“Come on,” Bo said to me. She tugged my hand and started leading me away, down a hallway I hadn’t even noticed before.
“Don’t you walk away from me!”
There was a loud thud and the sound of glass shattering behind me.
Close behind me.
Bo yanked me harder, and we started running toward the trailer’s back door.
“You leave, you better not come back tonight! You hear me, you little dyke?” Mrs. Dickinson hollered just as Bo threw open the back door and we tumbled out, down another set of cement stairs, with Utah at our heels.
Bo didn’t even bother shutting the door behind us, so we could still hear her mother yelling as we ran, fast as we could, into the woods.
Our shoes slapped against the frozen ground and the December wind stung our faces as we bolted through the woods. We didn’t stop until we reached the clearing, the place where Bo had come across me lost in the grass the day my parents drove Gracie to college. So much had changed for Bo and me since then that it felt like a lifetime had passed, not just a few months.
Bo let go of my hand and I slumped against a tree, panting to catch my breath. It was light out, but the sky was overcast and gray. Still, I could see Bo standing a few feet away, unmoving, arms wrapped around herself while Utah sniffed at the ground around us.
We were quiet for a long time, just standing there, shivering. I felt like I ought to say something, but I wasn’t sure what. I had lots of questions, lots of concerns about Bo and her mom, but it felt wrong to ask. Still, the quiet was getting to me. So I said the first thing—the only thing—I could think of.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
She hesitated, and I wondered if maybe she’d get mad at me for trying to start our game at a time like this. But after a second she said, “You first.”
“Um … Sometimes—not too often, but sometimes—I trip people with my cane on purpose, then act like it was an accident, like I didn’t see them, so they can’t get mad at me.”
She chuckled. Just a little. Short and quiet.
“I did it to Isaac Porter last week.”
Her laugh was a little louder this time.
“In church.”
She really cracked up then. It only lasted a second, but her giggle filled me with relief. And I told myself it was gonna be okay. As long as I could make her laugh, make her smile, everything would be okay.
“You’re going to hell,” she teased.
“What? No. Don’t you know? Poor little blind girls never go to hell. We’re all angels.”
“Oh, that’s right. I must’ve forgot.” She walked over to the tree and leaned against the large trunk, her shoulder brushing my arm. “Guess it’s my turn now, huh?”
I nodded.
“I … have been in foster care before.”
I turned to look at her, surprised. “Really? When?”
“Summer before eighth grade. Mama got arrested. Possession, I think. Don’t really remember. But social workers came and got me in the middle of the night. I begged them to take me to my dad, but they said they didn’t know where he was at. I ain’t sure how hard they really looked, but … they took me to this house about an hour from here … I was only there a couple weeks, until she got out on bail, but … it was awful.”
I felt the dull ache of dread in my stomach, and I groped for her hand, squeezed it. It was bare and felt cold, even through my glove.
“There were a lotta kids there. Some, like me, were only there a few days. Some had been there for years. There were a couple babies, too. They cried all the time. And the older kids were always fighting. I saw one of them pull a knife on the other. But the foster parents didn’t do nothing about it. They wanted nothing to do with us. Well, except the dad. He was always walking in on the girls while we were changing or …”
She trailed off, and as awful as it sounds, I was glad. I didn’t think I could hear any more. I already felt sick, just trying to imagine what living like that might be like. And, deep down, I felt guilty. Guilty because I’d always had a safe home, because I’d never had to worry about knives or creepy dads. And I’d never even thought to be grateful for that before.
“Living with Mama’s no picnic, but I’m so scared, Agnes. That’s why I’m always listening to that police scanner. I’m always waiting to hear her name. I’m so scared she’s gonna get arrested again. If she does …”
When she didn’t finish the sentence, I pushed. “What?”
“I can’t do it again,” she murmured. “If she’s arrested again, I’m taking off. I ain’t gonna stick around and wait for CPS to come get me.”
“Oh …”
We were both quiet again, then Bo said, her voice shaking, “You know … what she said … about me and you. Agnes, I don’t—just because I like girls, too, don’t mean I—”
“I know.”
“I just don’t want you worrying that I—”