MARCH 15, 2016, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
7:45 AM
Jaxon had unpacked in the night, and her sparse wardrobe barely filled the new closet and dresser. It was her second day at the group home, and she dug out a white cotton shift and pulled it over her head. She surveyed her appearance in the mirror hanging from the back of her door, wanting to make a good impression on the students she’d be rubbing elbows with throughout the rest of the day.
There she was, same as always. The same indeterminable race, with a complexion that could be African-American, or Latina, or probably biracial, which still raised the question, what racial mix? She had slightly slanted eyes and thick, lustrous black hair that was too coarse to be fine but too fine to be coarse.
When she was younger, Jaxon had been preoccupied with tracing her elusive roots, but the trail always stopped at a dead end. She knew that as a nine-month-old, she was abandoned in a stranger’s car in a shopping center parking lot, rescued from heatstroke by the owner of said car, and carted off to the Family Support Service. There was no paper trail to track down the name of her mother and no way to find out about her father. It was disheartening. She didn’t belong to anyone.
Jax shook her head at her reflection, tired of wondering about herself and deciding she looked passable. It was time to get the day started. According to the weighty yellow folder jam-packed with the FW handbook and welcome materials, she had group therapy from seven to nine in the morning, but not that morning. Jaxon had a message from Dr. Hollis to meet him in his office for the rest of her testing and to get her class assignments.
She didn’t have a backpack, and she figured she probably didn’t need one. Jax slipped her dainty feet into a pair of brown sandals and opened the bedroom door to see who else was up and about and moving around. There were voices in the hall. “Hi,” she murmured shyly to a girl heading down the stairs ahead of her.
“Hey, yourself. You’re the new kid?”
Jaxon shrugged. “I guess so.”
The other girl nodded and continued down the hall to the great room. Jaxon followed because she still wasn’t quite familiar with the layout of the house. She discovered the group was held there, and she watched several other residents ignore her and duck through the archway into the room. Jax ambled back down the corridor to the foot of the stairs, remembering Dr. Hollis’s nook was through the archway at the opposite end of the hall.
“Good morning, Jaxon,” he greeted from his desk.
Jaxon peeked over her shoulder at the students trudging to the great room and turned back to his office, where she was safe from contact with them. “Hey.” She walked to the dining chair in front of his cluttered desk and took a seat. “So, let’s get this over with.”
“We were going to do a few more questionnaires geared toward building a personality profile on you, but I really don’t think that will be necessary right now. That is, not unless we see you having problems adapting to the new environment. What do you think?” Dr. Hollis had made a decision overnight that he hoped he wouldn’t regret. Dr. Brady was right. He was sometimes a stickler for technicalities, and there was enough data compiled that he didn’t need to pick Jaxon’s brain to find something wrong with her.
She shrugged, taken aback at being asked to evaluate for herself whether she needed further testing. “You’re the doctor, aren’t you?” she replied quizzically.
Dr. Hollis smiled encouragingly, gesturing for her to give him more feedback. “Yes, yes, but this is your life experience we’re talking about here. I’m really just asking if you want to stall a little longer or if you’re ready to get your courses and get out there and meet some people. I let you go too late in the evening yesterday for you to do much mingling.”
“Oh, no, no. I’m not in a rush. I’m kind of a loner. I don’t know if you read my history, but I, eh, don’t play well with others.” The corners of her lips turned upward in an amused smirk. She had already told him about some of the trouble she had had in her foster homes. No surprise there.
Dr. Hollis spent the next half-hour explaining the sign-in process so when classes started, she could access her terminal and get to her platform. He used his laptop computer to show her how to get to the website. “Online courses?” she said with interest. “I thought we all had private tutors or whatever.”
“You do. Well, actually, you don’t.” He looked skyward and tried again. “Let me explain. All of the students are assigned a personal tutor to assist where needed as they go through their weekday classes. We’ve got residents ranging in age from twelve to eighteen, so their academic levels are diverse. You, on the other hand, won’t really need that.”
Dr. Hollis leaned back in the busted leather chair and surveyed the pretty honey-brown girl sitting across from him. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin, and he hoped he could eventually change that. He had helped hundreds of students matriculating in and out of the group home over the course of his ten years working there. He understood that some of the greatest challenges troubled children faced were their own self-criticisms. It was his goal to be a mirror reflecting positive potential rather than just another naysayer.
“You’re far more advanced than any of the students here.” He smiled, shaking his head, still amazed by that. He had seen her transcripts from her previous schools. She was a D-average student, barely above failing, yet she was literally a genius. “Your curriculum is a mix of advanced placement high school classes and college-level classes. You could probably take all college-level courses, but there are some of the others you have to take to get your high school diploma.”
“But my dyslexia,” she countered. “Sure, I can do well when you call the test questions out and I answer verbally, but it all goes to shit on paper.”
“Whoops. Swear bucket. You just got a point docked.”
“What?” She covered her mouth.
“Sorry about that. You’ll see the point loss reflected on your weekly email summary of your FW points. We discourage informal language such as swearing around here. It might take a little time to get used to it, but you will get used to it. Swearing isn’t allowed.” Jaxon scowled. How the hell—heck—had she already lost a point? She’d probably end up broke by the end of the week. She sighed and crossed her arms.
“Where were we?” Dr. Hollis glanced down at his desk and patted the papers. “Ach, dyslexia! So, I’ve arranged for a colleague of mine, an educational psychologist, to work personally with you via daily hour-long sessions separate from the rest of your class time. The goal is to teach you different ways of learning to process written information. I’ve developed an individual education plan to address your needs. To be honest, I don’t think you’re going to have much of a problem.”
Jaxon shook off her ire at losing FW points and perked up with interest at the prospect of having a specialized curriculum—complete with specialists—to help with her disability. “I’ve always felt a little slow for not being able to read like others, although I kinda knew I was smart, you know?” She stared down at her hands. When she looked up at Dr. Hollis, his dancing brown eyes matched the ever-present smile on his ruddy face, and he seemed to agree that she was smart. Jax wasn’t used to teachers or therapists having confidence in her.
“Which just goes to show you that the concept of intelligence is complex. Certainly, understanding of language is a key component of intellectual ability, but the brain is a many-splendored thing. If I may say so, yours is a multifaceted jewel. Don’t let your hang-ups about your learning disorder affect your self-esteem. You’re a marvel, Jaxon.”
She smiled shyly, flattered.
“So, you’ll use your ID badge—do you have it with you? Ah, yes, you remembered it. Perfect—to access the computer lab. Teagan, one of your classmates, will be your guide today. I’ve arranged for her to break with group early to take you on a walk around the place.” He patted around the desk, searching for the slip of paper where he had written her access codes. It was tucked beneath his coffee mug, and when he pulled it free, there was a brown ring. “Yikes, sorry about that,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” she responded, accepting the paper by the tip of her fingers. Jaxon hated disorderliness, but Dr. Hollis was all right. She could put up with his less than neat ways. “I take it I’m supposed to go to group now?”
“Oh, and group therapy, let me explain that. Basically, every weekday morning, you and the rest of the residents in your age bracket, sixteen to eighteen, will meet up to discuss any problems you’re having. They’re really more like peer discussion sessions than group therapy. My schedule is”—he whistled—“hectic enough as it is without having to do that every morning, but! But I’m always available, should you need to talk. My door is always open. I don’t even have a door. See?”
His speech was rapid, and he constantly shifted subjects. He gestured when he talked and invariably moved things around on his desk looking for something, but he had a harried quality about him, and she found him interesting to watch. He had a way of making her feel overwhelmed, as if she were late for an important meeting. Jaxon decided she liked Dr. Anthony Hollis. He was so very imperfect.
She rested her elbows on his desk and leaned forward, smiling. “Hopefully, this will be the easiest placement I’ve ever had, and you won’t have to see me in here much.” She was doubtful. Trouble seemed to find her everywhere she went. “Hopefully,” she reiterated.
“That’s the spirit. No trouble, no worries,” he said with a grin. “But if you do have any problems, you know where to find me.”
Jax avoided group by sneaking off to breakfast, and when she came out of the dining hall, she noticed the classroom door. Stepping into the room after passing her access badge under the entry card reader was like walking into an office building. Located at the back of the house just beyond the dining room on the east side, the classroom was a bland break with the homey environment of the rest of Forever Welcome. The white walls and hardwood floors invited no distractions. Even the windows were covered with opaque blinds.
The classroom consisted of workstations, twenty cubicles in total, with five workstations in each of the four rows. The rows were separated by a narrow aisle in the middle of the room. Students were assigned their seats by grade level, with younger students to the front of the class and older students to the back. Jaxon hurried to her seat, the second to last computer with the sixteen- to eighteen-year-olds. The rest of the cubicles were already filled with students who had arrived early.
She hadn’t taken the opportunity to meet anyone. She was studiously avoiding the other residents. But as Jax plopped down into the swivel chair and powered up her monitor, she discovered she was the center of attention. She tried to ignore the whispers and the eyes glancing in her direction. Some of the younger students peered over the tops of their cubicles to get a good look.
“Here we go,” Jaxon muttered under her breath with a roll of her eyes.
“What’s your name, New Girl?”
The taunting voice came from a gangly, pimply-faced boy with a crew cut who was wearing baggy jeans. He had beady blue eyes and an upturned nose. Jaxon sighed. Slouching, he strolled over to her area and parked his arm on top of her cubicle wall, leering down at her. “I saw you when you got here yesterday. What you in for?”
“None of your business.” She barely moved her lips, and she kept her eyes on her computer screen. Using the coffee-stained slip of paper containing her passwords and access codes, she entered the information into her computer and watched the screen load with a welcome message. Jaxon eyed the small print, the letters jumbled.
“Figured you’d come to group this morning and get to know us and shit.”
“Swear bucket,” Jaxon muttered.
He chuckled nastily, leaning over her. “That only works for the teachers, wiseass. So, what’s your name again?” Slowly, he perused her from head to toe. Jaxon avoided eye contact. Where was the supervision in this place? Wasn’t she sent to the group home so she could be watched? She sighed heavily and tried to ignore the menace. “What’s the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?” he jeered.
“She thinks she’s better than us,” a feminine voice said. Snickers followed. Jaxon cringed. The girls were always so much worse than the boys. Jaxon chanced a glance and noticed that the culprit was the girl sitting across from her in the first cubicle on the other side of the room. With a mouthful of braces and glistening auburn hair cut in layers to frame her pretty face, she was clearly one of the popular ones. Jax groaned inwardly.
Talkative Much continued, “Couldn’t come to group and hang out with the commoners. Had to spend the morning in the doctor’s office with a sour disposition. She’s the shrink’s pet.”
“He-he! Shrink’s pet. Hey, doesn’t she kind of look like a Chihuahua? Like a teacup Chihuahua! Little b—”
“All right, class, let’s get to our places!” The clip of heels entering the room got everyone’s attention, and suddenly the sharks circling her cubicle for blood swam off to their respective spots. Jaxon breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t one to be intimidated. She just didn’t want to have to put anybody in their place so early in the game. Why was it so hard for people to leave her alone?
Jaxon learned several important things on her first day of school at Forever Welcome. First, as with all good things, there was a flip side. Forever Welcome had its charms and its challenges. Second, like every other place she had been, the group home would have jerks who had a problem with her for absolutely no reason at all. And third, sitting in front of a computer for nearly eight hours with only intermittent breaks would be torture to her ADHD.
She tapped her foot restlessly and fidgeted in the chair. She swiveled aimlessly, chewing at a loose fingernail and sneaking peeks at what everyone else was doing.
As Dr. Hollis had indicated, four tutors alternated throughout the day, walking the aisles of the classroom. The learning time was mostly a quiet, solitary interaction between student and computer, but Jaxon also heard whispered conversations and the buzzes and chirps of cell phones as text messages were sent. The teachers didn’t seem to mind as long as the work—which she discovered they monitored remotely—was getting done.
Around the first fifteen-minute break at eleven, Jaxon felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up in alarm to see one of the teachers standing over her. Her name tag said Stacey, and she had wiry black dreadlocks piled atop her head in intricate loops and coils. “Are you having any trouble, Jaxon?”
“No, um, I’m just… getting used to…”
The teacher nodded understandingly and knelt down near her desk chair. “It can take a little getting used to, but we do expect you to complete the assignments. Looks like, according to my synopsis, you’re supposed to be answering the discussion questions from your AP English Lit class. You’ve been on the same screen for nearly an hour.”
“I’ve got it covered,” Jaxon growled, looking away. She had trouble with the reading. It was almost impossible to stay focused on the small font, and it was ludicrous of Dr. Hollis to expect her to segue right into college-level courses. This is hopeless, she thought, gnawing at her bottom lip angrily.
Stacey reached over Jaxon’s keyboard and hit the control key, scrolling up with her mouse to make the font larger. Her walnut shell–brown face was freckled with hyper-pigmented moles. Stacey’s full brown lips smiled gently, and her voice was mellow like the taste of saffron. She whispered to Jaxon, “As I understand it, you have dyslexia, right?” Jax nodded once, barely. She hated admitting her weaknesses. “Right,” Stacey murmured. “Put on your headphones. They’re located behind your monitor. You’ll use the Ease of Access control panel to have highlighted text read to you.” She patiently and discreetly showed Jaxon how to set the controls.
Jax felt tears of embarrassment well up in her eyes, but she mumbled, “Thanks.”
“No problem. That’s what I’m here for. If you have any other problems, you can press the help button in the upper right-hand corner of your desk. Once the button is depressed, the light atop your cubicle will illuminate to let me or one of the other teachers—Ms. Karen, Ms. Bhati, or Ms. Megan—know to come lend you a hand.” She patted Jaxon’s back and left her to her work.
Fifteen minutes later was the first break, and Jaxon escaped. “Where’s the restroom?” she asked the quiet young man sitting to her left.
He mumbled directions, and Jax shot out of the classroom before anyone else could hold her up. She sat in an empty stall killing time and thinking about her morning. After the assistance from Ms. Stacey, she had labored through the reading assignment and answered one of the discussion questions.
She still had American History and her foreign language courses to complete, and then it would be time for lunch. She wondered what the catty crew would have in store once she was out of earshot of the teachers. Jaxon sighed and buried her face in her hands. She drew her slender fingers through her thick black hair and shook her head as she smashed her cheeks between her palms.
At that moment, the door to her stall came crashing in. “Hey!” Jax yelped.
“Look what I found. A dog doing her business on the toilet, like a human,” the girl with the braces crowed. She was accompanied by two other girls, neither of whom appeared capable of thinking a single original thought, both of them tittering senselessly at the girl’s crude joke.
Jaxon rose to her feet, fists balled. “Leave me alone,” she growled.
“You made her bark, Lizzie!” One of the accomplices clapped her hands enthusiastically. “What else can you make her do?”
Jaxon shoved Lizzie out of her face and pushed out of the bathroom stall. She knew from experience never to let anyone back her into a corner. “You knuckle-draggers done talking? ’Cause I don’t do speeches.” Jax squared her shoulders, popped her neck, and put up her fists, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m more hands-on.”
Lizzie stepped back, howling with laughter. “I’m not fighting you, dogface.” She flipped Jaxon off and shoved her shoulder as she strutted past. “Just stay out of my way, m’kay, girl? You’re not worth my time. As in, I got just a few more months in this place, and I’m out.”
Jaxon bristled, gunning for a fight but realizing Lizzie was the sort to bait rather than brawl, and the person who passed the first lick always got in more trouble than the person who started the fight. Jax grumbled under her breath and marched out of the bathroom with barely checked fury. No way would she run to Dr. Hollis’s office like the shrink’s pet they had accused her of being. But she wasn’t about to put up with anyone’s bull either. It was wonderful the girl with braces would be out soon because Jax didn’t know how much longer she could bridle her fiery temper.
She breezed into the classroom and sat at her desk. She dug out her phone, but she didn’t have anyone to call or text. Her smartphone was mostly for playing games and listening to music. Jaxon didn’t have friends. She shook her head, angry all over again at what had happened in the bathroom. She didn’t have friends because people were too busy trying to push her over the edge. It didn’t matter anyway. Jax sighed. She was a loner by choice. It was easier. She was a rolling stone, a tumbleweed, never in one place for long, and that meant all of her problems were just passing through, too.
She got back to work on her assignments, and by the end of classes, she had survived the first day of school with barely a scrape. She could do it. She was built for it.