Page 18 of Another Girl Lost

The dedication reception for the recreation center was packed. Judge Thompson had her fingers in a lot of political pies in this city, and when she saidjump, the smart people asked how high. I was no exception. She’d saved me, and I could never turn my back on her.

Obligations aside, based on the laughter blending with the blues quartet, the guests were having a good time.God. People. Crowds.Tension radiated over my skin.

I moved toward the front door, where Simon stood checking names off a list attached to his clipboard. I held back as the line thinned, and when Simon looked up and saw me, he grinned.

“About time. I thought you were going to ditch,” he said.

I smiled. “Running late. I was finishing up a painting.” The truth was I’d been sitting in my truck for the last forty-five minutes, scraping together the reasons why I should attend.

“Everyone loves your mural.” He reached for a newspaper.

“Nice.”

“And there are already several bids on the print you donated.”

“Wonderful.”

“Reporters want to talk to you. Speaking of which, here’s last week’s article about you.”

I glanced at the front page of the style section, glimpsed my frozen smile, and rolled the paper into a cylinder. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing. I got your back.”

I scanned the crowd. “Didn’t I talk to a few of these people last week?” I’d been swamped by reporters before. All had had the glinting eyes of rabid coyotes.

He laughed. “Don’t look so pained. This is all very positive. Publicity is never a bad thing.”

“Speak for yourself.” A couple exited the front door, laughing arm in arm. The casual way they touched each other was charming, and I envied their intimacy. But I’d crossed too many bridges and was too lost to enjoy that kind of closeness.

“Better get inside. Judge is asking about you.”

“Right.”

I moved past Simon into the crowded recreation center that had been so quiet and peaceful this morning.

“Finally.”

I turned to see Judge Thompson, a tall, lean woman in her early sixties. She wore a black pantsuit with an aqua blouse that flattered a salt-and-pepper ponytail, dark skin, high cheekbones, and pearl earrings.

I had first met Judge Thompson when I was sixteen. I’d been in foster care since shortly after I’d run away from home, and though my foster mother had been kind to me, she’d had rules and expectations, two things I’d never had in my mother’s home. I’d grown accustomed to setting my own hours, attending school when it suited me, and working on my art late into the night.

This foster family didn’t believe in violence, so they locked offending kids in a windowless room called the Quiet Space. I was terrified of that room, so I was careful to follow rules.

There were other kids in the mix, and basically the girls and I got along well. One girl painted my nails a bright pink with sparkles. Another brushed my hair and twisted it into a bun. Another tried to teach me how to play guitar.

For thirty days, I’d focused on my drawing and pretended the pink sparkle nail polish, blue eye shadow, and music were important. Then a girl in the house named Serena had learned about Tanner, and she’d started gossiping about it. When she’d called me his slut, I’d punched her hard in the face, and when my foster mom tried to toss me into the Quiet Space, I’d really lost it. I broke her nose.

I ended up on the streets for a few days, living in doorways and avoiding the drug dealers and pimps. But I’d gotten arrested for shoplifting and landed back in the Judge’s court. This time she’d suggested I live with her. She had had eight other foster kids before. I wasn’t so sure, and neither was she, but I was tired of being hungry and surviving on little or no sleep. After a few tense days, I relaxed a fraction, and I think I stopped sleeping with one eye open. The Judge’s house was my first brush with normal, and even though I knew I’d never benormal, I had an inkling of what it could be.

“You’ve got quite the crowd,” I said to the Judge.

She smiled, satisfied. “Arm twisting is my superpower.”

I rubbed my forearm. “I felt the pressure.”

The Judge grinned. “You can endure a crowd for a little bit of time. And when you smile for the cameras in five minutes, I’ll release you early for time served.”

I grimaced. “Pictures.”

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