Present

 

My eyes droop and I try to focus on Coach Long’s lecture about the Rational Zero Theorem, but it’s growing more and more difficult. Last night, Cora was up all night crying. She’s prone to ear infections and when she gets like she was last night, I know she has one. If it were up to me, I’d take her right in to the doctor. But it’s not up to me. I have to convince my foster mother Juanita she needs to go.

Absently, I rub the bruise on my bicep. Juanita is older and uses a cane. And I don’t think the cane is for actual walking. I’ve been hit with her stupid cane more times than I care to admit, but I’d gladly step in front of that cane every damn time to keep her from hitting Cora or the boys. Malachi and Xavier get the cane a lot, though. Cora is just small enough to hide behind one of us, thank God.

My eyes burn from lack of sleep and I yawn. I can feel myself drifting off, thinking about how hot she felt this morning.

“…factors of the leading coefficient…” Coach Long continues on.

After school, I’ll need to hurry. Her pediatrician’s office closes at four. I’ll need time to get home from the bus, light a fire under Juanita, and get her in to be seen. She needs antibiotics.

Another yawn, so wide my eyes water.

I met Cora when she was just five months old. It’s like the system paired us together after that because we bounced from home to home together. Cora and I stayed with Amanda and Blake for a few months until they informed everyone they were adopting Ryder and Rex before getting out of being foster parents for good. God was leading them to adopt, they’d said. Down another path, they’d explained. Cora and I weren’t supposed to be on that path, so Katrina took us down another. Another home, another day.

I try not to think bitter thoughts toward Katrina. It’s not her fault she moved to another state. Yet, she was just one more adult who abandoned us in our life. Cora and I were both assigned a new caseworker.

Lorenzo Tauber.

Closing my eyes, I can’t help but think of him. Mr. Tauber is hot. No way around it. When he’d introduced himself as my new caseworker, I laughed in his face. The guy looked better suited for a freaking runway, not catering to unwanted children. He’s been our caseworker for several months now, and I’d been embarrassed he was a part of the transition from our last home to Juanita’s. I still remember the sad way he looked at me. As though, for once in my life, someone might care enough to do something permanently helpful in my life.

But then he left. Dropped Cora and I off with only a few words of encouragement. As though his words would fix everything.

“Hang in there.”

I let out a derisive snort that earns me a warning glare from Coach Long. Several students snigger at my outburst.

Tauber was wrong though. His words didn’t do a damn thing. He’d left us with Juanita and her stupid cane.

My head throbs slightly and I rub at my temples, closing my eyes. One day—only a couple of months from now—I’m going to turn eighteen and I’ll get us out of this place. I’ll adopt Cora and we’ll move someplace happy. She can have all the cookies she wants and will never be told no. We’ll spend our days swinging, chasing crickets, and singing songs.

“Detention, Miss Pruitt. After school.”

I blink open my eyes and gape up at the man glowering down at me. “W-What?”

“You seem to think laughing in my class and then sleeping through it are acceptable. Not in my class,” he snarls, before storming back to the front of the classroom.

Tears threaten and I sit up abruptly. I can’t stay after school. I have to get back to Juanita and convince her to take Cora to the doctor. This is terrible timing.

If we miss seeing the doctor today, Cora’s temperature will keep spiking. She’ll scream endlessly in pain. This can all be avoided if these adults would wake the hell up. A tear streaks down my cheek and I hastily swipe it away. One girl named Winter frowns at me. She’s usually the troublemaker in Coach’s class. I may have a mouth on me sometimes, but I don’t ever jeopardize my time with Cora.

“Are you okay?” she whispers to me.

I nod and bite on my lip to keep from crying as the bell rings and everyone stands up. Winter hands me a piece of paper with her phone number on it. I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t have a cell phone or access to one. Instead, I fold it and tuck it into my ratty black hoodie.

Coach Long ignores me as he stalks over to his desk. As soon as the room empties out, I stand and rush over to him.

“C-Coach,” I start, my voice hoarse with emotion. “Please don’t give me detention. I—”

“The crying act doesn’t work with me,” he says in a cold tone, not making eye contact as he flips through some papers.

“Please,” I cry out, “you can’t do this.”

His glare snaps to me. “This is my classroom, Miss Pruitt. You sleep and goof off, you get detention. I told you this from day one. It’s not a secret.”

Defeated, I take a step back, hating the way my chin wobbles wildly. My hands tremble as panic surges up inside me. She needs to go to the doctor after school. Maybe I can call Juanita and convince her over the phone. I’m frantic as I clumsily stuff my things into my bag. The shaking in my hands won’t stop, nor will the choked sounds leaving me. When I stand up and shoulder my backpack, Coach is watching me with furled brows.

“What’s going on?” he demands.

“I have to take her to the doctor,” I admit with a sob. “My foster mom is impossible to deal with and Cora has an ear infection. She needs antibiotics.”

His gaze softens. “Your sister?”

My everything.

“Yeah.”

He purses his lips and looks away. I can tell his wheels are turning. “You were up all night with her.”

I blink at him in surprise. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

Amusement glimmers in his eyes. “Lucky guess.” Then, he sighs in frustration. “No one gets out of detention.”

My head bows. “I know.”

“But I’m not a total monster, like everyone thinks. Take care of your sister, get some sleep, and pay attention in class,” he grumbles. “You’re a senior. You need good grades if you’re going to get out there and make something of yourself.”

I press my lips together and pray my cheeks aren’t turning red. Sometimes I hate that the teachers all know my situation. That I’m a foster kid. Alone and unloved and at an unfair advantage.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’ll do my best.”

“Get out of here,” he says as kids start piling into class for the next hour.

I can hear her screams the moment I step off the bus. An ache that’s been deep in my bones seems to flare into agonizing pain.

I’m coming, banshee baby.

Running past other kids that have come off the bus, I rush to Juanita’s house. It’s in desperate need of repair, but she never does it. She never does anything except chain smoke and watch stupid talk shows all day. When we get home, we’re her evening entertainment and her exercise as she whaps us with her cane. Poor Cora has to put up with her all day while we’re at school.

The moment I burst inside the door, I toss my backpack to the floor and follow the screams. In the living room, the television is blaring.

“She has an ear infection,” I bark out over the noise. “Call her pediatrician.”

Juanita ignores me to light another cigarette.

“Juanita!” I bellow. “Call Dr. Powell.”

“Girl, you need to watch your tone with me,” she bites back, her eyes never leaving the screen.

I storm into the living room and turn off the television. “Call him now, or I call Mr. Tauber.”

Juanita grabs for her cane and I take a step back, even though I’m well out of reach. “She’s just a fussy brat. You spoil her, girl.”

I cross my arms and glower at her. Cora’s screams are my undoing but I won’t budge until Juanita makes the call. Finally, she gives in and calls in our little emergency. As soon as I hear her confirm we’ll be there in half an hour, I rush upstairs to my baby.

Bursting through our bedroom door, I find her standing in the middle of the room. Her blonde hair is sweaty and messy. Snot is running down her lips and chin. She’s red-faced and sick. My poor, poor baby.

“Cora,” I choke out, rushing over to her. I pull her into my arms and kiss her sweaty head. Her entire body trembles as she clings to me. “Shhhh,” I coo as I pat her back. “We’re going to see the doctor and get you all better.”

There’s no calming her when she gets this way. My guess is she has a double ear infection. Her skin is so hot and she’s clearly in a lot of pain. Cora is susceptible to chronic ear infections. I wish they’d go on and do the tubes in her ears like Dr. Powell mentioned to our last foster family.

While holding Cora, I pack her little pink backpack with some of her favorite things. The zipper doesn’t work and it’s times like these I wish I had money to provide for her. I’d buy her a newer and bigger backpack to hold more of her comfort items.

Once we’re packed, I carry her downstairs and out the front door. Juanita begrudgingly follows, her cane whapping the floor as she walks. With each crack to the floor, Cora jumps.

“It’s okay,” I whisper into her hair. “She won’t hit us outside that house.”

I buckle Cora into her seat and sit beside her in the back. Juanita drives like the old granny she is, rolling through stop signs, nearly sideswiping other cars, and driving at least ten below the posted limit. When we finally pull into the doctor’s office, I unbuckle her and rush inside.

“Hi, Jenna,” the receptionist named Lori says. I like Lori. She’s a friendly woman with purple hair and a nose ring. I love that she posts pictures of her children all along the wall beside her desk. All six of them look happy. I wish she had room for two more.

“Hey, Lori. Cora needs antibiotics.”

“Sure thing, hon. Dr. Powell will get her fixed up.” When Juanita waddles through the door, Lori’s smile fades and her glare is icy.

I leave Juanita to handle checking her in and sit down with Cora in my lap. She’s no longer screaming, and just whimpering. When she’s upset, she twists my hair in her fingers and rubs it on her face. And when she’s been crying, I end up with snot all in my hair. But as long as she’s calmed down, I don’t care. I’ll wash it later.

Eventually, we’re called back and thankfully, Juanita opts to stay in the waiting room. I let out a sigh of relief as we wait for Dr. Powell.

Nurse Lou walks in and smiles gently at us. Lou is old like Juanita but wonderful. Her pockets are always filled with stickers and candy.

Cora sits up and grins at Lou. “Sucker?”

Lou plucks out a pink sucker from her pocket and unwraps it. Cora happily pops the sucker in her mouth. She’s still hot and in pain, but she’s better. Cora may only be two, but she knows this is a safe place where they always fix her up. Lou buzzes about checking her temperature—one hundred and one point seven—and her blood pressure. She taps away on the computer and then leaves us to wait for Dr. Powell.

The white-haired man eventually shows up and frowns. He asks us the normal questions at first, about her health, and then about our home situation. I give him the generic answers, hoping for him to hurry and prescribe her the medication so she will feel better.

“Does your foster mother ever hit you?” Dr. Powell asks, his attention darting back and forth between us.

I freeze and Cora nods.

“Cane hurts Sissy,” Cora whispers.

Dr. Powell glances at me sadly. “I’ll call for Lou. I’m obligated to examine you both and call your caseworker.”

I steel myself so I don’t cry and give him a clipped nod. “Whatever.”

After an embarrassing twenty minutes of Lou and Dr. Powell documenting our bruises, mostly mine, we redress and wait for Mr. Tauber.

I just want Cora to get antibiotics in her.

The rest can wait.