Chapter nine
Cori - Age 15
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
Principal Hardcastle caught me in the hallway before class on a Friday. As one of the school’s top students, I knew him fairly well, having been on the receiving end of multiple honor roll handshakes and Student of the Month certificates. But his determined expression set off my internal alarms.
“Cori, can you please come to my office for a minute? There’s someone who would like to speak with you.”
Oh shit.From his tone, I gathered that thesomeonewas not a person I wanted to meet.
My mind flashed back to last week, when one of the newer teachers—I didn’t even know her name—caught me giving myself a washcloth bath in the sink. I had tried to avoid runninginto anyone that morning, arriving over forty-five minutes before the first bell. But Ms. Overeager-and-Way-Too-Peppy must have used that same logic to assume it would be a safe time for her to enter a student restroom. She walked in to find me in shorts and a sports bra, running a small towel over my arms because the shower in our trailer had refused to turn on that morning. Her eyes darted to the change of clothes I’d draped over a stall door.
When she asked what I was doing, I told the truth. Because it didn’t seem like a big deal.
Except she responded with a funny look. I should have known then what would happen.
There were two kinds of teachers who called CPS. The ones who took their roles as mandated reporters so seriously they wanted to log every little thing, mostly to cover their own butts in case something happened. And then there were the ones who were so naive they believed in the system, that the state somehow had the magical ability to move children from not-so-ideal situations into homes filled with love and care.
I guessed the teacher who caught me in the bathroom was the second kind. Idealistic idiot.
Johnny and I were teenagers. Why would anyone honestly think a group home would be better for us? Sure, our mom wasn’t around much, but she was good to us when she was there, plus we had food and stuff. We also had consistent lives at school and with our friends. I knew this was the reason Rosa didn’t call CPS for every small thing when it came to teens at the Center. Little kids might get a good foster, but going into the system was usually a disaster for older ones. Unless she suspected true neglect or physical abuse, Rosa tried to help in other ways by providing meals, a supportive environment, and fun things to do. Like our teachers, she was a mandated reporter, and I knew it hurt her when she had to make those calls.
I bet the teacher who found me in the bathroom hadn’t even considered what would happen after she did her “duty.” Luckily, I doubted CPS would be overly concerned with asuspected neglectcall. I could handle this. I’d done it before.
ME:Are you at school yet?
JOHNNY:Cruz just parked. Why?
ME:Pretty sure CPS is in the office
JOHNNY:Fuck
ME:You need to go home before Hardcastle calls for you
JOHNNY:Got it
JOHNNY:Cruz said he’ll cut and take me
ME:Good. I’ll keep the worker busy. There’s probably only one of them so I doubt anyone will show up at the house until I’m done
JOHNNY:I know what to do
ME:I heard Mom come home last night so that’s good. Make sure she’s awake. Also, I think she barfed out front on her way in. Maybe throw some dirt on it or whatever.
JOHNNY:I KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!
ME:Stop shouting, fucker. I’m nervous enough
JOHNNY:Sorry
ME:Get Cruz to stop by the Center on your way. Rosa is packing the weekend bags for the kids. She can give you some food.
JOHNNY:On it. Deck says to remind you he’s there in school. He wants you to check in with him at lunch
ME:Okay
JOHNNY:Good luck on stalling the nosy assholes. Luv u
