Unpredictable

Chapter 16: Here We Go Again

I had three other girls in the same room as me. Only one introduced herself, and that was in the same sentence as "back off." Her name was Evangeline Morgan, but she went by Lina. She had dark skin and braided dark hair, and would've probably been beautiful had she not been glaring at everyone, 24/7.

That was the usual way, in group homes. Honestly, had I felt like it, I could've probably taken Lina. She was two years younger than me and a lot skinnier, but I knew her life had probably been just as bad as mine, if not worse. I couldn't bring myself to do anything.

The other three didn't really speak to me.

As usual, I found myself remembering my time in the system.

******Fourteen Years Ago, A Group Home in Chicago, Illinois******

"Mommy, I don't understand," frowned three-year-old Sophie as her current foster mother, Janine, yanked her - a little bit roughly, but Janine did that sometimes - towards a brick building squeezed in between two warehouses. "Is this a hotel?"

"This is your new home," declared Janine. "Now stop asking questions."

"But I thought my home was with you," Sophie said, her eyes tearing up. "You and Daddy."

"Stop calling us that!" A flash of guilt crossed Janine's face, and Sophie bit her lip.

"Sorry, Mommy, I forgot - I mean, sorry, Janine," said Sophie. A few months ago, they had instigated this. Sophie was not supposed to call them Mommy and Daddy anymore, and nobody had told Sophie why. Only years later would Sophie figure out that it was because Janine had finally gotten pregnant with her own, biological baby, and they no longer needed the three-year-old from Social Services.

"This is where we got you," explained Janine, choosing to ignore Sophie's apology. "Social Services."

"What's Social Services?"

"It's where the government takes care of children who don't have mommies or daddies," Janine said. "I'm sorry, Sophie, but we just don't have any more room for you in our lives. Be glad we dropped you off."

As Sophie's three-year-old brain finally comprehended what was going on, and the door opened to reveal a stern-looking elderly woman, and Janine took off, Sophie cried, "NO, MOMMY, NO!"

The sobbing three-year-old was led to a room with a nice-looking woman who held out a lollipop. "Hello, Sophie," introduced the woman. "My name is Andi Rosala. I'll be your social worker until you're eighteen."

******Eleven Years Ago, Dallas, Texas******

Sophie had her first foster family when she was six years old, in Dallas, Texas. Andi had driven her all the way to Dallas, and Sophie was incredibly excited.

Unfortunately, she had been there for a month, and it was clear that her foster father, Mike Tyson, intended for Sophie to be like a live-in servant. Sophie was not allowed to use the phone, so she could not call Andi and inform her that Mike wasn't the polite man he had seemed to be during the interviews. In her head, Sophie made a list of all the things she didn't think Mike was supposed to be doing to her.

Punching.

Kicking.

Shouting.

Making her do the dishes. Sophie hated doing the dishes.

Laundry. What exactly was detergent, anyway? And Sophie didn't really feel that she deserved the pounding she'd gotten for accidentally turning all of Mike's clothes pink.

Mike's last beating had left several bruises, and he'd warned her not to tell anybody. Sophie didn't know what she was supposed to say.

"Sophie, honey," her first-grade teacher called her back after school. Oh no. Mike didn't like it when she was late, or when she got in trouble. Sophie stared at the floor. Was she in trouble?