Alison tossed her cap and gown on the dresser, then plopped down on the narrow twin bed pressed against the wall. Sharing the room with three other girls didn’t allow for privacy, though tonight she was alone in the room for the first time since she came to live with the Robertson family almost two years ago. As soon as Mr. Bloomenfield placed her diploma in her hand, she’d glanced toward the bleachers, hoping Mr. or Mrs. Robertson were there to show their support. Tonight of all nights, her high school graduation, and not one member of her so-called foster family bothered to attend.
She’d hurried out of the auditorium as soon she received her diploma. A grad night celebration with her fellow classmates was not happening, because she did not have any friends. She started Madison High in the middle of her sophomore year, which had made her stand out like a sore thumb. Add in her living conditions and all the popular kids and the dorks did their best to avoid her. Alison heard the slurs, the hateful comments made as she stood by her locker waiting for the halls to clear so she could hurry to class without facing her tormentors.
Tears streamed down her face when she thought how stupid it’d been to hope the Robertsons would surprise her with an impromptu graduation party, a gift, or even a card. She didn’t belong here. In four months, she would turn eighteen, no longer a responsibility of the state of Ohio. Alison Marshall planned to leave at 12:01 on her birthday.
She used the thin blanket to wipe her tears. With the entire summer ahead of her, she knew her misery would continue if she stayed. A plan began to form—while not impossible, she could only achieve it if she used her brain. Patience would be required, something she had plenty of. Always on the outskirts of the families she’d been forced to live with, she’d learned early to blend in, not make trouble, and do as she was told, yet there were times when that had been nearly impossible. She’d done what any kid would’ve done if they’d been in her shoes.
She would sneak out of her bedroom window during the night, searching for something better than what the state provided. Her first attempt at escaping the system happened when she was nine. This happened so many times, she’d forgotten exactly how many foster homes she’d been placed in. A few of them were okay, but most of them sucked. The only reason the foster families took her in was for the money from the state. She’d learned that the hard way and lost what little innocence she’d had in the process.
Planning her future would require discipline, another attribute she’d learned the hard way. Do as you’re told, and no one gets hurt.
Those days were about to end.
Emboldened at the idea of making a life for herself, Ali-son sneaked into the communal closet, where she hid the cash she’d earned babysitting and working part-time at the local pet store. She counted eighty-nine dollars and forty-three cents. Not much, but it was enough to pay for a bus ticket anywhere but here. The bus station was open twenty-four hours, though she was unsure if there were buses leaving tonight. At daybreak, she would hitch a ride downtown, purchase a ticket. She didn’t care where she wound up; just thinking about a new life cheered her up. A graduation gift to herself, she thought. Yes, this is exactly what she would do. The heck with waiting until she was eighteen—she would leave now. The Robertsons wouldn’t report her missing, because they were greedy. They’d want to continue to collect money from the state for as long as they could.
The three other girls she shared the room with, all younger than her, would probably tell someone at school, and from there, the authorities would be called in. Maybe they would search for her. Maybe not; either way, it didn’t matter. She’d made up her mind, and she smiled to herself. This was the last night she’d spend living under the rules of the state. With this thought in mind, she drifted off, content for the first time in years.
She dreamed of parties and unknown people with blank faces. Animals, lions, bears, and giraffes with human features chased her down a school hallway while her female teachers danced with each other. Lockers opened on their own, schoolbooks flew out the windows, and desks clung to the ceiling. Startled when her English teacher curtsied, then asked her to dance, Alison bolted upright in the bed, her heart racing. Sweat dampened her face and her hair. It took a few seconds for her to shake off the silly dream. She laughed to herself at the insane images in her dream; then, a creaking sound startled her. She sat up, inching toward the wall, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
Waiting for a response from Charlotte, or Pamela, her two youngest foster sisters, she raised her voice. “This isn’t funny,” she said. “I’m gonna turn the lights on, then kick your ass.”
Nothing.
“Sarah?” She was foster sister number three. She was fourteen, street-smart with a mean streak as wide as their room. It would be like her to try and scare the crap out of her, especially tonight. Sarah did horribly in school and was resentful of Alison’s good grades.
Alison waited a few seconds and scooted to the edge of the bed. She let the blanket drop to the floor. She stood, quietly easing across the room to flick the light switch on. The second she touched the switch, a hand grabbed her arm, yanking it so hard, she winced.
“Don’t say a word.”
Cigarette smoke permeated his breath, his mouth so close to hers she could swallow the air he exhaled. Fearing this moment, knowing what was about to take place because he was not the first, she raised her knee, aiming for his crotch. The sharpness of her knee gouged his most sensitive area. He released her arm, giving her a millisecond to wrench out of his grip. Standing as close to the door as she dared, the room in almost total darkness minus the hazy glint of moon that shone between the heavy drapes, Alison touched the door, the wood rough against her hand. Fumbling for the doorknob, she felt the rusted brass graze her palm. Hope filled her with a power force. She yanked the door inward only to feel the bulk of his weight slam against it, her arm caught between the frame and the latch.
“You’re hurting me!” Alison cried out.
“Shut up,” he growled. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” He eased the bulk of his weight off the door, freeing her arm. Ripples of hot pain pierced her forearm. She knew it was broken. Clenching her teeth, she pushed away from him, but he was too fast for her.
Grabbing both feet, he dragged her across the dirty linoleum floor. Her head hit the corner of the dresser, the sharp edge slicing into the delicate skin on her temple. Warm blood oozed down her face, the coppery scent gag-ging her.
“Stop!” she screamed through gritted teeth.
Wicked laughter spewed from his mouth. “I’ll stop when I’m finished, you little bitch.”