Suddenly, the front door crashed open. Mom! Allie ran into the living room, then screeched to a stop. It was their mom, but she wasn’t alone. A strange man was with her, and he was carrying a couple of brown paper bags—the type you get at the liquor store.
Allie’s heart sank.
“Hi,” Allie said, trying to sound normal.
“Allie, how’d you get back? What are you doing here?”
No smile. No hug. Just what are you doing here?
“Well, you might as well stay. This is Stan.” Allie’s mom pointed at the man.
“Hi. How are you?” Allie asked, hoping this one would be better than the last.
Stan just shrugged. Great. Another dumb one.
Madeleine and Luke pounded down the hall and threw their arms around their mom. They clung to her silently, burying their little faces into her belly.
“Good to see ya,” their mom said, as she patted their backs absentmindedly. “This is Stan.”
The twins smiled shyly—their usual response to Mom’s never-ending trail of boyfriends.
“Come on, let’s get supper on the table,” Stan said, pulling out a big bottle of whiskey.
“Mom, please,” Allie begged. “The foster worker said we can’t come home until you stop drinking.”
“I’ll stop when I’m good and ready.” She flopped down on the couch while Stan filled two glasses to the rim.
Allie wrapped her arms around the twins and headed to their room. They’d kill a few hours playing games and eating cookies. Then she’d tell them stories until they fell asleep, the way she always did when this happened. Allie took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tight feeling in her throat. Why didn’t Mom get it? Why didn’t she see that she was going to lose them forever if she didn’t go back to the way she used to be?
The twins curled up in bed with Allie, waiting for her to make up their first game. They knew how these bad days went.
When the twins finally drifted off, Allie tiptoed back to the living room. Her mom and Stan were both asleep, empty glasses in their hands. Allie stood in the doorway, staring. No cable, no hot water, and a useless new boyfriend. What next?
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Mrs. Marsh, this is the police. Could you open the door, please?”
It started like it always did. Them knocking on the door and sounding polite. Mom’s eyes opening wide, then narrowing to slits when she realized who it was.
“Get in the bedroom,” she hissed at Allie, as she shoved the empty whiskey bottle under the couch. “And keep your mouth shut.”
“What do you want?” Allie’s mom yelled at the door. “We haven’t done nothing wrong.”
“We just need to speak to you, Mrs. Marsh. Your kids have been reported missing. Open the door, please.”
Like always, the cop’s voice was getting a little gruffer. Like he knew this was going to get ugly.
Allie hurried back to their room and crawled into bed between the twins, who were now wide awake and shaking.
Luke touched the tear on Allie’s cheek. “Ouch?” he asked.
“It’s okay,” Allie whispered, “but please stay quiet, Luke.”
Smash! Like always, their mom was throwing glasses and bottles at the locked door. “Get lost,” she screamed. “They’re mine.”
The apartment door was about to be kicked in by policeman. Again. It was amazing they hadn’t been evicted.
Allie rolled onto her side and pulled up her knees so Madeleine could squish into the nook between her legs and chest. Luke took his usual position, cuddled up against Allie’s back with his arms wrapped around her belly.
Crack! Allie winced as the cheap wooden door split open.
Yep. Another door wrecked. All the usual sounds after that—more smashing glasses, more screaming, the cops with their booming voices telling Allie’s mom to settle down.
Madeleine and Luke stayed still. Frozen. Allie could feel Luke gripping her shirt. And Madeleine had squished herself so tightly against Allie that it was hard to breathe.
They stayed in their cocoon as the yelling went on—must have been about 10 minutes, but it felt like a year.
Suddenly, the door to their room flew open.
“Get up!” Allie’s mom yelled. “They’re taking you away, again.”
Allie lifted her head and peered over the covers. There was Mom—hair all over the place, clothes wrecked from sleeping in them (probably for days). And behind her...
“Is that Buddy?” Luke whispered, as he peeked over Allie’s shoulder.
It was. Buddy, the policeman who’d dropped them off just a few hours ago, was standing in their apartment.
“Hi, cookie fans,” Buddy said, smiling sadly. “They told me to get you out of here for a bit. ‘Till your mom’s feeling better.”
“I’m feeling just fine,” their mom muttered, as she staggered down the hall. Allie cringed—couldn’t she at least try to act sober?
“Come on, guys.” Buddy held out his hand. “Your foster mom’s worried sick about you.”
Allie coaxed the twins out of bed. When their mom was like this, Allie had to be careful to not startle them or they’d panic and run. She wrapped an arm around each twin and guided them down the hall.
Two more police officers were waiting in the living room. The stupid boyfriend was still passed out on the couch. Nice. Couldn’t even wake up long enough to help. What good would he be in a real disaster, like a fire or something?
Allie helped the twins put on their shoes and guided them out into the hall.
“You’re really good with them,” Buddy said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” All those stupid cracks about being parentified were really getting on Allie’s nerves.
Buddy stared. “It means you’re really good with them,” he said, quietly.
Allie felt another twinge. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, she couldn’t help but hate him. If he hadn’t shown up, she’d still have a normal family. Okay, not normal like her mom was actually sober, or made meals, or vacuumed, or even noticed whether they were home or not. But she’d be living with her own mom—not with someone who was being paid to take care of them. Allie turned and looked back into the apartment—at her mom stomping around the living room, kicking toys and staggering into furniture.
“Mom...” Allie felt her throat tighten.
“What?” Allie’s mom glanced up, but she didn’t make eye contact. “What?” she asked, louder.
“I miss you.”
Allie’s mom flopped down on the couch and hung her head. “Same here. I’ll get you back. You’ll see.”
When they got to the cruiser, Buddy opened the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, as Allie climbed in.
Allie ignored him. She was too numb to care, and too tired to be bitchy.
They slowly headed out of town, up the long paved road that got older, narrower and bumpier, then eventually turned to gravel. He pulled up to the back door of the farmhouse. And for a minute, they all sat silently in the cruiser.
“That’s where the rooster attacked Jonathan,” Madeleine said, pointing at the hammock.
“I think Jonathan may have pooped his pants,” Luke announced, as if it was normal to be having a conversation in the back of a police cruiser in the middle of the night. “And there’s a bull in that barn that doesn’t move if you fall on his back. And cats in the haymow. And piglets. Lots of piglets. And lots and lots of poop.”
“Sounds like quite the place,” Buddy said. It was too dark to see, but it sounded like he was smiling.
Allie poked Luke to shut him up. “Can we get out, now?” she asked.
“Yep, you’re home,” Buddy said, opening the door.
Allie frowned. This would never be their home. Never.
When the cruiser door slammed shut, the house came to life. The outside lights turned on, the door flew open, and out poured JoJo, Arthur and Jonathan. Thor shoved past them and headed straight for the twins. He bounced back and fo
rth between them, rubbing his big head into their bellies and wagging his tail nonstop.
“Nice going, moron,” Jonathan said to Allie. “Have fun in the city?”
“Stop it, Jonathan,” JoJo said, as she shooed Thor away from the giggling twins. JoJo was wearing a big, ankle-length flannel nightie—all billowy and soft and fluffy-looking. She looked huggable. Not that Allie wanted a hug.
Apparently, Luke and Madeleine did. They buried their faces into her pudgy belly and squeezed. JoJo squeezed right back, holding them tightly.
“Come on,” Allie said to the twins, as she stomped past JoJo, refusing to look at her.
But as she got closer to the door, a weird, jittery feeling started building up in her stomach. Something wasn’t right.
Allie grabbed the doorknob, then turned to face the group. JoJo, Arthur, Jonathan, the twins and the cop were all staring at her. No one was moving. Not even the twins.
“What?” she asked, trying to sound snarky. “What?”
“Say hello,” Arthur said, frowning.
“What?”
“Say hello,” Arthur said, sharply. “We’ve been sitting here for hours, waiting to find out what happened to you. The least you could do is say hello.”
Allie squeezed the doorknob so hard, she was surprised it didn’t pop right off in her hand.
“Hello,” she said, her cheeks burning. “Come on!” she snapped at Luke and Madeleine, as she turned and hurried inside.
Allie stomped up the stairs and threw herself onto the bed. Luke and Madeleine tiptoed in and sat beside her.
“Are you mad at us?” Luke asked. “We didn’t mean to do it. Whatever we did, we didn’t mean to do it.”
Allie stifled a sob and wiped her tears on the pillow. “It’s not you. It’s just...everything. I don’t know how to get us home if Mommy can’t stop drinking.”
“She can. And she will,” Madeleine said. “She loves us.”
Allie took a deep, shaky breath. She hoped Madeleine was right. She really did.
CHAPTER 6
A sunbeam poked at Allie’s eyes, and the smell of bacon tickled her nose.
Oh, no, not a new foster home, Allie thought, as she struggled to shake off the night’s stupor. She looked around the room, squinting in the bright morning light. Flowery wallpaper, a sloped attic ceiling, white dressers, old-fashioned beds. Good, they were still at JoJo’s. Well, not good...but at least she wouldn’t have to break in a new foster family.
Allie stretched her legs, searching for the twins. Nothing. She was the only one in the bed.
An explosion of giggly laughter from the kitchen told her where Madeleine and Luke were.
“See? Allie told you to eat with a knife and fork!” Madeleine squealed. “She was right. You should listen!”
Well, this was something Allie had to see. She hopped out of bed and trotted down the stairs. There, lying on the kitchen floor, was Luke. He was giggling and squirming, trying to push Thor away. But the big dog had pinned him down and was licking his face.
JoJo and Jonathan were both laughing so hard that they were bent over the counter. And Arthur?
Allie stopped in her tracks. Arthur sat at the table, half-smiling. His fake arm was lying on the table—just lying there, like that wasn’t totally disgusting. And he had the stump of his real arm soaking in a bowl of some sort of liquid.
Despite the squirming, squealing boy on the floor, Allie couldn’t take her eyes off Arthur’s arm.
“It’s infected,” Arthur said, when he saw Allie staring. “This stuff kills bacteria. I have to soak my arm in it a couple of times every day.” Arthur winced. “It kind of stings.”
“Oh, uh...sorry,” Allie said.
“Not your fault.” He swirled his stump around in the bowl before lifting it out and dabbing it with a towel. “It’ll get better eventually. I hope.”
“Arthur, it will definitely get better—and soon,” JoJo said. “The more optimistic you are, the faster it will heal. I read that somewhere.”
Allie rolled her eyes. Great. Another one of those life-is-what-you-make-of-it people.
“Okay, we’re officially having a fresh start today,” JoJo said. “Arthur, put your arm back on. You and Jonathan take the kids out to the barn and teach them how to do chores.”
“And what am I supposed to do?” Allie asked, frowning.
JoJo raised an eyebrow as she pulled Thor off Luke’s now-clean face. “You’re one of the kids,” she said. “You’re going to learn how to do chores.”
Madeleine and Luke bolted out the door without so much as a “good morning” to Allie. And after Jonathan stepped into his manure-covered rubber boots, and Arthur pulled on his fake arm, they trailed out, too.
This was truly the weirdest family Allie had ever lived with—and she’d lived with a lot of them. Allie stuck her feet into a pair of old boots that were lying by the door and headed outside.
Madeleine was leaning out the haymow window, waving at Arthur down below. “What happened to your real arm? Why do you have a plastic one?”
Arthur stopped and looked up at Madeleine. “When I was born, my right arm was good, but the left one looked weird and the bones were missing. It wasn’t good for anything, so they amputated just below the elbow.”
Arthur tried to walk into the barn.
“Wait!” Luke called, squeezing his head out the same small window as Madeleine. “Is it like a robot arm? Can you lift cars?”
Arthur grinned. “Nope, it’s even better. It’s called an iLimb. I can adjust the thumb using my good hand, so I can pick up things of any size.” He held up his fake arm and showed them, clicking the thumb flat against his palm (like he was about to pull on a tight sweater), then moving it all the way out so he could grab something big, like a basketball.
“The older kind of prosthetics are like lobster claws—they open and shut, but the thumb is stuck in the same groove. This is a ton better,” he said. “It even has sensors that tell it to stop squeezing once I get a good grip, so no more crushed pop cans.”
“Cool!” Luke stared at Arthur like he was a movie star.
“Child Protective Services paid for that,” Jonathan whispered to Allie. “If they hadn’t, he’d be wearing one of those lobster claws.”
Allie scowled. “I don’t care what they paid for. He’s still stuck living here and not with his real family.”
Jonathan’s face clouded over. “You know, the world’s never going to be perfect, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a witch all the time. Try being grateful. Or get yourself a broom.”
Allie and Jonathan stood, scowling at each other as the warm sun beat down on them and chickens poked around their feet.
“Come on, you two,” Arthur said. “Jonathan, you teach Madeleine and Luke how to feed the pigs and cows. Allie, you can clean out the back pen—the one with the little calf in it. Just toss the manure out the back door into the manure spreader. I’ll deal with it later.” He handed Allie a pitchfork and walked into the barn. Leaving her standing there. With a pitchfork.
“The calf is called Scooter,” Luke yelled from the window. “I named him. And it’s a good name,” he said, glaring at Madeleine.
Allie gritted her teeth as she stomped into the barn. The pitchfork handle felt weirdly rough and scratchy in her palm.
As Allie ducked under the bare bulb that dangled from a wooden beam, something light and feathery tickled her face. A spider web! She stumbled ahead, rubbing her free hand up and down her cheek, trying to pull off the strands. Allie avoided making eye contact with Blackie. True, he was standing there doing nothing. But you never knew. You just never knew.
A second bulb hung from an old wire at the far end of the alleyway. And right in front of it was Scooter’s pen. Allie groaned.
The manure was at least two feet deep. Its acidic smell bit at Allie’s throat, making her cough. And perched in the middle of the mess was Scooter the calf, his scraggly little legs quivering with excitement.
> Allie stepped carefully into the pen. Her boots slurped as the manure tried to suck her in.
Five sticky steps, and it happened. Allie slid—skated, almost—across a patch of watery manure. In a flash, her feet shot out from under her and she landed, belly-flop style, on her back. She tried to sit up. No luck. Her hips and back had been sucked into the chilly muck like it was quicksand.
The ground shook as Scooter bounded over. The calf leaned down and snuffled excitedly, then stuck out his raspy tongue and dragged it across Allie’s face. He spun around in a circle, smacking Allie’s lips with his manure-covered tail before bounding around the pen kicking up his heels and spraying poop everywhere. Allie sputtered frantically, trying to get the manure—which tasted oddly like warm Dr. Pepper—out of her mouth.
If they ever found her, she was definitely getting first dibs on the bath.
“Cripes, you’re useless.” It was Jonathan, of course. Allie hated that boy.
Scooter, the scrawny little calf, was still racing around in circles—no doubt trying to confuse his prey before attacking her with his disgusting tongue again.
“I hate you,” Allie said, staring up at Jonathan.
“Would you like me to help you up?” Jonathan asked, using a sickly sweet voice that was even worse than his normal snotty one.
“I hate you.”
Jonathan smirked. “I can help you up, you know.”
“I hate you.”
“Just say the word. I’ll even clean the pen out for you if you do.”
“I...” If Allie could have crawled down through the manure and straight to China, she would have done it. “I hate...”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “Can you help me up?”
Jonathan didn’t move.
Allie’s skin crawled. “Can you help me up...please?”
Without another word, Jonathan reached down, grabbed Allie under the arms and heaved. She came out of the wet manure with a weird slurping sound.
Then he grabbed the pitchfork and started shoveling.
Allie scrambled out of the pen—being careful to not get knocked over by Scooter, The Incredible Running Calf—and stood in the alleyway. Jonathan was hunched over, tossing fork after fork of manure out the door and into the spreader.
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