Callie:

I squinted against the sun and willed my headache to go away as the buzzer which controlled everything at Chula Vista sounded and the gates opened. Juvie was a two-month long distraction from Jude; two months that neither he nor I could afford. I scanned the parking lot, looking for him or Bill, the at times hapless caseworker assigned to me. My eyes paused briefly on a woman standing near one of the guards and I watched as her eyes darted nervously from me to the guy standing next to her - a social worker, I assumed. My assumption was confirmed when he rushed clumsily towards me to introduce himself as David, a colleague of Bill's. He looked frazzled and somewhat frightened of me, something I found irritating.

"Where's Bill? Why isn't Bill here?" I asked, perturbed. Bill, though he had disappointed me many times, was a familiar face and it was discouraging that he hadn't bothered to show up himself. When David didn't answer my questions about Bill's whereabouts, I peppered him with more questions, "Where's Jude? Do you know where he is? I need to speak to Jude". When he merely stuttered out sounds rather than answering my questions, I rolled my eyes and slowly repeated each question, raising my voice to be heard over his useless utterances. At his confession that he didn't know where Jude was, I grew annoyed and added, "I don't understand why I can't talk to Jude" before trailing off and biting down on my split lip in annoyance.

David, ignoring my final question and using a case file - likely my own based on its thickness - to herd me over to the woman I had seen earlier, whispered viciously, "That's enough, I have no idea what you are talking about." I scowled at his lie and scooted away from him before demanding, "Stop. Touching. Me." He immediately dropped his hand and I took a second comforting step away from him.

Lena:

I was furious at Bill for not meeting me today; though I could hardly fault his reasons. An overdosing foster child; my goodness.

Still, I needed someone to direct my frustration at, particularly since I hadn't been able to reach Stef to ask her about taking in a new foster child - one from the steps of a juvenile detention facility. I tried her one more time before my call was sent to voicemail. I sighed and got out of the car throwing my phone into my bag and quickly tying my hair up while trying to catch up to David, Bill's irritating colleague.

David had been evasive, at best, in his answers to my questions. Despite promising ample assistance with the placement, he ignored me in favor of flipping feverishly through an oversized file when I asked whether Chula Vista was an appropriate place to house a twelve-year-old girl. After a few awkward moments of silence, he clarified that the girl had gotten into a fight with her foster father, damaging his property in the process and they hadn't been able to find a suitable foster home for her.

"Shit," I thought, chastening myself at my own language. "Uh ... Bill and I have known each other for a very long time and he's been a friend of the family ever since he placed the twins with us, but I cannot bring someone violent into my house!" I glanced at him to confirm he understood. "I've got my own kids to think about" I added insistently. He shifted his feet and said, "We aren't asking you to keep her; it would only be for a couple of weeks".

Before I could object further, a loud buzzer sounded and a petite brunette walked through the opened gates. Her clothes were ill-fitting and her hair was a greasy mess. She looked around the parking lot in annoyance before her eyes settled on me and she rearranged her features to reflect her apparent confusion. She was short and lean - too thin probably - and looked ten despite David confirming she was twelve. I found myself reflecting back on my earlier conversation with David and I wondered what sort of property damage someone so small could cause. As she walked closer, I gasped at her injured face, which carried a split lip and was further marred by a huge bruise covering her cheek. David heard me and rushed to explain that it was not atypical for the residents at Chula Vista to jump departing residents out of jealousy. "And you just let them?" I asked, incredulously.

He ignored me and hurried over to the young girl. I rolled my eyes as he stuttered his way through her questions about Bill and "Jude" and made a mental note of the latter name. He shushed her before introducing us. Callie. She looked like a Callie.

Still, there was no way I was going to be able to sell Stef on this placement - on Callie. I turned to David and motioned that I needed to speak with him privately. Instead of following me, he blurted out "I guess I could send her to a group home". I frowned at him for his lack of discretion and vowed to speak to Bill about David's professionalism before glancing at Callie. She battled valiantly at the tears threatening to fall and her lower lip trembled precipitously.

I couldn't do it, I decided. I couldn't be responsible for sending her to a group home. I exhaled audibly before clarifying, "It's just for a few weeks, right?"

Stef was going to kill me.