Page 37 of The Wrong Heart

Tears prickle my eyes as I watch her skip away.

There’s so much noise on the other side of that cracked door. So many kids chasing each other through long hallways, tattling and bickering. Laughter and friendships. I can’t relate to any of it. I have seven foster siblings, and no one really talks to me. No one notices me. I arrived at this house over a week ago, and not one person cares about me—not even my foster mother.

Her name is Wendy, and she reminds me of my own mother. Her hair is a reddish color, cut short and cropped, her gangly frame somehow powerful and intimidating. I don’t think she drinks a lot of vodka like my mother did, but she’s still cruel. She banished me to this room all by myself, saying I was trouble.

All I did was try to eat a cookie. I was hungry. My mother hardly fed me anything.

Anger boils inside me when I think about the woman who birthed me, who gained custody of me when my father passed away four years ago.

I was only five years old when my life turned into a terrible nightmare.

The only time I’m at peace is when I’m sleeping. I dream about him sometimes—my father. He was a good man, a wise man, and he taught me a lot of things before he died. He loved history and Greek mythology. My favorite memories are listening to his stories on the front porch and watching the daylilies bloom while the breeze rolled through, as our pup, Roscoe, chased his tail in the center of the lawn.

I wish he didn’t die. I wish he didn’t die and leave me with her.

A trail of tears inch down my cheeks, a feeling I’m used to. I cried a lot, especially when she’d lock me in that dark closet without food or water for hours, sometimes days. She forgot about me all the time. Mostly when she drank the vodka.

Everyone here forgot about me, too.

I guess I’m just forgettable.

Swiping at the tearstains, I sniffle and lift my chin when there’s a soft knock at the big wood door. I blink, wondering if it’s Gwen playing a prank on me. She’s so nasty—always making fun of me and calling me names.

But the person doesn’t come inside, so I wait another minute before standing up on skinny legs and trekking over to the door. I’m cautious as I pull it open, afraid Wendy might see me and punish me with whips or burns.

I don’t see anyone at first. And when I dip my eyes down to the floor, there’s a special treat waiting for me. A cookie.

A cookie!

There, on a white paper plate, rests a yummy chocolate chip cookie.

I bend over to snatch it up, my mouth already watering. I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, so my belly is singing extra loud.

But… who was here? Who left the cookie?

It certainly couldn’t have been Wendy. And it definitely wasn’t Gwen. As for all the others, I don’t think they even know I exist.

Wondering if I’ll ever know, I stand up straight, backing up into the room with the cookie clutched to my chest. Before I shut the door, my sights land on a figure at the opposite end of the hallway, poking her head around the corner. My eyes pop.

It’s a girl. She looks a little older than me, maybe eleven or twelve. Her hair is a mess of crazy brown curls, and she offers me a little wave as I watch in curious wonder.

My entire body warms in response. My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure how to react to this, how to thank this mysterious girl for her kindness.

But she doesn’t wait for an offering of gratitude. She doesn’t expect anything in return.

She just smiles at me.

Shesmiles.

And I think it fills me up more than the cookie ever could.

The girl disappears then, moving out of sight behind the wall, and I stand there frozen for a moment, wondering if I’ll make a friend in this scary place after all.

The thought is a comfort to me as I traipse back to the mattress and sit down, taking hungry bites out of the sweet treat, still warm from the oven.

It’s so good!

I can’t help but let my own smile slip out, and I don’t even remember the last time I did that. Maybe with my father. Maybe it was when Roscoe was licking cherry juice off my chin as we toppled over beside the fruit tree in the backyard, then joined my father on the porch to watch the rising sun.

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