Divine Blue [Book One]

Chapter Two

As Taylor sat at the large oak table in the group home, surrounded by her peers and a few colorful balloons, she stared down at the homemade cake in front of her. It was green, lumpy, and there was an 'E' where the 'O' in her name should have been. 

Taylor had always had a healthy optimism for a foster kid. Not on this day. Does anyone really know me? Does anyone even care? Sure, they had all gone into the kitchen and haphazardly baked this godawful cake for her. But she was confident they had only done this because they had been told to.

Most of the kids around her had already started talking amongst themselves as Taylor continued staring down at the cake. She had blown out the one pink candle moments before. She remembered seeing that partially melted candle in a drawer somewhere in the kitchen just days ago.

Taylor closed her eyes and silently wept to herself. She knew that she should feel more grateful than she was feeling right now, but life felt more hopeless than normal that day. Just days before her 12th birthday, she and her bunkmates had been talking about their experiences in the system and the subject had turned to the fate of kids such as herself.

"You know, once you're over the age of 12, they say your chances of getting adopted are like... none," one of the girls said, "I'm already 13 and my mom's still in prison, so they pretty much consider me a lost cause."

"I think my mom will be coming back to get me soon anyway," another girl said. "What about you, Taylor?"

Taylor shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I guess that means I'm never getting out of here, either." Her mind was racing. Will I really not find a family? My 12th birthday is in three days!

Taylor opened her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek and landed on her cake. The chitchat continued around her as she stood up from the table and walked quietly away to her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and sat down on her bunk. She knew it was against the rules to go to her bedroom in the middle of the day, but being there was the closest thing to a momentary reprieve as she could get. She wasn't keen on crying in a room full of people, even if they barely noticed her.

Marjorie, the girls' housemother, opened the door to Taylor's bedroom and walked in. "Taylor, Honey, you know you aren't supposed to be in here. Your birthday party is going on without you," she said. Marjorie was a tall, wiry lady with fluffy bleached hair, and she always smelled like an ashtray. She was plenty nice enough, but she was far from anything close to a mother.

"Sorry, Ms. Marjorie. I just came in here to look for something," Taylor lied.

Not that there was much to look for in this room. It was mostly bare with its white walls and metal bunk beds. The girls had taped up photos and mementos in various places, and there was still evidence stuck to the walls of this practice having been done by past occupants.

"Are you crying?" Marjorie asked Taylor as she gave her a hard look.

Taylor wiped her face. "Oh, no. It's just allergies or something," Taylor lied again.

"Well, OK. But you know you can tell me if anything is wrong, Taylor."

"Yeah, I know. I'm fine, though."

"Alright, come on back into the dining room. The girls have a couple of presents for you."

***

Taylor made her way to the front of the bus and stepped off to head for Sandra's front door. The house was a dominant structure in the neighborhood. It was a traditional colonial home and commanded attention with it's beautiful white pillars and oversized front door. Sandra's car was already in the driveway which Taylor thought was peculiar. She walked through the door to find Sandra in the kitchen.