Script Kiddies

Chapter 2

Her new foster home was better than the first one she could remember but worse than the last two. It was a pale-yellow ranch with windows every ten paces and an open carport to the left. There were two cars in the driveway, both at least ten years old and well-loved, if not maintained.

Haley suppressed a sigh and pasted a smile on her face as Ms. Roland opened the car door. The woman fussed with Haley's dress as she climbed out of the back seat, not that it'd matter.

When Ms. Roland was satisfied, she stepped back and held out a hand.

They walked across the thin strip of city-owned grass, and then up the sun-bleached gray cement walkway.

She started going through the inevitable dance in her head.

"You must be Haley," the mother would say.

She'd hold out her hand to shake, feigning shyness, only to have the mother hold out her arms and offer a hug, which Haley would accept even though it would be awkward. It didn't matter how she actually felt, as long as these new foster parents felt like they were doing the world a service by letting her stay with them. Of course, that was also why she'd done her hair in pigtails and put on just enough blush to give herself that innocent glow that adults associated with an eleven- or twelve-year-old, even though she was old enough to drive.

Never hurt to stack the deck.

Ms. Roland stopped, pulling Haley out of her daydreams.

Haley turned, keeping her face neutral as the woman put a hand on her shoulder. She held her eyes levelly.

"You sure you can do this?" Ms. Roland said.

Haley nodded.

"All you have to do is play by their rules for a year," Ms. Roland said.

"I'll be an angel," Haley said, a bit too sweetly.

Ms. Roland let out an exasperated breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, then shook her head. Her blonde curls bounced across her shoulders as she did.

She took another deep breath and knocked twice.

A few seconds later, a young black girl in a green sundress opened the door. Haley recognized her from the photograph, her hair held back in a thick French braid.

"Hello?" the girl said, pretending she didn't know who they were or why they were there.

"Hi, I'm Liza Roland. Are your parents at home?"

The girl nodded and swung the door open. "Mom, they're here."

Ms. Roland stepped inside with Haley in tow. The foyer was practically out of the pages of a magazine from a doctor's waiting room, from the floral vases to the fake-fruit bowls and bright, airily painted walls.

A woman as pale as an egg shell walked out of the kitchen.

"Hello, Liza," she said. Her voice was warm, and her smile seemed genuine. "Good to see you again."

"Good to see you, Martha," Ms. Roland said.

"And you must be Haley?"

"Must be," Haley said. She stuck out her hand.

The woman's smile tightened, and Haley saw Ms. Roland give her a stern look.

The woman held out her arms. "Oh, come here."

Haley suppressed a groan and crossed the threshold dutifully. She let her backpack drop carefully to the hardwood floor before moving too.

The woman's perfume threatened to suffocate Haley, but she squeezed her eyes tight and tried to breathe through her mouth.