inside fences. Kids on bikes were doing wheelies in a vacant lot.
Even if nobody was home, she knew where a secret key was in the shed. She’d go in the house and call the advocate. The thought of an empty house stole her breath.
As she finally got close to their alley, her heart was in her throat, hoping so much...
And there was the scarecrow’s truck.
And there was the scarecrow! Sitting on the back steps in the late afternoon sun, his head in his hands.
“Gunner!” she cried.
He looked up, taking a few seconds to spot her. “Sofie?”
She ran and hugged him and felt his arms go around her. He smelled like his tea. She clung to him, crying.
“Oh Gunner, I was so scared.”
She was calling him by his name. It flooded her with a feeling of safety and love.
“Gunner,” she said. It felt like a purr. Like tiny Sabine’s purr. Why had she not known it would?
“You’re shaking, poor girl,” he said.
He held her back, his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were red rimmed. “They shouldn’t have done it like that,” he said. “It scared everybody half to death worrying about each other.”
“Do you know where Connie is?”
Then she heard feet on the stairs and Con charged out the back door. He crushed her in a hug, then stepped back. “How did you get here?”
“I ran away. On the bus.”
Her cap was so tight it was giving her a headache. She pulled it off. Her hair falling free felt wonderful. They were together and she could tell Gunner was sober. The people might come and try to take her away, but Gunner would never let them. If he could get rid of the stupid boyfriend with the gun, he could save her from foster care.
She was asking Con how he’d gotten there when she saw the advocate come around the corner of the house. His glasses caught the low sun and he twinkled.
“Sofia,” the advocate said. “Conrad. Mr. Jones.”
Gunner nodded. Con glared.
To Sofie, the advocate said, “I had a feeling I’d find you here. Did your granddad pick you up?”
She caught her breath. Had she gotten Gunner in trouble?
She shook her head hard enough to scramble her brain. “No, no, no. I ran away. He didn’t know anything about it until I showed up. I just got here.”
“How did you get here?”
“On a bus. And I walked. And ran.”
He looked at her. She wasn’t sure what to make of the look. Maybe it was friendly. Or maybe she was wrong.
“Well, you can’t stay here,” he finally said gently.
She moved closer to Gunner. He put his hand on her shoulder.
“Tell me why it had to be done the way it was,” Gunner said, his voice shaking. “All of a sudden. Scaring Sofie and Con. I would have told those people about my record if they’d asked. I figured they could check on their own, and probably had, and that it was okay for me to be the kids’ temporary guardian.”
The advocate looked pained. “They did run a background check when the children’s mother was arrested and you became their temporary guardian. And the background check showed your felonies and recent incarceration. But the report got misplaced and didn’t surface until this morning.”
He cleared his throat. “You have to understand. Social Services and Juvenile Court are short on staff. There’s a lot of turnover. People have caseloads that are too heavy.
“When your background report surfaced this morning, alarms went off. If something happened to the children in your care, the state would have all kinds of liability. That’s why they swooped in and took Sofie out of school. If I’d been available, things might have turned out differently.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t be reached. By the time I got off the plane, it was too late.” He looked embarrassed. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he told Gunner.
Sofie saw Gunner’s lips tremble.
“The judge is fairly comfortable with Conrad being here for now, but it’s different with Sofia. She’s younger and a girl. We can schedule a hearing before the Juvenile Court judge and request a full waiver of the felony requirement. But that will probably take weeks.”
Wait. Con could stay, but she couldn’t?
The unfairness of it opened like a huge crack in the earth, and she teetered on the edge.
“That’s not fair!”
Con looked miserable, and Gunner looked ashamed.
She would die in that foster home.
“I don’t want to be in foster care,” she said. “Gunner, Connie, tell him.”
They had to save her. So they could be together, a triangle in a circle. She needed her books and her bookshelves. She needed to cut up fruit for breakfast and ride to school with Gunner every morning. She needed to hang out with AnaMaria. She needed to go trick-or-treating tonight.
“I don’t want to be in foster care,” she wailed.
Why didn’t Gunner or Con do something?
chapter 34
That lady—Cindy—had taken the other two kids trick-or-treating. Cindy said they could work out a costume for Sofie. And be a tag-along makeshift princess? No thanks. The memory of her splendid pirate costume spread out on her bed made her heart ache.
She was supposed to be with Con and Jade and Beth. Gunner was supposed to be waiting at home for her to return with lots of candy to share.
The doorbell chimed, and the little boy who kept trying to make friends with her raced to the door, screaming, “Trick or treat, Papa. Trick or treat!”
That had happened so many times Sofie wanted to put a pillow over her ears. After each batch of goblins left, the little boy came and stood by Sofie. She felt him looking at her. Waiting. She couldn’t be nice to him or she’d break down and bawl.
“Is it okay if I take a shower and go to bed?” she asked the dad, whose name was Brian.
He looked doubtful. “It’s awfully early.”
“I’m tired.”
“Sure you are,” he said after a second. “Go ahead.”
Downstairs, where her room was, Cindy had left pajamas on the bed. They were probably clean, but they smelled funny.
So did the shampoo when Sofie squirted it into her palm. She needed watermelon shampoo. Did her mom miss the watermelon shampoo? They were both away from home now. She jerked away from that thought as fast as she could. She would not start crying.
She dried with the red towel the lady had left on her bed, which wasn’t really her bed. She didn’t want to sleep in it. But she was a little bit glad the towel was red.
Cindy had placed a comb and brush and a handful of hair twisties and barrettes in a basket in the bathroom. But she needed her special brush for curly hair. She wiped steam off the mirror. She looked like a wild bush.
Overhead, she heard the doorbell and the little boy’s feet pounding. She heard muted voices. Probably kids telling stupid jokes and riddles. Her riddle was How do you hide an elephant in a strawberry patch? The answer was Paint his toenails red.
Connie didn’t think it was a very good pirate riddle, but it suited her. She would have been a powerful pirate. A cute pirate. People would have smiled at her with her single flashing hoop earring the same way they smiled at her mom.
Did her mom know what had happened to Sofie? Sofie tried to smother the thought that this was her mom’s fault. If her mom hadn’t gone off with the stupid boyfriend with the gun, she wouldn’t be in prison. And if she hadn’t gone to prison, then Sofie wouldn’t be in foster care. Still, Sofie hoped her mom didn’t know what had happened. She would so afraid for Sofie.
Now that she had started thinking about her mom, she couldn’t stop. She brushed her teeth, but the toothpaste didn’t taste right. It tasted evil. She needed her mom to take care of her. Her mouth hurt as she moved the toothbrush. Everything hurt. Her head, her hands, her shoulders, her knees, her back, her feet. Her stomach really, really hurt. She needed her mom.
