Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  When Jake started dating Madison Abernacky three months ago, Emily and I were fairly surprised. Although Jake’s type was no more discriminatory than “girl,” the ones he dated tended to embody the synonymous I-just-fell-out-of-bed-looking-this-stunningly-gorgeous persona. Maddie, while incontestably cute, did not come from this stock—less super-model and more garden fairy with the wavy russet hair, generous freckles, and petite frame more diminutive than Emily’s. And behind those crescent honey-brown eyes was a spunky, smart, and goal-oriented girl who had unwittingly captured the heart of the most eligible boy at Shorecliffs.

  Jake, flunking Algebra and barely passing Civics, was beseeched by his water polo coach to utilize help from the tutoring center. Mr. Perkins had given him an ultimatum; either raise his grades or be bumped from the team. As the boy’s team’s most valuable player, the coach didn’t want to lose him, but the school’s strict grade requirements prohibited any student from participating in an extracurricular or sport without a B average or higher. Ashamed of his less-than-stellar grades, he scheduled the appointment under the only alias he could think of on the spot—Harry Dumbledore. Sneaking back onto campus, well after the last bell of the day had rung, Jake skulked the perimeter of the building, determined not to be seen. He hadn’t told anyone he was making the appointment—not even Emily, whom he rarely kept secrets from. Raybanned and hoodied, Jake entered the tutoring center—which up until that point, he’d believed to be a second library. Madison was assigned as his tutor and that was that. A few weeks later, the day before he officially asked Maddie to be his girlfriend, Jake confided in his twin and told her everything.

  And so far so good; even the secretly overprotective Emily approved of his choice. Maddie was to be a great match for him. She challenged Jake in many areas of his life, never allowing him to pull the “I’m just stupid” card, the way his past girlfriends had. But still, I wondered how these polar opposites would fare in the long run.

  Their interests and priorities didn’t exactly align like a constellation. From the age of seven, Maddie had her life mapped out on dream boards and spreadsheets. And Jake—well, Jake was interested in three things and three things only: food, surfing, and girls. Until recently, that was in order of preference. Maddie, however, was rearranging his priorities without even realizing it. Jake was studying for tests, doing better in all of his classes and almost never took the easy route by copying someone else’s homework. Maddie had no tolerance for laziness, and Jake, not wanting to lose a good thing, made considerable effort to please her—even if he did slip up every once in a while.

  Back at the table, I reclaimed the wide-open spot on the bench. Emily took her seat next to her brother.

  “Hi guys,” Maddie said in her cheerful husky voice, brushing at the fiery licks of hair falling into her eyes. I smiled, choosing to wave instead of speak, due to a mouthful of cantaloupe. She poked her head around Jake to see Emily, long copper braids hanging loosely over the Mathletes—Shorecliff’s competitive mathematics team—letterman’s jacket she wore. She wasn’t the type of girl to wear her boyfriend’s jacket; not when she had worked so hard to earn her own.

  “Yo,” Emily called back. “We got this for you.” She reached a hand in front her brother, who was busily foraging a Kobe beef hamburger with the unspoken, “I’m having a moment” look in his half-closed eyes.

  “Oh, yum, thanks!” She took it gratefully, unscrewing the top. “I love Snapple.” She took a deep swig, closing her eyes as she tilted the bottle back. After watching her closely, I determined she genuinely meant that and wasn’t just trying to save face as I had. She pulled the drink away, smiling. “Made from the best stuff on earth.” I joined in on the chuckling, though I had no idea what was funny.

  A moment later, Emily snatched Jake’s hamburger off the plate, taking a monstrous bite. “Myadie, fyut jappen nafter dird pird?”

  Maddie and I stared at Emily perplexed. Jake’s expression was clearly one of pain; he gaped openmouthed, looking as if he might start whimpering. “You didn’t even ask,” he whined sorrowfully. Emily rolled her eyes, gesturing with her chin toward a replica of the hamburger she held in her hands.

  “I loved that one just as much,” he replied in a thick whisper.

  Maddie and I were left on our own to try and decipher the garbled sentence that had just sprayed out of Emily’s mouth. “Sorry, Em. I have no idea what you just said.” Maddie spoke matter of fact, shaking her head slowly from side to side.

  Emily handed the half-eaten hamburger back to Jake. He took it from her with the careful hands of a new father. Happy once again, he translated Emily’s sentence for us. “I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure she said, ‘Maddie, don’t you think my brother is a stud?’” Jake’s mimic of Emily was frighteningly accurate. He executed a flawless Emily smile; the one she used when she was utterly amused with herself.

  “You wish, hippo breath.” Emily smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes at Jake. “I said, what happened to you after third period? I waited for you outside of English.”

  Maddie looked up at the ceiling, as if the answer was wafting overhead. Her eyes suddenly went buggy. “Oh, so get this,” she began portentously. “Ms. Flannigan asked me to stay after class because another student’s exam answers were suspiciously similar to mine. Can you believe that?” She looked at each of us in open outrage. “She actually thought I cheated! I mean, really people?” She threw out an open-faced hand. “Checks and balances and the separation of powers? I could have aced that test in my sleep.”

  Jake smiled dreamily at her, whispering into her ear, “I love it when you get all intellectual and use words I don’t understand.” Blushing, I ducked my head, turning away from the intimate moment. “Isn’t it hot when she does that?” I heard him ask. “Makes me all steamy inside,” he continued. I looked up just in time to catch him nipping playfully at her jaw.

  Maddie shoved him gently. “Jacob Anthony, I’m not one of your snacks,” she warned, smiling despite her best efforts to be appalled.

  “Mm.” He kissed her cheek. “But you’re just as delicious.”

  Emily dropped her fork into the bowl of noodles. “Well there goes my appetite,” Emily announced in a dignified voice. “I vote for a topic change.”

  Maddie giggled as Jake clutched her waist, but still managed to laugh out a question. “What did you guys do last weekend?”

  “I spent Saturday at the beach with a bunch of old dudes,” Emily said, not unkindly. “Grandpa D showed up in his Woody full of friends from way back in the day. Seriously, though, I have to hand it to them. For being geezers, they shredded the ocean. Actually, they were better than almost everyone out there.”

  “Yeah, it was pretty sweet,” Jake agreed. “I can’t believe Grandpa almost brawled with that kid who snaked his wave. If Dad hadn’t stopped him there’s no way he would’ve let it go.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t have,” Emily chimed in. “That kook deserved to be taught some manners. Drives me insane when people just barge in or crowd me right as I start to paddle. Just ’cause there’s no lines, doesn’t mean there aren’t rules and roads.”

  Maddie laughed, leaning forward. “Not everyone has been surfing since they were two like you guys. I had no clue what I was doing when Jake took me out the first time.”

  “See, that’s the problem. People think because they can buy a board, they’re entitled to take it out on the ocean and get in everyone’s way. There should be classes before anyone’s allowed in the water. It’s like if I took the car Mom bought me and cruised down PCH before I had my license.”

  “You did do that,” Jake reminded her.

  “That’s different. You were stranded at Blake’s and he was drunk. Like I was going to let him drive you home.”

  “You totally saved my hide. Mom would’ve beat me if she found out I went to that party.” He chuckled, looping an arm behind Emily’s neck and mussing with her hair. “What would happen if I didn’t have such a rad s
ister?”

  “Well,” Emily exhaled, then replied stiffly, “I can tell you what will happen if you don’t take your sticky cupcake fingers out of my hair.” She flung his arm off, scowling. “Ever heard of this thing called a napkin?”

  Jake mused for half a second. “Hm . . . don’t think I have, actually.” Then he turned toward Maddie, bundling her up in his arms. “What about you, babe? You ever heard of this nahp-kyn?”

  Maddie gave him a look of affection, and shook her head. “I spent all of Saturday and Sunday indoors,” she announced, making an obvious subject change. “The Mathletes had a competition over at Bell Tower. Their school had a strong team, but in the end we creamed them.” She smiled, smug. “After six rounds we went into final . . .”

  Maddie continued to chatter, proudly relaying the events. My mind began to wander then, pulling me into my own recollections from the weekend.

  It was Sunday morning and I had just arrived at The House of Hope; my second home by choice. For many of its residents, it was not the case. The charitable program offered a last resort for broken families in need of rehabilitation and restoration.

  Unfortunately, often enough to break my heart, children were brought in by social workers, parentless. When I visited every two days, it was with those children that I spent a hundred percent of my time. The majority had been removed from their homes, taken once it had become obvious their parents were no longer fit to care for them. But a small percentage included lives crushed by the cruelness of loss; mothers and fathers stolen by death and leaving them no place else to go, and with the seemingly hopeless title of orphan. It was in that understanding, I had been told, that the House of Hope had chosen its name. “There is always Hope.” Engraved on an iron placard, gone green with wear and age was this assurance to each and every person. The residents were taught to no longer think of hope as a feeling or emotion, but a place; reminding them no matter how dark life became, no matter how many backs were turned on them, hope would remain. And this is what I whispered into the little ears of those I loved, holding them while they asked tough questions, never having the right answers to give. Luckily for me they didn’t really want answers. They wanted my love.

  Shortly after my first week volunteering, something occurred to me. Locked in an embrace with a six-year-old little boy, I came to realize that, until a child in desperate need of love has wrapped their arms around your neck with the hunger of a starved stomach, then you haven’t actually experienced a real hug.

  Sunday was just that kind of day. Mr. Sandhearn—the supervising director—approached me the moment I stepped through the doors of the colorful wing belonging solely to the children. He told me we had a new arrival, Javier Ruiz. A note had been found in his pocket from his aunt, explaining the situation. A year ago, Javier’s mother died from AIDS, and he’d been given to her only sister, who had six kids of her own she could barely afford to feed. The aunt concluded there was no room for Javier in her home.

  Listening to Mr. Sandhearn tell me the story, it took everything I had not to start crying. Javier had been spotted getting out of a beaten down Chevy Impala by a security camera, hesitantly walking up to the iron gate with only a well loved teddy in his thin arms. Though no sound was recorded, it was obvious from the way his aunt waved her arms urgently from the front seat that she was in a rush to be rid of him—or nervous they wouldn’t let her leave Javier. She sped off, jumping a curb and skimming the back of a parked car. She hadn’t even waited to make sure Javier was taken inside.

  As we headed for the children’s dormitory, Mr. Sandhearn continued to talk, informing me Javier wouldn’t leave his room when invited to join the other children for play time. Against protocol, I asked for a moment alone with Javier. Reluctant at first, eventually he granted permission.

  “Just don’t expect to get anywhere with Javier right away, Foster,” Mr. Sandhearn warned kindly. “He’s not talking to anyone. It’s going to take time building trust back into him. I suspect after he was given to his aunt, Javier was made to feel like a burden, and likely abused.”

  Tears stung at the corners of my eyes, so I simply nodded.

  After taking a moment to gather my strength, I knocked on the red door covered in blue and white sailboats. I was met by Selena, one of the more affectionate room mothers. She squeezed my shoulder, smiling solemnly in an unspoken, “Good luck,” before closing the door behind her.

  One look at him and my throat went thick. I couldn’t understand. “There is no room for Javier . . .” How could there not be room for this one tiny boy? He was hardly bigger than the one-eyed brown teddy he clutched. I would never have guessed six years old; four and half at the very most. With his chin tucked into his chest, his wary brown eyes followed me as I crossed the room done in a fire engine theme. I set down the box I was holding and took a seat in a chair to his left. Javier cowed on the edge of a twin bed, wearing a threadbare green sweatshirt and faded blue jeans two sizes too big. His feet didn’t quite touch the floor, but dangled inside white sneakers held together by duct-tape. His black hair was long and frowsy, curling at the ends around his ears.

  I spoke quietly, not wanting to frighten him unduly. “Hi Javier. My name is Foster. Would it be all right if I talked to you for just a minute?”

  He didn’t look up. Motionless and silent, Javier kept his eyes fixed on the red carpet. But as I watched him closely, I saw him nod. Just once. I rejoiced on the inside; it was small, but it was something.

  “Thank you. And if you change your mind and decide you would rather be alone or have Selena come back, just let me know, okay?” For a child purloined of a mother, aunt, and home, it was important Javier knew this decision was still his to make.

  “I’m really hoping we become good friends.”

  No movement.

  “You’re going to see a lot of me around here. I come every other day right after school and all day on Sundays. This is my most favorite place to be,” I said with fervor. “There’s a lake with paddle boats, a basketball court, and lots of bicycles.” With every attraction I listed, I watched for any sign of interest. But as I neared the end of the inventory, I started to worry. “Three playgrounds, an arcade . . .” His eyes darted in my direction, scanning the floor around my tennis shoes. A thrill shot through me. I had found my opening.

  “The arcade is awesome. There’s air hockey and laser tag. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be happy to show you.” He wrapped himself up a little tighter, looking away quickly. I went on, not allowing myself to become disheartened. It would take time. “And there’s lots of boys and girls your age. I think you’re really going to like them, they’re all very nice.” I pointed to the large cardboard box I’d set on the floor. “Today, all of us are going to learn how to build a bottle rocket.”

  He lifted his chin fractionally, chewing at his lip.

  “It’s completely up to you,” I said, “but, I would love to have you come down and help us build it.”

  Again, at the mention of leaving the room, he recoiled, squeezing the bear against his chest.

  I hurried to reassure him. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But unfortunately we can’t build the rocket in here.” I read the look on his face and added, “Because when we’re all done, we’re going to launch it, and it’s going to go way up in the sky.” I thought I saw a flicker of a smile and continued. “First we will take this—”As I began to lift the plastic bottle from the box, Javier suddenly scooted backward and tucked himself into a ball; he watched me expectantly, from the corner of his eyes. I didn’t understand at first. Then my stomach lurched as I realized he believed I intended to hurt him with it. The bottle weighed no more than a few ounces; but to Javier it was a weapon. Anything could be a weapon.

  My throat was thick, but I forced myself to go on, knowing only time would be capable of teaching Javier that not all hands meant to harm him.

  “Then we fill it up with a little water and stick a cork in it,” I said quietly. I r
olled the cork between my thumb and index finger. Javier was watching this intently, not blinking. I held out my hand and waited.

  It took almost a full minute.

  Slowly he scooted forward, gripping his bear. Then he stretched his arm as far as he could without dislocating his shoulder and took the cork from my palm. He began doing as I had done, rolling it between his thumb and index finger.

  “The next thing we do is take a bicycle pump and fill the bottle with air.” I removed the pump from the box and showed him the needle. “After that, we stand back and watch it shoot up into the sky.” He followed my gaze as I pointed up. “If you decide you want to come down and meet some friends and help build the rocket, just let Selena know and she’ll bring you down to me. All right?”

  I wasn’t going to push or manipulate Javier into doing something he wasn’t ready for. The first step was the biggest step. And it was imperative he be the one to move.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Javier. I hope to see you soon. Would you like to keep that cork? I brought one for everyone.” Javier nodded and I smiled.

  I picked up the box and set it in my lap, fighting the sadness I was feeling inside. I reminded myself that not everyone was willing to take such a big risk on the first try. Still, I wanted more than anything for Javier to see I wouldn’t betray him. I rose to my feet and made for the door, catching my shoe on a ripple in the rug. The box slammed to the floor—me along with it—while the contents flew like soda-spray.

  On the bright side, I noted, falling on your face in front of a six-year-old wasn’t nearly as bad as doing so before a room full of peers.

  I brought myself to my knees. Then something poked my arm. I turned and found Javier’s eyes on me, cautious and guarded. Then I saw it. There in his little brown hands was the bicycle pump he must have retrieved from the floor. He offered it to me.