“You look surprised,” Miranda said.
“I’ve never had my own room before,” Pickles said, hopping in excitement. “I always had to share with the other kids. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, then, Miranda, why don’t you show Pickles her room, since she’s so excited?” David said. “I’ll help with her things. You do have more, don’t you?”
But Mrs. Beazley was already walking inside the house with Pickles’ suitcase in-hand. She set it down in front of them on the floor, smiling. “This is it.”
Both Miranda and David exchanged looks again. Did they have a secret language Pickles was missing out on?
“That’s all she has?” Miranda asked.
“Really?” David raised an eyebrow.
“The kids in foster care don’t always have much,” Mrs. Beazley admitted.
“I’ve always had more than I needed,” Pickles said, grabbing her suitcase while beaming. “Really. I’m just fine, Mr. and Mrs. Harris. No need to worry.”
But both of them appeared apprehensive. Miranda’s red lips were pursed as she stared at the ground in concern. At her side, David shuffled from side to side, frowning at the expensive looking painting on the wall. Pickles began to feel queasy herself.
“Well…” Mrs. Beazley peered from Pickles to Mr. and Mrs. Harris. “Maybe I should let you become acquainted with one another. I’ll just say goodbye to Pickles now.”
Queasiness fluttered in her stomach, making Pickles wish she hadn’t eaten such a big breakfast. Saying goodbye to Mrs. Beazley always made her feel sad inside. She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Mrs. Beazley’s neck, and let herself absorb some of her old friend’s warmth. Tears pricked her eyes.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Beazley,” Pickles said. “I’ll miss you. Come visit when you can, okay?”
Mrs. Beazley hugged her so hard all of the air was forced from her lungs with a squeak. “Yes, of course I will. I love you, Pickles.”
“I love you too.”
When Mrs. Beazley released her, she sniffled and then walked away. Pickles forced down the lump in her throat. She tried to control the big feelings within her — the fear, the excitement, the self-doubt. Miranda and David appeared to be nice, but at that moment, an awkward silence hung in the air, reminding her she didn’t know them at all.
She placed her hand on her suitcase handle before taking a seat at the pale covered sofa. Even the watercolors on the wall were muted and all the sunlight filtering through the window left her snow-blind from the carpet.
“You have a nice house, Mrs. Harris,” Pickles said, struggling to find something to say.
Pickles glanced at the expensive television and inhaled the scent of sauce and garlic in the air. When Pickles tore her eyes away from the TV thinking, Everything is so clean, she noted Miranda chewed her bottom lip as if also fighting to find something to say.
“You can call me Miranda,” Miranda said, her voice drenched in nervousness. “You can call David by his first name too, all right?”
“That’s right,” David said.
“Thank you, Miranda,” Pickles said, her heart pounding in her chest.
She almost missed the overcrowded foster homes now. With them, there had been too much screaming to focus on the awkward silence. Then again, that had been confusing too. Hardly anyone told her what she was supposed to do.
“I should show you to your room, then, shall I?” Miranda asked.
“I’ll take your suitcase, Pickles.” David scooped it up before she could tell him she was fine on her own.
“Thank you,” Pickles said.
Miranda began walking up the stairs with David following behind her. The same heavy silence permeated the air. When they made it to the top floor, Pickles went around the corner and skidded to a stop. A gasp escaped her throat. The bedroom Miranda led her to was beautiful. It was painted ivy and had green-toned watercolor paintings hanging on the walls. A silver silk comforter had been spread across the bed. Bookshelves lining one wall had been filled with so many children’s books Pickles didn’t think she’d need to visit the library for a long time. In silent awe, Pickles entered the room. She had never seen so much stuff just for her in her entire life. All of this? Hers? She felt like she was a princess. She spun around.
“There is so much,” Pickles said. “This room is massive and so beautiful.”
Miranda blushed. “It isn’t much. When we found out you were coming to stay with us, we just wanted to make sure you would be comfortable. We weren’t even sure you would like it.”
“Are you kidding?” Pickles leaped at Miranda to hug her tight. She knew some people thought she hugged too much, but she couldn’t contain herself now. The room was so beautiful. “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Oh, Pickles,” Miranda said. “You make me feel so spoiled.”
It took a moment before Pickles stepped away, grinning. “No, it’s you who makes me feel so spoiled. I never imagined parents who… Oops… I mean foster parents who…”
Heat filled her face. Good going, Pickles. Way to jump to conclusions way too fast. They aren’t your parents. She shrugged her shoulders, walked over to the bookshelf, and tried hard not to look at Miranda or David. She knew it was childish, but she had to recover from her slip up, and she wasn’t the most graceful at figuring out what to say. Just as she gazed at a bright yellow book, she felt two warm arms wrap around her shoulders.
“I’m glad you’re here, Pickles,” Miranda said. “You’re just the child we’ve been waiting for.”
A wave of relief rushed over Pickles, engulfing her heart with warmth. The hope she had that this was her destined family strengthened. Miranda didn’t appear to care she had slipped up.
Chapter Four
The bed was soft. Too soft. Pickles was used to the rough coils of a hard mattress. At five o’clock in the morning, she rolled over onto her side. The clock appeared to be mocking her. I won’t be able to go back to sleep now. As she sat up, she rubbed the tiredness from her eyes.
After struggling out of bed, she pulled up the covers and neatened them. Afterward she stared at her book bag, which was filled with her notepads along with pens. Intense fear, anxiety, and nervousness swarmed her mind. She was fearful about the new place, as well as confused and excited. The only way she could deal with that was by telling stories. Once she was in the fresh air, she would have a much easier time with it. She had developed the need to be in fresh air while living in the noisy rooms of her old foster home, where she couldn’t concentrate no matter how hard she tried.
They won’t be up for a while. Plus, it’s not like anybody will be too concerned if I disappear for a few hours. After frowning at the clock, she shrugged. I’ll just go outside. There must be a park somewhere.
Pink and lavender wallpaper greeted her in the bathroom. The brilliant light gleamed off of gold fixtures. Pickles almost didn’t want to mess up the shiny white sink by brushing her teeth. Once she was done, she sneaked down the stairs to unlock the front door and went outside. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of freshly mowed lawn and rain. After releasing a sigh, she smiled. It almost felt like the beginning of a new life. A beautiful life. Her stomach bubbled with tingles of joy.
She skipped through the grass and then came to a sidewalk. After following the sidewalk for a half an hour, she came upon a big, quiet park. A bright green bench sat next to an all plastic play park. The place was still. It felt like she was the only one in the world, which both comforted and saddened her at the same time.
After sitting down and making herself comfortable, she pulled out a notebook and a pen. A story flowed from her heart, a story about a girl with a wonderful new life with a family who loved her.
****
It was easy to lose track of time while daydreaming, so when she shut her notebook six pages later, she didn’t know how many hours had gone by. Pickles spotted a young mother with a child in a stroller a few f
eet away. She hopped off the bench and wandered over.
“Ma’am, what time is it?”
The mother checked her watch. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Eight o’clock. Miranda and David might be up by now. If not, she guessed she could always read one of their books. She raced all the way back to the townhouse and flung open the door. When she got inside, all of the downstairs lights blazed and Miranda stood behind the kitchen counter, her face pale. Her knuckles were white where she clutched the phone to her ear. David sat at the table with the phone book open in front of him, his hands shaking.
Miranda met Pickles’ eyes with a relieved expression on her face. “There she is! Oh, Pickles. Thank goodness.”
Pickles’ eyes widened in confusion as David rushed over to grab her shoulders. “Where were you? We woke up an hour ago and saw you were gone. Do you know how worried we were? Do you? Miranda was in the middle of calling the police.”
Pickles was speechless. They cared enough to call the police just because she was gone for a few hours? She wasn’t sure what to say because the concept was so foreign. Is this what if feels like to have people actually care?
Miranda rushed over, shoved her husband aside, and seized Pickles in a big hug. “Oh, Pickles. I have never been so happy to see someone in my entire life. I was worried somebody had snuck in. What if somebody abducted you?”
Guilt filled her. “I am so sorry.” Pickles shifted from side to side anxiously. “I didn’t think about it. Nobody has watched out for me before, so when I woke up early and saw you were still asleep…”
“So you went out like this all the time before?” David asked, his mouth dropping open.
“Not when I was at the home with the other kids. They had security.” Pickles shrugged as Miranda released her. “But with my foster families, being outside was easier. I really, really am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”
“Somebody should turn those people in for neglect,” David said, shaking his head. “She’s just a kid. Letting her go out on her own… Anybody could have gotten her.”
“It’s okay,” Miranda said, ignoring David’s rant and running her hand over Pickles’ head. “It’s just in this family, Pickles, we believe in supervision. You understand why we were scared, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Pickles stared at her shoes. “You were scared because you thought I was hurt. I feel that way sometimes, about Prudence or about Mrs. Beazley.”
“Well, at least you’re okay,” Miranda said, “but I want you to promise to never, ever go out without telling me or David again, even if you get up early. David and I both want to make sure you’re safe. Part of that means knowing where you are. I know this may be something you’re not used to, but I hope you understand.”
Pickles nodded. The guilt grew worse, driven by desperation to please her foster parents. “I do. I do understand.”
“Good.” Miranda straightened up then shot David a relieved smile.
David patted Pickles on the head. “I’m glad you’re alright, Pickles.”
The two of them walked into the kitchen. Miranda pulled out a large bag full of pancake mix and a carton of eggs. On the counter near the sink sat a large mixing bowl alongside a fat package of chocolate chips. As Miranda set the eggs and pancake mix next to those, she looked up and cocked her head.
“Is something the matter, Pickles?” Miranda asked.
Pickles shook her head. “No, nothing is the matter. Just… thanks, for caring.”
A smile crossed Miranda’s face as tears filled her eyes. She turned away with a sniff. David had to finish the batch of chocolate chip pancakes by himself.
Chapter Five
The store was filled with clothes. Pickles hung back as Miranda pushed her way through them. After she had done this for a few minutes, though, Miranda turned and peered at Pickles with concern. Pickles forced a smile on her face.
“What’s the matter?” Miranda asked, walking over with a red skirt in her hand.
Pickles shrugged as she caught sight of a price tag on a nearby pair of black pants. They were expensive. In her other homes, her foster parents had been spendthrifts and had watched out for every dollar. Pickles remembered eating large bowls of noodle soup for a month straight. Yet here she was in a store that had pants priced at two hundred dollars. She didn’t need to be told this was a lot.
“Isn’t that, you know, a lot of money?” Pickles asked.
Miranda frowned. “You have had it tough, haven’t you? You can’t even go shopping without thinking of adult things. You’re only twelve, you know. It’s okay to forget about money and everything every once in a while.”
Pickles shrugged. Silence swarmed the store. Somehow, silence could be more deafening than any loud sound. Miranda grabbed her hand and started to drag her away from the store entrance. They came to the back, where the kids’ section was. Dresses hung alongside sparkling denim pants embroidered with feminine designs.
“I want you to pick out something,” Miranda said. “I don’t want you to look at the price tag. I don’t want you to even think about it. What is the one thing back here you want?”
“But—”
“Nope,” Miranda said, leaning downward and placing a hand on her shoulder. The smell of her sweet fruity lotion wound around Pickles, adding to the embrace. “Just pick something. Don’t think, just pick.”
But what if it’s too much money? Yet Pickles knew this wasn’t something Miranda wanted to hear, so instead she stepped forward, into the world of bright colors and clothes which she had never before known. She couldn’t believe she would actually get something. It wasn’t like it was Christmas or her birthday either.
She turned around to see a pair of bright blue pants with sparkles embedded in the material. A rack of shirts which would hang down to her thighs came with black belts to go around the waist. On a shelf above the rack, sparkling earrings glinted in the store lights. She couldn’t wear those because she didn’t have her ears pierced. Sunglasses so large they would engulf half her face, perched on a rack next to the earrings. As her gaze slid from one item to the next, Pickles suddenly spotted the one thing in the store she wanted, the one that called to her heart more than anything else.
It was a cowboy hat. A cowboy hat with a red rope tied across the brim. She stepped forward, selected it, and then put it on her head. Turning, she stared into a mirror. Perfect. Just what I always wanted. The hat made her feel like the coolest person in the whole world.
“Do you like that?” Miranda asked with a big grin on her face.
“Yes, I love it,” Pickles said.
“Do you know what I think would look great with that hat?”
Pickles shook her head.
“This,” Miranda said, pulling a bright red T-shirt with cowgirl written on it in sequins from a nearby shelf. “Why don’t you try it on?”
“Really?” Pickles asked, putting her hand on the brim of her hat.
“Of course,” Miranda said.
****
Heavy plastic bags rested against Pickles’ leg while she sat in the mall cafeteria. The sound of chatter filled the air along with the smell of fried food from the Chinese, pizza, and hamburger restaurants inside of it. She sank her teeth into the greasy, cheesy pizza and closed her eyes, savoring the tomato sauce seeping over her tongue. Across from her, Miranda had a salad topped with steaming, golden chicken, which smelled almost as good as her pizza. Pickles felt like the luckiest girl in the whole world. On the way out of the store, Miranda had spotted a pair of bright red cowboy boots and insisted they add them to their purchases.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Miranda said, drawing Pickles away from her thoughts, “do you know why your parents decided to name you Pickles?”
Pickles frowned. “My parents didn’t name me. My parents left me outside of a police station when I was about three years old. A police officer found me and took me inside. At first they thought I had run
away from a house or a nearby park, but nobody came for me. The police officer felt bad, so he asked me what was the one thing I wanted. I guess I didn’t know much at the time, because I just kept saying ‘Pickles.’ Sometime later a guy came in and asked me my name. I said, ‘Pickles.’ Ever since then, I was just Pickles.”
The salad fork in Miranda’s hand slipped from her fingers then fell to the table with a clatter. “What kind of way is that to name someone?”
“Do you want to know the funny thing about the whole situation?” Pickles asked, and when Miranda remained silent, she continued, “I don’t even like pickles. I think they’re gross. That’s why I think it’s funny I’m named after a food I hate, but I’ve been Pickles for so long I couldn’t imagine answering to anything else, even if I get made fun of for it.”
Once again, Miranda was silent.
“Are you… okay?” Pickles asked. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, Pickles, of course not,” Miranda said quickly, though her eyes darted everywhere. “Is that true? Did your parents just leave you somewhere?”
“Uh-huh,” Pickles said. “It’s okay, though. It happened when I was young. I dream about that day, about feeling lost and confused in a strange place, but besides that, I don’t remember anything. I don’t even remember my real parents’ faces or who they were. I figure I’m better off not remembering, though. I mean, they just left me when I was three. Even my old foster parents, the Johnsons, had more sense than that, and they didn’t have much sense at all.”
Miranda reached across the table to grab Pickles by her hands. She didn’t even flinch though they were covered in sauce.
“I am so, so sorry that happened to you,” Miranda said.
“It was a long time ago. I don’t even remember it. I just overheard people talking about it when I was in third grade. The sad part is, I don’t even know my real birthday or what the names of my real parents were,” Pickles said, shrugging. “I’m here now, so I’m just happy about that. A lot of my friends at the home aren’t so lucky. Sometimes kids live there until they turn eighteen and never get a family. That place gets so cold and lonely sometimes.”
How to Get Dirt Page 2