"Hey, Rita?" I rap lightly on her open door.
She looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"I think it's time to decorate your room," I say, smiling.
Rita shrugs and sets her phone on the nightstand. "I guess, sure."
I pull the bag of decorations out from under her desk and set it on her bed. "So, what first?"
Rita shrugs. "I don't care. You're the one who wanted to do this."
"Well, it's your room," I retort.
Rita rolls her eyes. "I have no design skills. Just pull something out and do something with it."
"Okay," I say slowly. "But if I do something wrong, you have to tell me, okay?"
Rita nods. "Yeah, of course. It is my room, after all."
I roll my eyes. "You're impossible."
Rita flips her short hair. "I know. I pride myself on that."
I pull out the curtain lights first. "What do you think?"
"Those should go above my bed," Rita says matter-of-factly.
"You realize they're called curtain lights for a reason?" I question.
"Yes," Rita says. "They're made to go above my bed." She grins.
I bite my lip but nod. "If that's where you want them." I go get the little red step stool that's in the laundry room and return. "We've got to pull out your bed."
Rita nods, moving to the head of the bed. We both heave and pull, and eventually get it away from the wall. In between the wall and her bed is a teddy bear. The one that had 'family is forever' scrawled on its tummy.
"Sorry," Rita says quickly, grabbing the bear. She turns and tosses it in the closet. She looks embarrassed.
I force a smile, trying not to feel hurt. Family meant the world to me, but to someone like Rita, I guess, it just meant failure. I don't know how she was separated from her parents or siblings, but it couldn't have been good. I tried to remember that and not feel very hurt, knowing that she just shoved the bear where she couldn't see it.
"Let's do this," I say, setting the step stool down. Rita feeds me the lights and I use stick-on hooks to attach them to the wall above her bed.
When I'm done, we stand back to admire our handiwork. It doesn't look bad. It looks pretty cool, actually.
Rita sets the lights to fade and turns the lights on. It's beautiful.
"I told you," she says quietly. She flicks on the lights and grins at me smugly.
"Yeah, yeah," I roll my eyes and pull out the next thing. A neon sign that says 'be you'.
Rita points to the wall above her bed.
"You already have curtain lights there," I say, turning over the sign to see if it has batteries. It doesn't.
"So?" Rita cocks her head. "Screw it. Put it smack dab in the middle of the curtain lights. It'll be fine. And we can always change it with your little sticky hook thingy-ma-bobs."
I smile at her weird language. "Yes, ma'am," I say. "But batteries first."
"Right," Rita says. "Where?"
"Should be in the pantry, the little box on the third shelf on the far left."
Rita nods and leaves to go get the batteries.
I'm fidgeting with the sign and its remote when Rita's phone dings. It's wrong, I know, but I lean over to see who's messaging her. It's someone named Lucas. He said 'hey, Babe'. I suck in a breath.
Does Rita have a boyfriend? That worries me a little. Rita doesn't seem like the type to have good judgment with boys. But I do my best to ignore the phone, forget the text, and keep fidgeting with my sign.
"Uh, what are you doing?" Rita asks when she returns.
I visibly jump and kick myself for it. Act natural, LeAnna. "Oh, hey. I was doing nothing. Sorry. Did you get the batteries?"
Rita looks at me skeptically. "Uh... yeah, I did." She slides her nail across the batteries container. Her nails are kinda long and dirty, and a few of them look like they've recently been broken.
"Here," Rita says, handing me two double A batteries.
I slide the batteries into the back of the sign. "And we're putting it... there?" I point to the middle of her curtain lights.
Rita nods. "Yeah."
I nod. Rita moves the step stool over and I put up the sign. Hindsight, it looks pretty good.
Rita steps back and examines it. "I like that," she says, nodding. She looks at me. "What do you think?"
"I think it's good," I say, nodding. "Good choice."
Rita beams. "Thanks!"
"Hey, Rita," Mom knocks on the door. "Whoa," she says, smiling. "That looks amazing! You girls did an amazing job designing."
Rita beams. "You think so?"
"I definitely think so," Mom says. "I love the sign there!"
Rita pokes around in the bag. "Oh, there are still vones and LED lights. Can we do the LED lights next?"
"Before we do that," Mom says, laying a hand on the bag. "I have some news, Rita."
Rita looks at her out of the side of her eye. "What is it?" she asks skeptically.
"I talked to Presley about your request for Asher," Mom says, sitting down on the bed.
Rita drops down onto the bed next to Mom, giving Mom her full attention.
"And Presley got us a meeting with Asher's foster parents," Mom says. "Presley said Asher's caseworker is eager to get him out of the placement he's in right now, so she may give us custody."
Rita's face breaks into a smile. "What? Really? You think so?"
"I hope so," Mom says. "Remember, it may not happen. But I wanted to let you know about it."
Rita looks at me, her face shining. She opens her arms to me.
I pause. Is she asking for a hug? I go for it. Rita's hugs are amazing. She's warm and holds not to tight and not to loose. I love it. I love her.
*Rita POV*
I sat down next to LeAnna, my hand clenched in hers. Mrs. and Mr. Corbin sat down on either side of us.
"Hello," Misty, Asher's caseworker says, smiling. "I'm glad you could join us."
"So are we," Mrs. Corbin says, smiling warmly.
"This is Alina and Brandon Terry," Misty says. "They're Asher's current placement, and they have been for almost a year now."
"Asher is..." Alina looks at me and purses her lips.
I wait for the words to come out of her mouth. I know what's coming. It's the same thing over and over. I hate it.
"The school tested him the first few weeks of school," Alina explains gently. "He's... he can't speak. Or write. He's..."
I wait for the r word to come.
"He's severely mentally retarded," Alina finishes.
I sit back in my chair and wriggle my hand out of LeAnna's airtight grasp. "My brother's not stupid," I say. "He's a thinker, not a talker."
The truth? He has a sensory processing disorder, severe anxiety, and selective mutism. But he's not stupid. He'll talk when it's just him and me. He can handle me touching him. But no one listens to me.
"You're his sister, right?" Brandon asks me. "Rita?"
I nod, not sure where this is going.
"Well, Rita," Brandon says, as if speaking to a child. I bristle at that. "Asher has some learning difficulties. He can't speak or write, which means he has to be in a special classroom."
I glare at Brandon. "My. Brother. Is. Not. Stupid." Why can't these people get it?
"We're not saying he is," Alina says. "We're saying he's special."
"Not in the way you're saying," I say sharply. "He can't keep up because he has no one to help him. I take it you're not trying to help?"
"Rita," Alina says. "You have to understand-"
"No, you have to understand," I snap. "Asher's my little brother. I know him. He's smart and brilliant. And he's kind and generous and geeky and amazing. And if you're not seeing that, don't blame him."
"Are you calling us bad foster parents?" Alina asks defensively.
I try to refrain from hitting her. "No," I growl. "I'm saying you're relying on the diagnosis of people who know nothing about him." When Asher's with unfamiliar people, without someone he trusts, he clams up. He can't speak, he can't write, he can't do any of that.
"Rita, I understand you want to protect him-"
"Of course I want to protect him," I snarl. "But that has nothing to do with this. You don't know anything about Asher, and you're just handing him off to so-called professionals who don't know a thing about him."
"And you know better?" Brandon challenges.
"I know my brother," I reply. "And I obviously know better than you, if you're so eager to classify him as special needs and ship him off to a classroom he'll learn nothing in."
"Asher is nonverbal," Alina says. "He belongs in that classroom."
My hands ball into fists at my sides. "You know nothing about my brother."
Brandon leans forward. "We obviously know better than you do, little miss."
"No," I growl, my volume rising. "You don't. My brother is a survivor. He's been through hell and back and you mean to tell me that he's 'special'?"
"Asher is special needs," Alina insists. "And him being a survivor has nothing to do with-"
"Oh, really?" I narrow my eyes. "So youre aware that three years ago, our foster parents tried to drown him in their bathtub?"
Alina's face pales.
"Miss Rita," Brandon leans forward, placing his folded hands on the table. "You clearly care about Asher. But unfortunately, you don't live with him anymore. So why don't you let us do our job, and you can go back to playing with your dollies?"
Mrs. Corbin puts her hands on my shoulders. At first, I think it's her way of telling me to back down, until she speaks.
"No," Mrs. Corbin says sharply. "You do not ever speak to someone that way, least of all my daughter."
My daughter.
"She's speaking of things she doesn't know anything about," Brandon says.
"That may as well be, but your tone was very inappropriate for speaking to a minor," Mrs. Corbin says. "Or anyone, might I add."
Brandon takes Alina's hand. "We'll be leaving now." He glances at Misty. "Thank you for this... enlightening conversation. Asher will not be transferred to your custody." Then he turns his glare to me. "And thank you for letting us meet his utterly delightful sister."
Mrs. Corbin holds my arms at my sides so I don't hit him. But man, I want to. So badly.
I stay silent until we get to the car.
"Did I do something wrong?" my voice cracks.
"No, honey," Mr. Corbin says. "You did nothing wrong. They were entirely inappropriate. You were amazing."
"Though I would like to ask," Mrs. Corbin says. "What does Asher have that makes him not want to speak? Or is it his form of rebellion?"
"He has sensory processing disorder and selective mutism," I say. "Which is probably where the whole 'special needs thing comes in. He's been diagnosed with nonverbal autism too many times to count."
"But he doesn't have it?" Mr. Corbin asks.
"No," I say. "He can form the words. He can talk for hours about astronomy and stars. But only when he's alone with me. When he's with other people, he clams up, and can't talk."
"Ah," Mrs. Corbin says. "I can see how that could be mistaken for nonverbal autism."
"But no one will listen to me," I complain.
"I know," Mrs. Corbin says. "But we'll get Asher, Rita, no matter what we have to do."
*LeAnna POV*
"Rita?" I rap on her bedroom door.
She looks up. "Oh. Hey." She scoots over to make a place for me.
"For what it's worth, I loved seeing you all fiery for your little brother," I say quietly. "I thought it was awesome."
Rita looks at her lap. "It's more than that. Asher... he's all I have. I'm all he has and he's all I have. Asher and I have been each other's only family for a while. I can't just leave him."
I look at her for a second. "You know you have us too?" I put my hand on hers.
She doesn't pull away. She just shakes her head, ever so slightly. "I appreciate the sentiment, LeAnna. But you're just another foster family. You'll come. You'll go. That's how this works. That's how this has always worked."
"But what if it could change?" I press.
Rita looks at me sadly. "It won't." She gets up. "You're awesome, LeAnna. But it won't."