Out of Control

I stare out the van window, my head pressed against the glass, watching the world pass by. Trees and rocks flash past as the van navigates the winding road on the way to… to where exactly?

It’s not my fault. Not really. I was fine in my last foster home. It was that other girl, Jenny. If she hadn’t snitched about me sneaking out, I could have stayed there until I aged out. Instead, here I am, riding in a van to a place I know nothing about while my social worker rambles on about how I’ll be there for around eighteen months and how I’ll feel so much better about myself. This, from the lady jamming out to 1980s rock. I can’t take that seriously.

I keep staring. Why couldn’t my mom stay sober? None of this would have happened if she hadn’t passed out on the couch. If I hadn’t been forced to take her credit card and walk to the convenience store to buy milk for my little brother.

The clerk was nice. I was six at the time. She let me sit at the counter, gave me a free ice cream so I could rest before walking home. The police officer who came in for coffee was nice too. Then he wasn’t. My little brother and I sat in the back of his car. We didn’t even get to say goodbye.

We stop at a stop sign. “Are you okay, Sophie?” the worker calls from the front. “You look pale.”

I give her a thumbs up. I don’t feel like talking.

I still see Mom once in a while if she’s sober. I see Brian too, but he’s with a different foster family. They’re supposed to keep us together, but supposedly, I’m “out of control,” and they don’t want him influenced by me. I am in perfect control. I just don’t need to follow their stupid rules that don’t make any sense.

The day they moved me away from my brother, we both screamed. The social workers didn’t care. They took me anyway. I don’t understand it. Sure, I got in trouble at school, but the teacher wouldn’t let me go to the bathroom, said I was gone too long, avoiding schoolwork.

Whatever.

School was dumb anyway. I didn’t understand math, so of course I didn’t want to do it. What did she expect?

Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown my chair and walked out, but she made me so mad. The principal and social workers had a meeting. I got one more chance.

I tried. But what they wanted me to do, I couldn’t do. How could I just sit in class when there was so much more I needed to do? Was Brian being taken care of? Did he still get his brick of Ramen noodles on Saturdays so he could relax and watch TV? The important stuff. Not this useless school.

“Almost there!” The social worker, Kate or Sarah, I don’t know; there are so many people assigned to 'take care' of me I lose track, chirps from the front.

This sneaking out thing. What was the big deal? It’s not like I was getting high or stealing. I just went with a friend and tried a beer.

Jake had beer before. He said it was good. He was sixteen, so he knew. Slipping out the window was easy. They had me on the ground floor, so it wasn’t a big jump. From there, all I had to do was go three houses down and climb in Jake’s basement window. It was a full party. I don’t see why it was a problem.

The beer wasn’t worth it. Tasted nasty. But I wanted to impress Jake. He was in high school. No way was I going to tell him I didn’t like it.

By the end of the night, I was feeling really happy. The beer wasn’t so bad. And Jake really liked me.

We kissed.

With tongue. He said we should go on a date sometime, just us. I would have… if it wasn’t for Jenny.

I made a lot of noise sneaking back into my room. I was tired, my balance wasn’t good. I fell. Jenny woke up.

I tried to convince her not to tell. Nothing bad had happened. No harm, no foul. But she had to be a snitch. She woke up our foster parents, telling them I was drunk.

My foster parents flipped out. What was the big deal? It was only a couple of beers. The social worker was there in the morning, asking all kinds of questions. Unlike Jenny, I’m not a snitch. I didn’t tell them anything.

It felt like I was in jail. They put alarms on the window, so if I opened it, a screech bellowed through the house. I was picked up from school and stuck inside. I couldn’t even see the few friends I had.

Not fair. All because of Jenny.

Why were they surprised I was mad? They treated me like that. It was their fault I was mad.

I didn’t know that crystal vase was an antique. It shouldn’t have been where I could throw it. If they didn’t want it broken, they should’ve taken care of their stuff. Not my fault.

I didn’t mean to kick a hole in the wall. They made me mad by insisting I do my math. I didn’t want to do math, and they had no right to make me.

Now I’m stuck in this van. Winding around another curve. When’s the last time I saw a house? Just trees and rocks.

“We’re here,” the bubbly social worker chirps from the front.

Where is here? All I see are trees. Is she dumping me in the woods to die?

I see the place now. A sprawling campus tucked in a valley in the mountains. Looks like a resort, but I know the truth. It’s jail. Jail for broken kids like me. Jail dressed up so other adults think they’re helping.

They can’t help me. They can’t make my mother sober or make my dad actually care and meet me. I’ll get thrown out of here just like everywhere else. I’m broken. There’s no help.

The van stops, and the social worker slides open the door.

“Welcome to Children’s Home. You’ll like it here.”