Love Me When I'm Unlovable

Chapter 15: Rita

"Rita, time to go."

Eight-year-old me looked up from my toys. I didn't recognize the redhead lady in the doorway. Maybe it's another Rita. I looked back down and continued to stack my blocks.

"Rita, come on," My teacher took my hand and led me towards the door.

I dug my heels in. "No!"

"Yes," Ms. Handel said, dragging me by my wrist.

"No!" I screamed. "No! Hannah! Hannah! Hannah!" I kept screaming my sister's name. The lady took my hand and I screamed more. "No! No, let me go! Help!"
I screamed more, but no one would help. I didn't know her, and my parents had taught me not to go with strangers.

"No!" I bit down on her wrist.

"You little-"

I didn't hear the lady's response. I scrambled back. "Go! Get back!"

I could see Asher out of the corner of my eye. A teacher was screaming at him.

"Tell me your name or I'm taking you to the office!" the lady yelled.

"Asher!" I called, running to his side, "He can't tell you!" I screamed. I pulled him away from the teacher, gripping his hand in mine. "Leave him alone! Hannah!"

Before school, Hannah had said, "I'm just down the hall. If anyone has a problem or if anyone is mean to you, come get me. We'll leave. I promise. We'll leave, and we won't come back."

"Help! Hannah!" I screamed as the lady grabbed my arm.

Suddenly, Hannah came tearing out of a classroom. She yanked my arm away from the teacher and pulled Asher and me close. "What are you doing? Don't touch them!"

"I am their foster mother!" the lady snapped.

Hannah bared her teeth at the lady. "Doesn't matter! Don't touch them!"

"It does matter!" The lady retorted.

"She doesn't know you!" Hannah yelled. "She's not going to go with you!"

"Hannah!" Maria came storming down the hall. "These are your new parents. Stop this at once!"

"No!" Hannah's eyes were wild. "Leave us alone!"Hannah picked up a crying Asher and positioned him on her hip. She put her hand around my shoulders.

"You're both coming with me right now!" Maria said, grabbing Hannah and I.

I started crying.

Hannah unleashed a barrage of colorful language that I had only ever heard her use once. That was when our parents died.

We didn't live with that family very long.

Next crappy foster home, next crappy family, next crappy life.

I pull my duffel bag up on my shoulder and slide into the car. Presley was busy with another kid, so I'm back stuck with Maria, who thinks that children should be seen and not heard. It's a load of crap. Especially because she won't generally tell you anything about the family you'll be living with for the next six months, year, whatever.

We pull up next to a house. I don't know what house. My head is down. I'm not paying attention.

"Out, Rita," Maria says.

I roll my eyes at her demanding tone, but follow what she says. I stare at the pavement as we walk up. I can see Maria's Mary Janes out of the corner of my eye. The woman is living in the nineteenth century. Hello, we have tennis shoes now?

"Hey, Rita!"

I know that annoyingly bubbly voice. I look up at the seventeen-year-old bubbly blonde standing in front of me. I don't respond. They took me back. That's a new one. We'll see how long it lasts.