Throwaway Girl Read online

  A moment later I hear voices, and I realize Shelley’s husband must be home. I quickly stand up from the tub and reach for the towel. It is so thick that it feels like a blanket and I long to wrap myself in it fully, but even the pillowy threads of cotton aren’t soft enough against the stinging wounds.

  I unfold the outfit that Shelley has brought in and quickly try it on. I’m without underwear, but the pants are a soft, fleecy material and feel comfortable nonetheless. I slip the plain T-shirt over my head. It feels great to be so clean and to smell so good.

  “Oh, Bernice, you’re out!” Shelley remarks when she sees me standing in the hallway. My hair is dripping down my back, forming a large wet circle on the back of my shirt. “Luke!” she calls. “Come and meet Bernice!”

  A handsome man dressed in a suit rounds the corner. He’s got a wide smile and holds out his hand for me to shake. I do so, a bit apprehensive.

  “Hi, Bernice,” he says, his voice deep. “My name is Luke. I’ve brought home an early supper for us. I thought you might be hungry.” For once, I can’t help but smile. I’m famished and I can smell whatever he’s brought. My stomach is grumbling.

  I follow them into their kitchen and dining room, both exquisitely decorated and clean. There are two pizza boxes sitting on the countertop and Shelley has set the table with plates and napkins. She’s put out a jug of milk and three kinds of juices. I quickly scoop up a couple of slices of pizza and finish them before Luke and Shelley have filled their plates. They look over at me in surprise but say nothing.

  After the meal, Shelley asks if I’d like to go shopping. On our way out, she glances down at my running shoes, which are ratty and worn. She makes a remark about getting new shoes too.

  We arrive at a huge mall, the size of several city blocks. There are quite a few shoppers, many of them well dressed. We pass a teenage girl who is holding up a hanger with a pretty blue dress on it in front of her chest. She asks for her friend’s opinion. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in that!” Her friend tells her. I chew on my lower lip as we pass, feeling embarrassed because I like the dress a lot.

  “I was just joking around,” the girl holding the dress says. “It is pretty ugly.” But I can tell her from the look on her face that she secretly likes the dress too. She shoves it onto the rack and follows her friend.

  When we get to the girls’ section, I see mothers with what must be their daughters combing through the racks. Some of the girls gush over items, while others stand bored and ready to leave. I’ve never been shopping before, and certainly not with my mother. The only clothes or shoes I remember getting are hand-me-downs, even though I had no idea who they were handed down from, and they were often ill-fitting and stained.

  Shelley is grabbing things left and right. She holds the items up to my chest to get a feel for my size. “How about this?” she asks. “Or what about this?”

  I don’t know what to say. To me, it is all beautiful. Everything looks so clean and perfect.

  In just over an hour, Shelley has bought me a dozen new outfits, socks, underwear, five pairs of pajamas, three pairs of shoes, and a jacket. She has also bought a bag of accessories: headbands, hair elastics, necklaces, and bracelets.

  She is practically giggling with excitement at purchasing all of this, while I stand in stunned silence at the checkout counter. I can’t wrap my mind around how much money this must have cost and how she hasn’t even blinked an eye. It’s hard to imagine that these things are for me.

  “Isn’t this fun?” she says to me. I give her a small smile, realizing that this is what other girls must do with their mothers. “Bernice, I hope you’re alright with this,” Shelley says, fumbling to hold all of the bags. “This will do for now, right?” she asks. She’s looking to me for reassurance as though I may feel differently. I’ve never owned this many beautiful things before. I’m not sure that I deserve them, or that I can accept them. We step onto the pavement of the parking lot and I follow her to the car.

  “It’s all so amazing,” I manage to say, but then a giant sob wells in my throat and bursts through. I start crying uncontrollably. Shelley immediately gets down on her knees and envelopes me in a close hug.

  “Oh, honey, it’s going to be alright,” she says gripping me tighter. I cry until I start to hiccup. Shelley pulls a tissue from her purse and helps me wipe my tears. “Let’s go home,” she says.

  I feel overwhelming gratitude for Shelley and what she’s already done for me. I put my hand in hers as we make our way through the parking lot, feeling like we could be like any regular mother and daughter, shopping and spending time together. Maybe Mrs. Duggleman was right. Maybe, just maybe, this could be home.

  Chapter 7

  It’s Sunday afternoon at Haywood. That means we are usually gathered in the cafeteria room, playing cards or board games or doing homework in time for class on Monday. They call it “quiet time,” like we’re babies all over again. Lisa and I are playing a game of UNO, though neither of us is really into it.

  “Did you hear about Trina?” Lisa says, lowering her voice.

  “No,” I reply.

  “She’s leaving tonight. She’s not coming back.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. “Where is she going?”

  Trina has hardly spoken to anyone since she’s been here. She hasn’t lost her trademark glare yet, either.

  “Girls, you should be going to talk to her,” Gertie had chided us. But each of us had been trying and she’d barely acknowledged us. What was the point? If she wanted to be like that, let her.

  Lisa leans in closer. “I heard her boyfriend is picking her up later tonight, but she’s not coming back in time for curfew.”

  “So?” I say. She wouldn’t be the first to miss curfew around here. A lot of the girls couldn’t care less about curfew.

  “We heard her talking on the phone this morning. I guess her boyfriend has lots of money. And he told her that he bought them a place a few hours away.”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Do any of the staff know?”

  “No, it sounds like she’s just going to leave. But she seemed really excited. She kept telling him how much she loved him and how they’d finally be able to get away from everyone and start their new life together.”

  It’s hard to imagine Trina in a loving relationship with someone with her abrasive attitude. Then again, maybe that’s why she’s so mad — she can’t spend as much time with the person she loves while here at Haywood.

  “Hmm …” I say. I can’t help but feel a little jealous. How I wish I had a nice boyfriend to run away with. My track record isn’t the greatest though. I probably wouldn’t even know a nice boy if I met one. That’s another similarity between all the girls in this place. We’re all so desperate for love that we’ll settle for anyone who pays any attention to us, good or bad.

  If Trina’s found love, she’s pretty lucky. It would be awesome to leave here for a life of love with someone. Maybe start a family. Raise my baby in a loving environment where it would never know pain.

  I’m waiting for Lisa to make her next move in our game when I see Trina coming down the hallway. She’s moving quickly and with purpose, and for once she has a humungous smile on her face. She looks lost in happy thoughts and not her usual sullen self.

  Trina has been here for three weeks now, and not one of us has even gotten more than three words out of her. She’s kept to herself the entire time, continuing to eat meals on her own too.

  “That’s good for her,” I say, distracted. I know I should be concentrating on the game but I can’t stop staring at Trina. Something is definitely up. I watch as she pulls open the door to the sleeping area and disappears from sight.

  “Uh, hello, Andy?” Lisa says, waving her hands in front of my face.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “Is it okay if we quit now? I’m not into it anymore.” I throw my hand of cards down onto the tabletop and push my chair back to get up. Lisa looks at me like I’m crazy and starts p
icking up the cards.

  “Fine,” she says, clearly irritated with me.

  When I open the doors to the sleeping area, Trina is rolling her clothes and stuffing them in her backpack. She looks up, startled, takes one look at me and continues. I head to my bed and open the book I’m reading. I periodically glance over at her, but she’s preoccupied with filling her backpack. What Lisa said must be true. She’s packing, all right. I lie there and imagine someone coming for me, to take us to our new life and our new home. I imagine him holding out his arm, eager to lead me to our waiting vehicle. In my daydream I’m like Cinderella, being led to our chariot. But real life isn’t like that. I know better. It won’t be long before I’ll be leaving Haywood, but there’s no one waiting for me and I don’t have a home to go to.

  Sure enough, after supper has ended, Trina bolts out of the cafeteria and then appears just minutes later, her bulging backpack on her shoulders. The girls are whispering about it and staring. There’s a dreamy smile on her face and she doesn’t realize that the rest of us are watching her.

  “Where you off to?” Madge asks, staring at her backpack.

  “Out with my boyfriend,” I hear Trina say.

  “Alright. We’ll see you at eleven,” Madge says, bidding her goodbye.

  We’re allowed to go out at night, but curfew is at eleven. If anyone is late, she has to do double the chores the next day and toilet duty. Many of the girls feel it’s a small price to pay to have some extra fun. But if you don’t come home at all, you essentially get grounded and can’t go out for two weeks. You also get put on probation and if it happens again, you lose your place at Haywood. For some, that’s not a bad thing. But if your only alternative is the streets, Haywood can start looking pretty good.

  I walk to the front foyer where Trina is waiting eagerly by the door, scanning every car for her boyfriend.

  “See ya.” I wave. Trina turns and looks at me, her face still lit with excitement. She’s actually beautiful when she smiles.

  “Bye,” Trina says and turns back to the doorway. I can practically feel her anticipation. I decide to go back and read, anxious to get lost in something. Trina is off to start a new life and I can’t help but feel pangs of envy. I’ve been here for so many years that it’s hard watching others leave. I wonder what the future holds for them.

  At ten o’clock, I head back to the front so that I can grab a new book from the bookcases that line the reception area. Almost all of the girls are out. I like staying in on these nights for the privacy. The building is quiet except for the noise coming from the staff sitting at the cafeteria tables. They are visiting and having coffee and their laughter echoes through the building. I jump when I see a figure sitting in one of the chairs. It’s Trina, with her backpack still sitting squarely on her shoulders.

  She quickly stands and returns to the door, as though nothing is out of the ordinary, but it’s been hours that she’s been in this room waiting. Not wanting to embarrass her or intrude, I quickly grab another book and head back. I wonder why she’s still standing there. Her boyfriend is obviously very late. Maybe he isn’t due to come yet. I’d probably stand for hours waiting too, if it were me, on the off chance that he’d come early.

  I get ready for bed and put on my coziest pajamas. At eleven, once all the girls have trickled in, Gertie starts shutting off some of the lights to dim the place. Although I’ve barely read the new book I’ve grabbed, curiosity gets the best of me and I decide to take it back to the foyer. I put my slippers on to warm my feet from the cold tile floors, knowing full well that my real intention is to see if Trina is gone.

  I’m relieved when I get to the foyer and the chairs are empty. There is no one standing in front of the door. I even put my face to the window and shield the glare from the light so that I can see around the yard and the street in the dark. Trina’s nowhere to be found.

  I imagine her bursting with joy right now, speeding off in her boyfriend’s car to start a new life.

  Trina is probably giggling uncontrollably, in between kisses from her boyfriend who is driving with one hand, his other wrapped around her protectively. The car is packed with their belongings, her hand resting comfortably on his thigh as they drive, feeling carefree and hopeful.

  I feel sorry for myself, imagining Trina’s good fortune.

  Just as I’m about to head for bed, I hear a soft sob somewhere in the room. I look around but see nothing. “Hello?” I whisper. But there is no response and for a moment, I wonder if I’m imagining things. Then I hear another sob, and another, and another, until there is no mistaking it. I make my way around the room, looking behind the chairs and scanning the corners of the room.

  On the next sob, I whirl around to see a dark figure curled up on the floor behind a giant floor plant. Startled, I rush to see who it is. Something in my gut tells me it’s Trina even before I see her. And sure enough, when I place my hand on her arms, which she has buried her head into, her tear-stained face meets mine.

  “Trina?” I say softly.

  She continues to cry, her backpack shaking with every sob. I don’t know if I should be here or if I should just go away and leave her alone. To be honest, I am a bit nervous. With her attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if she took a swing at me or told me off. I sit beside her for several minutes without saying a word. I wonder if any of the other girls have seen her here, but then I realize that’s unlikely. I would’ve heard all about it.

  “He left without me,” Trina says finally. Her voice drips with pain, the pain of broken hearts and broken dreams. “He said he’d come … that he got us a place … that we’d get married,” she speaks in broken sentences, still sobbing. “I love him more than anything … and he’s gone.”

  “Maybe he’s still coming,” I offer. Trina shakes her head, her whole body heaving.

  “He called …” She cries. “He said we’re done and that he’s taking someone else. Some Asha girl he’s been cheating on me with.” She dissolves into heavy sobs once again. “Oh, Jeremy!”

  How could you? I want to say to her boyfriend. Don’t you know what you’re taking away here? Our dreams are wrapped up in you, in escape, in a better life. How dare you take that away from girls like us! Girls who have lost everything and have nothing left. But realistically, if Jeremy’s been cheating and decides to run away with another girl, he’s probably not her happy ending either. Try telling Trina that though, when her heart is shattered into a thousand pieces.

  “Trina, you’re too good for him. He doesn’t deserve you then,” I say as I wrap my arms around her. I don’t know Trina at all, so I’m not sure if my statement holds true, but she looks up at me and gives me a tiny smile.

  “Why are you being nice to me?” she asks. “I haven’t exactly been nice to anyone since I’ve been here.”

  “We’re all in this together,” I say, though I know that’s not quite true. “Look, I don’t want to see you so hurt. We’ve all been through so much. None of us are strangers to pain. We gotta stick together if we’re going to make it.” I rub her back with my hand and she instantly relaxes a bit. We sit there for almost a half hour before we hear Gertie clear her throat. I’m not sure how long she’s been in the room. I don’t know what she’s heard. She’s obviously been looking for us.

  “Girls?” she says peering at us, as though she’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “Time for bed.”

  “We’re just going,” I say, looking squarely at Gertie to try and let her know that I’ve got this. We jump to our feet. I slide Trina’s backpack off of her and carry it, my other arm wrapped around her waist. She wipes her face with her arms, trying to regain her composure. Gertie watches, she seems pleasantly surprised at our new-found friendship. She smiles and pats me on the back as we pass her.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” Trina pleads.

  “I won’t,” I promise.

  Together we walk through the double doors to our beds. I can already hear the whispers of the girls who are sti
ll awake, wondering why Trina is still here. I pull back my covers and turn to look at her, but the only thing I see is a figure heaving under the blankets.

  Chapter 8

  Fall 2003

  It’s like I’ve landed in a whole other life, my past left behind. After a glorious summer spent swimming, camping, and helping Shelley take care of the flowers and vegetable garden in the yard, I feel like I’m in heaven. They’ve even bought me a bike, a shiny purple mountain bike. Luke taught me how to ride it, and I can go down the street and around the block by myself. I’ve met a couple of kids from down the street and we run back and forth from our yards playing tag or running through the sprinkler. After two and a half months here, the weather has turned cooler and leaves have started to fall from the trees.

  Grade five has started and, for the first time, I’m popular and have lots of friends. Before, I was picked last for teams, whispered about, and snickered at. But here, at St. Philip, no one knows my past. It’s like I’ve created a whole new identity for myself. Girls are clamoring to sit with me, often fawning over a sparkly headband or a new shirt I’m wearing. I’ve never worn anything that someone else admired. I have beautiful clothes, my hair is in braids or ponytails and it’s always clean. My delicious lunches are filled with more food than even I can eat. I finally feel like I don’t have to eat everything in sight. I start to realize that I don’t have to worry about the next meal. And boy, can Shelley cook. She makes all sorts of delicious meals, often letting me help. She’s taught me how to measure ingredients and follow a recipe, and being in the kitchen preparing food thrills me.

  Shelley has even made a lifebook for me. It’s something all foster children are supposed to have, basically an album of photos, special mementos, and memories that I can keep forever so that I have a history and a sense of where I’ve come from and what I’ve done. Debby says that foster parents are supposed to make lifebooks with the children and that once they’re made they become the child’s property. Even if the child moves from home to home, they can add to their lifebook and keep it with them.