"Oh I just loved the cheerleaders!" Judi cooed, turning towards Claire. "Maybe you should be a cheerleader? I saw you guys whispering over there, you and Massie, during the big half-time show, maybe you both can be cheerleaders! Wouldn't that look just gorgeous? With Massie's dark hair…" Claire smiled weakly, slightly tuning her mother out. Truthfully, Massie had been critiquing the cheerleaders, naming practically all of them losers for wearing polyester skirts and crop tops. Like Massie would ever be a cheerleader. Well, she had been, but… that didn't turn out great.
Claire watched as a small bird swooped in front of the car, barely missing a certain death. It was a nice day out, late, but the sun was still high in the sky. One by one, four more birds flew by the window.
"And what about the band, Toddie?" Judie turned her brown eyes onto Todd. "You could be in the band! And your sister as a cheerleader? Just perfect!"
"Absolutely!" Jay hollered from his spot at the wheel, rotating so he faced Claire & Todd in the backseat. "We could drive out and see you both! Just-"
And then that awful, bone-grinding screech of metal on metal. Claire's eyes flashed forward just in time to see the sea of glass fly towards her. And the screams. Everyone was screaming.
"It was loud." Claire said tonelessly.
"Yes, yes. Certainly." The fat, pot-bellied therapist clasped his hands together. "But do you remember any details? What happened before, perhaps?" He scratched his head. Claire was distracted by the shower of dandruff that floated off his head like snow. She scooted her hair back a touch.
"Not really." Claire looked at the ground and absent-mindedly moved her foot. A spasm of pain shot up her leg, and she contorted her face to keep from screaming. After a moment, she cautiously looked up to see if the man had noticed. If he had, she would be sent back to the ICU. He hadn't, thank god.
"Alright Miss –er- Lyons. I believe we are finished here." He stood up.
"Yes!" Claire shot up unsteadily on one foot, the other hovering slightly above the floor. "Thanks Mr. Keaton." She hobbled a few feet towards the door, and then glanced back at the portly man. "Uh, do you know where do I go?" It struck her slightly in a way that made her want to run back into the therapist chair. A strict schedule had been in place for Patient Lyons since the minute she crossed the threshold. Surgery, Mess Hall, Visits from family & close friends (which had been particularly hard), and the worse; morgue. But today, only one thing had been scribbled on her neat white schedule hanging from her extended-stay room wall, Keaton 10.
"Social Services." The fat man said, already eagerly rifling through his desk in search of food.
"Great." Claire muttered, turning tail and fleeing. For a moment, she considered how far she could get if she dashed out the front door. But that would get her in the psycho ward for sure. Would that be better or worse than SS?
Claire wasn't stupid. Or an ignorant kid. She knew what Social Services was, and she knew about Foster Care. Claire knew how kids popped around from house to house. Written off by society. Stuck in a retail job, if lucky. Never really going to college. And Claire knew she would probably become a part of it. The truth, no matter how blunt, was that she was minus two parents. And a brother, however much he was worth.
Her slippered feet stopped at a black door. Claire looked up, just as the door swung away to reveal a stern man towering above her.
"Miss Lyons? Come in." The man rumbled, gesturing towards two chairs. "We've got a meeting set up." He added, once Claire sat down.
"A meeting?" Claire squeaked.
"Yes. Potential Caretakers." He said flatly, his cold blue eyes scanning her.
"You mean like, my grandma? Or uncle Jim?" Claire whimpered.
"Not exactly." The man took a seat, crossed his legs, and uncrossed them. "None… no one… there isn't really, anyone in your immediate family…"
"What?" Claire cried out, partly from the pain in her leg, but mostly from the news. "No one wants me?"
"Not exactly." The man repeated. "No ones in the position to take you right now." Claire stared at the floor, not wanting to respond. "We can't force… So we've set up some meetings with some local patrons that are open currently-"
"Strangers?" Claire mumbled.
"Well, I like to think of them as potential caretakers. Don't worry, they've all gone through my team." Claire nodded once.
"Of course, we'd like to find your original parents, but that may take awhile." The man intoned. Claire had already tuned him out, focusing on the door she had just walked through. A high platform red & white-checkered heel stepped into the room, followed by its match. Claire instinctively shivered at the monstrosity. The shoes were followed by long, slinky legs covered in fishnet tights, which were topped off by a navy micro-mini dress. Claire quickly scooted her chair back.
"And to see if they were stable and in good condition, oh!" The man looked up. "Miss Anner." Turning to Claire he spoke. "This is Miss Anner. She's very interested in taking care of you."
"Yes, yes!" The woman crowed, looking down on Claire with beady eyes. Admittedly, she was pretty in that low-life, too-much-makeup way, nothing going for her way. Or, in short, scary. "She'd be just pe-ahr-feccccht!" Her thick jersey accent made Claire's skin crawl.
"Uh-huh." The Social Service man –Claire still hadn't caught his name- said warily. "So, Miss. Anner. We're going to do a short questionnaire for both of you, see if your interests match up." He placed his palms flat on the table. "Miss Anner first."
"Are you in a stable living condition?" The man appraised her outfit warily.
"But of course!" The woman patted her hip, causing her dress to ride up even higher. "Got a steady income, I do."
"What is it that you do for a living?"
"Accounting!" The woman cried. "Yes sir, I'm pretty darn good at it too, if you know what I mean." She punctuated the sentence with a wink. "Ya should try me out sometime."
"Sure." The man shifted in the seat. Claire could see the tension rolling off of him in waves. "Alright, I guess we're done."
"Y'll contact me?"
"Yes."
"Great! Can't wait fo' her!" The lady leaned down to kiss Claire near her cheek. "See ya soon sweetie. I've got just a perfect room set up for ya!"
As soon as her checkered foot was out of sight, the man picked up a red sharpie and decisively crossed out a name on the list.
"How many more, Mr…"
"Larsen. More than enough Claire. More than enough." He said shortly. "In fact, we have Mr. and Mrs. Baking right now." He gestured towards the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Baking turned out to be worse. They lasted a bit longer than the first disaster, until Claire practically bawled from frustration. Every word (if she was lucky, a sentence) she spoke, Mr. Baking responded with "eh?" Granted, he was probably close to seventy, but Claire knew she would go insane if she had to be in his presence for more than twelve minutes. Mixed with Mrs. Baking's heavy southern accent and penchant for over-sized peasant clothes; Claire knew she would probably be better off living with Miss Anner & eventually turning into a stripper.
The next few weren't better. The third patron had come in toting three obnoxious screaming toddlers, and proclaimed that Claire would be her full time babysitter in exchange for food. Next was a young-ish single woman, who seemed satisfactory at first, but Larsen dumped her the minute she asked for a cigarette break.
"You see, if someone can't go thirty minutes without a smoke, we consider that a bad environment." He explained, slightly grim. "I guess it's probably time for lunch, isn't it?" He rose with an uncomfortable chuckle, only to be interrupted by the door swinging open.
"Mr. Larsen." An almost identical older man stood stoically at the door. "Can I speak with you for a minute? It's urgent." He leaned his head out the door, his voice muffled. "Of course you can come speak with her." He turned back towards Claire. "I believe a couple you know is here." He said, with a slight unexplained glimmer in his eye. "The Blocks?"
Claire rose hastily, ignoring the pain in her foot as she hobbled over to the door. She was met by Kendra and William Block. She was sure disappointment was clear in her blue eyes as she noted that Massie Block, her longstanding best friend, wasn't with them.
"Claire!" Kendra cried out. "How are you sweetie?" Her voice lowered. "Are you doing okay?" Kendra reminded Claire of home. Her sweet light scent was familiar, and the soft tunic she wore was comforting against Claire's cheek as she hugged her. Even the way she was twisting the many diamond rings around her fingers comforted Claire. These people were as close to home as she could get.
"Yeah, I mean, I still- miss them, but…" Claire stammered, gazing at the floor as if the blue diamond print was the most interesting thing she had seen in weeks. Her blue eyes began to gather water.
"Listen, Massie was supposed to come with us, but she had a big school project to work on." Kendra tsked. "Don't worry, I'm sure you can see her soon."
"Yeah." Claire looked at the ground, feeling awkward. None of her friends had really visited her. Her nurse had told her that they did, at first, when Massie had corralled them, but then the visits had dropped off to barely any. She hadn't seen Cam Fisher, her boyfriend, once. Hearing about the school projects made her feel more out of it than ever.
"What are you doing here?" William Block, Massie's father, asked Claire, his brows knitting with concern. Jay Lyons, Claire's dad, had been his best friend. William had personally invited Jay to work for him, resulting in the Lyons' being uprooted from their perfectly happy life in Kissimmee, Florida, and being transported to Westchester, New York and live in the guesthouse. The first few months had been hell, but then Massie had warmed up to her, and she had finally started having fun. And then this happened.
"We tried to go to your room, but that man caught us mid-way. Said you were down here." Kendra added.
"Um… scanning people for foster care." Claire mumbled. She didn't want anyone to know how pathetic her life was. It was likely that it would get back to Massie, and Claire would be "out" for good. If she wasn't already.
"Foster care?" Kendra gasped, her delicate fingers covering her mouth. "For you?"
"Nonsense!" William rose from his chair. "What about your family, Claire?"
"William!" Kendra said hurriedly. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that Claire cannot go live with complete strangers! What kind of godparents would we be?"
"Godparents?" Claire asked, slightly confused. Last she remembered, she didn't have any godparents. Judi had thought it was a stupid tradition that didn't have any true meaning.
"Jay-" William started.
"Later!" Kendra hissed at him. "That doesn't matter. What does matter, is that we're going to-"
"No need." Mr. Larsen strode back into the room, startling the three. "I have a bit of news." Everyone was silent, expecting him to speak. In the moment of silence, Claire noticed a small mole on his lip. It was heart-shaped.
"Claire is your daughter."