“Go on,” he said, nodding. “I keep my promises.”
“Thank you.” Allie still hated him, but at least she didn’t have to clean out that filthy pen.
As Allie walked through the barn, she could hear the twins yakking loudly about artificial arms. No doubt they were following Arthur around like shadows while he did all the work. Blackie stared at her as she stomped past, chewing the fresh hay that someone had dumped in his pen. He’d actually moved a few feet to get to it. It looked weird, seeing him standing in a new spot.
Allie headed out into the sunshine and opened the pasture gate. Cows were scattered all across the field. Only Blackie and Scooter were still penned up inside. Might as well get cleaned up and go for a walk, Allie thought.
JoJo met her in the kitchen.
“Allie, that...uh...” JoJo blinked when she saw Allie’s clothes, but kept talking as if it wasn’t weird to have a manure-coated kid in the kitchen. Which it probably wasn’t. “That social worker wants you to fill in this paper. And can you feed Tripod, please?” JoJo handed Allie the paper and a pen, then pulled on some rubber boots.
Allie looked at the sheet. It was blank. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“She said...” JoJo rolled her eyes. “She said she wants you to write a letter to an imaginary pen pal, telling her about your hopes and dreams and fears.”
Allie stared at JoJo.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“I kid you not,” JoJo said, as she headed out to the barn. “This worker’s a real winner, huh?”
Allie couldn’t come up with a good retort—and JoJo had left, anyway—so she washed and changed, crammed the pen and paper into her back pocket, then headed out to see the dog.
Tripod was lying in the sun on his fuzzy blanket. When he realized Allie was coming over to see him, his tail thumped on the ground.
Allie filled his water bowl from the rain barrel beside the barn, like she’d seen Jonathan do. Then she grabbed a handful of dog food from the storage bin and put it into Tripod’s other bowl.
She put the bowls near Tripod’s head, then waited for him to eat. He whimpered as he tried to twist his body so he could get his head into the dish. It was clearly hurting him.
Allie looked around. There was no one in the yard to help. So she took a piece of dog food, dipped it in water and offered it to Tripod. He licked it out of her hand, then lay his head back down while he chewed, staring at her and gently thumping his tail. Allie soaked another piece of food, then another and another, feeding them to Tripod until he didn’t want to eat any more.
She lay her hand gently on what was left of his leg, feeling the heat through the bandages. He thunked his tail once more, then yawned and closed his eyes.
Must be nice to be happy, Allie thought. Nice to feel like you’ve got a real home.
Allie pulled the crumpled paper out of her pocket, smoothed it down and started writing.
Dear Imaginary Pen Pal,
Well, they’re at it again. All that social worker crap about getting a better future and understanding your past and blah blah blah. Now I have to write a stupid letter about my goals and fears.
Here’s the thing: My goals used to be to read every book I could find and to become a famous writer. Now things are different. Now my goal is to get us moved back in with Mom. My fear is that we’ll be dragged from one foster home to the next, until they dump us on the street. That’s what happens, you know. If you’re not with a real family when you turn 18, they just shut down your foster care file. Get lost. Find a bench to sleep on. I can’t let that happen to Madeleine and Luke.
Wanna know a secret? I’m scared. My goal is to fix things up, patch things up and cover things up—again—so Madeleine and Luke can have a happy life. But I’m scared that I’m not good enough to do it.
Allie looked down at Tripod. When he saw her looking at him, he put his front paw (the one he still had) on her leg and pushed, asking for more rubs.
Allie tore the letter into tiny pieces and shoved them into her pocket. No bloody way she was going to let Stone pick around in her brain. She scratched Tripod behind the ears as she tried to breathe away the heavy feeling in her chest. She could hear Madeleine and Luke racing around in the haymow, laughing and playing. Allie walked over to the hammock, climbed in and closed her eyes.
If she fell asleep, maybe they’d go inside without her. Then she could get a break from everyone. She could get a break from the awful heavy feeling in her chest, too.
CHAPTER 7
“Allie.”
Allie kept her eyes closed. It was her first time in a hammock. It was like floating on a cloud. Like floating on a lily pad. Like...
“Allie!”
Allie kept her eyes closed. But relaxed-like closed. If you scrunched, it was obvious you were ignoring the person talking to you. The flabby, freckled, irritating person talking to you.
“ALLIE!”
Jonathan poked her in the ribs. Her side spasmed, making it obvious she was awake.
“Allie, you’re an idiot,” the flabby, freckled, irritating person said.
Allie opened her eyes—but slowly, so he'd know she found him annoying.
Jonathan clearly didn’t care. He stood there, holding the pitchfork in one hand, and an egg bucket in the other.
“When you open the pasture gate, you need to close the pasture gate,” he said, through gritted teeth.
A shadow fell across Allie’s face. She glanced to her left and screamed. Blackie was standing right there, chewing his cud and staring down at her. Cripes, he was huge—3,500 pounds, according to the sign hammered up in the barn. That was scary enough when he was in his pen, but out here, where he could trample pretty much anything...well, you did not want to be lying down looking up at him, that was for sure.
So Allie lunged out of the hammock. Tried to, anyway. Unfortunately, her boot got caught in the webbing and she fell face-first into the grass. She flopped around like a fish in a boat, trying to free herself. Jonathan and Blackie just stood there, staring.
“Are you done?” Jonathan asked, making her realize how much she really, truly, hated that boy. It was bad enough being pitched into a foster home. Worse, still, that this idiot was already here. He was absolutely the worst foster brother she’d ever had.
“I left the pasture gate open?” Allie asked, as she struggled to her feet.
“Yep.”
“But how did Blackie get out of the barn?”
Jonathan stared at her like she was the stupidest person he’d ever met. “His pen opens up at the back. He can walk out into the pasture whenever he wants. And it wasn’t just Blackie you let out.” Jonathan waved the pitchfork at nothing in particular.
Allie pulled her boot out of the webbing and looked around. There were cows eating the grass, cows standing in JoJo’s strawberry patch, cows munching tomato plants.
Allie cringed. Twenty cows could do a lot of damage in a very short time.
“JoJo’s going to kill us,” Allie wailed.
“Kill you, you moron.” Jonathan scowled. “I had nothing to do with this.”
Allie hopped on one foot as she yanked her boot back on. “What do I do?” she shrieked. Allie hated it when she shrieked.
“Cripes, you are such a witch. You really should have come with a broom.” Jonathan looked around and shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.” Then he walked off. Just left her there like he didn’t care. Which he probably didn’t.
Allie spun around wildly, looking for something—anything—that might make old Blackie want to walk back into the pasture. If you could get a bull to move, often the cows would follow. She’d read that somewhere. But the fact that Blackie was now staring vacantly at the empty hammock, chewing, didn’t bode well. He wasn’t much of a go-getter.
Allie ran over to the lawnmower and squeezed its grass-clipping bag. Full! She quickly unhooked the bag and dragged it toward Blackie, her arms shaking. What if he trampled her? What if he bit h
er? What if he did nothing, and JoJo’s garden got destroyed?
Allie took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of sticky grass clippings and held them under Blackie’s nose. The old bull’s head shot up. He snorted, then stuck out his enormous tongue, wrapped it around the whole handful of grass and sucked it right into his mouth. Allie jumped and rubbed her hand frantically against her jeans. His tongue was surprisingly rough—like sandpaper.
“Start walking, brainiac,” Jonathan yelled. He was standing by the pasture gate. Not helping, of course. Just standing there.
Allie backed toward the pasture as fast as she could, pulling out handfuls of grass every few steps. Blackie shuffled along with her, sucking back clippings as fast as he could get them. And behind him, all the cows started falling in line. It was amazing! They didn’t have a clue what was going on, but they didn’t want to be left out. If Blackie was actually going somewhere, they had to follow.
“So, brainiac, you did it,” Jonathan said, as Allie backed past him, followed by Blackie and a long line of curious cows. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Just close the stupid gate when the last cow gets in,” Allie muttered, as she wiped bull spit off her hand.
“This gate?” he asked, pointing at the only pasture gate she could possibly be talking about. “Now you think this gate needs to be closed?”
Allie gritted her teeth. If it was possible to move objects with your mind, Allie would slam that gate right into Jonathan’s stomach.
“Ouch! Get off!” Jonathan was squirming frantically, pushing at the last cow, which had stopped and was standing right on his foot.
Allie smiled. It wasn’t a pasture gate slammed into the belly, but it would do.
“You were snoring in the hammock, you know,” Jonathan said, as he shut and latched the gate. “And you missed lunch. It’s almost supper time.”
“Not everyone eats as much as you.” Allie climbed over the pasture fence. Going through the gate would have meant asking Jonathan to undo the latch. “And at least I’m not scared of a rooster.”
Okay, it sounded lame, but it was the best she could come up with. Suddenly, a tight knot formed in her stomach.
“Where are the twins?” Allie swung around, searching the yard.
“They’re in the house watching a movie,” Jonathan said, as he headed toward the barn. “You could stop acting like a fussy mother, you know.”
“It’s none of your business,” Allie muttered, as she stomped off toward the house.
When Allie pulled the door open, an amazing smell stopped her in her tracks. She breathed deeply, her mouth watering.
JoJo was at the sink, covered with flour, tomato sauce and bubbles. She smiled at Allie.
“Lasagna, garlic bread and apple crisp coming up. Luke and Madeleine are in the living room,” she said. “So, did you write your letter to your imaginary pen pal?”
“Didn’t have time,” Allie said. “I probably won’t, either.”
The floor shook as Thor galloped in from the living room and barked like crazy at the back door.
JoJo glanced out the window and shook her head. “She’s here, again.”
Madeleine peeked around the corner. “Do we get to visit Mommy tonight?”
“Not tonight, Madeleine,” JoJo said, as she opened the door for Stone. “Tonight we’re having a feast and then story time.”
Stone waltzed in like she owned the place.
“When do we get to see our mom?” Allie asked, as Stone gave JoJo a big folder stuffed with papers. Probably more court documents and witness statements, to show JoJo how messed-up Allie’s family was.
“Hello to you, too,” Stone said, putting on a fake hurt face. It looked even stupider than her fake smile.
“We should be able to go for supervised visits. We should be able to see her at your office. I know my rights.”
“Clearly, you do.” Stone raised an eyebrow. “But I don’t know if your mom’s made any progress, yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. You have to consider the needs of the foster children. We get to see our mom, at least for supervised visits. That’s the way it works, and you know it.” Stone sat down at the table and JoJo handed her a cup of tea.
Allie put on her best you know I’m right look. And Stone? She was avoiding eye contact—staring at her tea, at JoJo, at the stove...
Good. That meant Allie was winning. When the workers ran out of lame excuses and hoped foster kids would just give up, they stopped making eye contact.
“We want to see our mom this week, at your office.” Allie had to make Stone cave. After supervised visits at the social workers’ office came unsupervised visits at home. Then overnight visits. Then, if nothing went wrong, the workers would have no choice but to let Allie and the twins move back to the city. They couldn’t stop it at that point. As long as nothing went wrong.
Suddenly, Allie realized Stone was staring at her. Really staring at her.
“You’re good at manipulating people, aren’t you?” Stone said, using a cold voice that kind of creeped Allie out.
Allie opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“You’ll get your visits—supervised, at the office.” Stone paused, taking a slow sip of her tea. “But if your mom doesn’t get it together, I’m not sending you back there. You’ve jerked around a lot of social workers, but you won’t be pulling that stunt with me.”
Allie opened her mouth, then closed it. Again. She was starting to feel like a guppy.
Allie looked down at her hands, then quickly shoved them into her pockets. They were covered with bull spit and bits of grass. And they were shaking.
Stone stood up. “I’ll schedule this for tomorrow, assuming your mom is available.”
“She will be.” Allie tried to breathe normally—tried to keep her voice cool. “She wants us back.”
As soon as Stone shut the door behind her, Luke and Madeleine bounded out of the living room.
“What did she want? Is she bringing Mommy here?” Madeleine asked.
“She’s not coming here, Madeleine. We’re going home,” Luke said. He climbed onto a chair and leaned over the table so he could take a deep sniff of the lasagna.
“You don’t know that.” Madeleine pushed his head away and tried to sniff the dinner herself.
“Stop it, you two.” Allie gently pulled them back into their seats. “We’re going to visit Mommy at the Stone lady’s office tomorrow. She said Mommy’s looking forward to seeing us.”
JoJo glanced at Allie as she set two baskets of garlic bread on the table, but said nothing.
“Then we’ll be going for home visits next week, then overnight visits after that,” Allie added. “Things are moving along!” She smiled brightly, and the twins perked up as they grabbed their forks.
JoJo had just pulled the milk jug out of the fridge when Arthur and Jonathan burst through the door.
“You should see all the birds in the old oak tree by the orchard,” Arthur said. “There are hundreds of them. You can barely see the tree!”
Luke and Madeleine started to scramble out of their seats.
“No, you don’t,” Allie said. “Dinner, bath and bedtime. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
They sank back down, looking defeated.
Allie shook her head and smiled. “Don’t give me those pouty faces. You know I’m right.”
JoJo laughed. “You’re a good mom, but don’t forget to bath yourself.”
Allie eyed her suspiciously. “What does that mean?” She’d heard enough about being parentified. About needing to enjoy her childhood. About letting someone older than her raise the twins. Blah, blah, blah...
“It means you’re doing a good job of taking care of the twins.”
“And?”
“And it means you smell like the barn, so you’ll want a bath before you head into town tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Allie’s cheeks burned. For some reason, being snarky with JoJo made her squirm. JoJo wasn’t like the
other foster moms.
Jonathan snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re a good mom, because you’re a pretty snotty foster kid. And a crappy sister. And you don’t know what a bull looks like. Or a rooster...”
“Shut up.”
Later that night, freshly scrubbed, stuffed with lasagna and cozied up in bed with the twins, Allie felt the knot in her chest loosen. She felt herself drifting off. She pinched her own arm, trying to keep herself awake.
She couldn’t fall asleep. Not yet. JoJo and Arthur were still downstairs watching a show. Allie needed to stay awake until they went to bed. She had to trade the books she’d read for new ones. Then she had to stay awake to read. Once they’d moved back home, she’d never see JoJo’s library again. There were so many beautiful books crammed into that amazing room. She needed to read as many as possible. She was running out of time.
CHAPTER 8
Allie took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop shaking. She’d stayed up way too late reading. She’d taken a book on first aid, one about decorating homes on a budget, and a novel called Little Women. And she’d read them all. She was a fast reader, but it still took her until 4 o’clock in the morning to finish. Then Madeleine had prodded her awake at 6. Now she was dragging herself through what felt like the longest day of her life. She was tired. Really really tired.
And that wasn’t the worst of it. They had to be at Stone’s office by dinnertime to see their mom. Problem was, Mom was, well, Mom. Allie didn’t know if she’d be sober and chatty. Or drunk and snarly. Or something in the middle.
And whatever state she was in, the workers would be recording it all. With some families, social workers actually recorded the visits so they’d have proof of how crappy the parents were. So they could show the DVDs to a judge. Allie’s family was one of those families.
Allie stifled a yawn and tried—again—to stop her hands from shaking. She had to pretend everything was okay, so Luke and Madeleine would stay happy and calm. Otherwise, the whole evening would be a mess.
“Stand still, Madeleine, I’m almost done.” Allie stuck the comb in her mouth and grabbed more bobby pins. She was trying to tame Madeleine’s long, scraggly hair so it would look pretty for their visit.
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