When Skye awoke the next morning, the grey dawn light was streaming thinly in through the window, casting the room in a fuzzy, heather film. Jemma was still asleep beside her, her breathing deep and slow. Skye eased herself out of the bed, so as not to wake Jemma, and tiptoed over to the door. She pressed her ear against it, but couldn't make out any sounds of stirring on the other side. Maybe May and Phil weren't awake yet, either. Skye cracked the door, and a quick peak out into the hall didn't reveal any signs of life, so she darted back over to her own bedroom, closing the door behind her. She didn't think they would mind that she and Jemma had spent the night together, but you could never really tell what was going to bother certain foster families. Maybe they would be upset that she hadn't used her own bed, and that the nice, big room had gone to waste. Maybe they wouldn't like the two of them spending so much time together. Maybe they didn't want the girls leaving their rooms during the night. Skye shook her head, trying to clear the maybes from her brain. It didn't matter now, she was back in her own room and no one would ever be the wiser about the previous night. Skye got back in her bed, bringing her fan pieces along with her. She didn't really expect to go back to sleep at this point, so she might as well try to make some progress. After futzing around for quite some time, Skye was eventually able to straighten out the spokes and get them each connected to each other and to the rotating piece of the motor. She didn't have a battery, so she couldn't be sure that the fan would work once the motor was hooked up to some power, but she was pleased with her handiwork.
She got up then, and set the newly constructed fan on the desk to admire it. As she moved around the room, Skye realized that the light outside had changed drastically, and a bright, yellow sun was peaking through her curtains. It had to be close to time to get up by now, surely. Skye pulled open her dresser drawer and found the pile of clothes she had dumped in unceremoniously last night. Quickly, she sorted through them, putting holey socks and underwear in the top drawer, her three t-shirts in the middle drawer, and her pair of jeans and shorts in the bottom one. Things weren't folded, but she figured it would be good enough if they were sorted at least. It didn't take her long to get dressed either, as she pulled yesterday's clothes back on. They weren't really dirty, and she knew it would be better to save her clean clothes for later, in case she had to wait a long time to do laundry.
Once she was dressed and had run a brush through her tangles, Skye decided that she couldn't wait any longer, and she cracked open her door. No one was in the hallway, but Skye could hear someone moving around downstairs. Some foster families didn't like it when you left your room too early, but Skye had a feeling that it might be okay here. If whoever was downstairs didn't want her up yet, she could always just come back to her room until it was time, hopefully without any trouble. Neither Phil nor May struck her as the type to yell or hit, based on her initial read of them, although she knew you could never assume.
Skye headed down the stairs, and in the direction of whoever was making noise. Her search led her to the kitchen, where Phil was flitting back and forth between the stove, the counter, and the fridge. He was absorbed in his work, and Skye could see that there was a griddle with pancakes sizzling away on the stovetop and a tea kettle heating up. The smells were intoxicating. She took a tentative step into the kitchen and cleared her throat to let Phil know she was there.
He turned around at the noise, and his face broke into what Skye was realizing must be his signature grin.
"Good morning, Skye!" he chirped, grabbing a spatula off the counter and waving it in her direction. "Your eye doesn't look so hot, how does it feel?"
"It doesn't hurt," Skye said. She had almost forgotten about her shiner from yesterday's scuffle.
"That's good to hear. So, given our conversation yesterday, I thought it might be good to make some pancakes this morning. How dark do you like them, regular dark, really dark, or burnt?" The twinkle in his eye let Skye know that he was teasing, and she smiled back at him.
"I forgot to ask you last night if it was okay for us to leave our rooms once we woke up," Skye started. "But it seems like maybe that's all right?"
"Of course," Phil said, his eyebrows scrunching up slightly in confusion. "You can go anywhere you like in the house, whenever you need to. There's no rule about times where you have to be in your room. I hope you weren't worried about that." Skye just shrugged and pretended to be interested in watching the batter bubble up on the griddle.
"It's just different depending on the foster home," she finally offered. "You have to learn the rules of each place pretty quick." Phil made a thoughtful sound, but didn't press the matter.
"How'd you sleep?" he asked, providing a pivot for the conversation. Skye froze for a second, shuffling through her potential answers, then settled quickly on an evasive truth.
"Good, once I fell asleep," she said.
"And how long did that take?" Phil wanted to know. He scooped several pancakes off of the pan and stacked them on a nearby plate, then went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice. Skye appreciated that he was content to work and talk at the same time. It made it feel like there was less pressure when he wasn't focused solely on her. Still, she wasn't interested in lingering too long on last night and accidentally letting slip the details of her sleepover with Jemma.
"I don't know, it was hard to keep track of time. Not that long, I guess," she said with another shrug. She changed the subject, hoping that it wasn't totally obvious what she was doing. "Would it be okay if I went to tell Jemma that she doesn't have to wait in her room in the mornings?"
"Absolutely," Phil said. "It would make me very happy to see her lovely face down here with us." Skye scampered off, back upstairs and to Jemma's room. She knocked lightly, then opened the door without waiting for a response. Inside the room, Jemma was perched on the edge of her neatly made bed, fully dressed and awake. Her face looked strained until she saw that it was Skye who was opening the door, at which point it morphed into a soft smile.
"I wasn't sure when you'd gone," Jemma chided her. "You're too sneaky for your own good."
"I woke up early and didn't want to wake you," Skye explained. "Plus, I figured I should be back in my own room in case they checked in on us or something. They didn't though. I didn't go back to sleep, and no one came by the whole time. I figured out how to put the fan together while I was waiting, I'll have to show you later. Also, Phil is downstairs, and he says that we can leave our rooms whenever we want to."
"That's good," said Jemma. "I was running out of things to count. There are 64 floorboards in here, and 32 books on my shelf, and 142 bands woven into the rug. I was hoping it would be 144, since that's a square, but the rug isn't square, so I guess that makes sense."
"I'll take your word for it," Skye grinned. "Come on, there's pancakes."
When the two girls reentered the kitchen a few minutes later, they found Phil putting the finishing touches on the table and May already seated, a mug of tea in her hand. Phil was dressed slightly more casually than he had been the day before, still in a button-down shirt, but without the coat and tie, and May was in workout clothes, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. May smiled at the two girls over the rim of her mug, and nodded towards the table.
"How did you sleep?" she asked as Phil, Skye, and Jemma all sat down. Phil whisked the tinfoil that had been keeping a stack of pancakes warm away with a flourish and a goofy grin.
"Um, good," Skye replied as Phil started spearing pancakes and dropping them onto her and Jemma's plates. Jemma didn't say anything, but nodded in agreement with Skye's assessment. Jemma was a terrible liar, and even something as simple as leaving out the whole truth could make Jemma lose her cool, so Skye understood why she opted for the silent response. It was probably safer that way for both of them.
"And how's your eye?" May asked, peering over at Skye's cheek. She didn't try to touch it, which Skye appreciated.
"It's fine," she said. She tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, hopeful that yesterday's fight wouldn't become the topic of conversation. May seemed to take the cue of Skye's short reply, and didn't press the matter. As the four dug into their breakfasts, May gave Phil a pointed look, and he cleared his throat.
"Right, so we wanted to give you two a rundown of what the day is going to look like today," he said, loading his fork carefully with pancake and strawberry hunks. "After we finish up with breakfast, Miss Hand is going to be coming by, just to meet with all four of us, make sure everything is order, answer any questions we have, all that good stuff. Once we finish up with that, I'm going to take your two up to the school so that we can get you registered and all set up for tomorrow, which is when you'll both be starting at Manitowoc Middle. Then we thought maybe we could all meet up for lunch, maybe do some back-to-school shopping, and call it a day. How does that all sound?" Skye was impressed, if not a little overwhelmed. She had kind of assumed that once the pleasantries were out of the way, May and Phil would go to work and get back to their regular lives, and she and Jemma would have time alone until they had to start going to school. She snuck a look at Jemma, to see if she looked like she might answer for herself, but it didn't seem as though that would be the case.
"Okay, I guess," Skye said, shrugging one shoulder. She didn't want to speak for Jemma, but she wasn't offering any reply herself. She just kept picking around at her plate, her eyes glued to the table. She had eaten most of what Phil had served her, at least, as had Skye. They knew better than to skip a meal that was being provided.
"Great," said Phil, popping his last forkful of pancake into his mouth. "Then it sounds like we've got a plan!" He glanced at his watch as he chewed, and turned his attention to May. "Honey, it looks like you've got enough time to grab a shower before Vic gets here, if you want. We can take care of the dishes." May smiled and stood up, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she passed him on her way out of the kitchen.
"Thanks," she said. "I owe you one."
"I'll add it to your tab," he joked back, resting his own hand on top of hers. "Now then, let's get to these dishes."
It didn't take long for Phil, Skye, and Jemma to clear the table and take care of the dishes, with Jemma washing, Skye drying, and Phil putting things back into the cupboards. As Skye toweled off the last glass, it slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor, the tinkling sound of shattering glassware cutting through the air. Skye winced at the noise and heard Jemma suck in a fearful breath behind her. Skye immediately dropped to her knees to try to clean up the broken glass from the floor.
"I'm sorry, Phil, I didn't mean—"
"Skye, hey, it's okay. It was an accident," Phil said gently. "Here, get back, I don't want you to get hurt. I'll get the broom."
"No, it's okay, I can clean it up, I promise. I'll pay for it too, I'm so sorry." Skye felt a tidal wave of apologetic words tumble out of her mouth. It was like she couldn't stop talking as she continued to try and scoop the shards into her bare hands. She could hear Jemma's shaky, rapid breaths and the sound of tapping, and she began to work faster, trying to clean up the mess before Jemma hyperventilated or Phil got mad.
"Skye!" Phil returned, but his voice was too loud and too sharp. Skye jumped and flinched backwards, her hands instinctively retracting into a defensive position. She felt a sting erupt on her palm, and she knew she had cut herself because she moved too quickly and without paying enough attention.
"Skye, seriously, just back up, I really don't want you to—" Phil stopped short when he noticed her reaction. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. I just don't want you to get hurt. I can take care of the glass, see?" He waggled the broom back and forth. Jemma whimpered from somewhere behind Skye, and Phil's face fell.
"What's going on, guys?" He leaned the broom up against the counter and held his hands up in a surrender gesture. "It's okay, it's just a broken glass. It was an accident." Neither Jemma nor Skye spoke for a moment, both girls trying to get ahold of their wild emotions. Finally, Jemma's quavery voice broke the silence.
"You're… you're not angry?"
Phil looked heartbroken. "No, sweetie, not at all, I promise. I'm so sorry I raised my voice, I was just worried about Skye cutting herself on the glass. I'm not mad, no one is in trouble. I break things all the time around here, accidents just happen." He knelt down on the floor in front of Skye, and when he spoke again, it was in an even quieter tone. "Here, Skye, back up a little bit. Watch out for the glass." Skye scooted back until she bumped into Jemma's leg, and Jemma then took her upper arm and helped her to her feet. Phil took the broom then and began sweeping the shards into a pile on the floor, his movements slow and deliberate.
"There's a dustpan under the sink," he explained, using his free hand to point the cabinet out. "Would one of you hand it to me?" Skye made to move to the sink, but Jemma put a hand on her arm to stop her and went to the sink instead, bringing the dustpan to Phil shyly.
"There," he said after a minute, a fresh smile cracking onto his face. "Good as new." He stood then, and dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash with a satisfying finality. When he disappeared to put the broom back, Jemma seized the opportunity to inspect Skye's hand. There was an angry gash across her palm where the glass had sliced into her, and blood was running down the side of her wrist.
"That looks like it hurts," Jemma said sympathetically.
"I mean, it doesn't feel great," Skye quipped. "But I've had worse." Jemma coaxed Skye over to the sink and turned on the water, indicating that Skye should rinse the cut. They were both too busy at the sink to realize that Phil had returned and was watching them. Skye rinsed her hand, and Jemma dampened a paper towel to dab at the cut.
"Hold it on there," Jemma instructed, cradling Skye's hands in her own. "We can wrap it in a minute to stop the bleeding."
"I can bring you a band-aid," said Phil. He kept his tone level, so as not to startle the girls again. Skye and Jemma both wheeled around, noticing Phil for the first time. "I appreciate how well you take care of each other," he added, "but why didn't you tell me you got hurt, Skye?" Skye just shrugged. She couldn't explain why she didn't say anything, it was more of a feeling. The same feeling she'd had for as long as she could remember, that no one, especially adults, really cared about her that much. That Jemma was the only person she could count on, and she was the only person Jemma could count on. That foster parents like you better when you're quiet and don't cause any trouble and don't draw attention to yourself. She didn't know how to say all of it, and she still wasn't sure how much of it Phil would even want to hear. He had been nice so far, but he was still a stranger, and the scare of the glass hadn't helped to ease her uncertainty.
"A band-aid would be good," Jemma finally said, snapping Skye out of her thoughts. She kept her eyes on Skye, but her voice was stronger. "The cut will heal much faster if it's dressed properly."
"One band-aid coming up," Phil agreed. He disappeared upstairs, giving the girls another moment alone. Skye leaned into Jemma, the tension leaving her body for the first time since she had dropped the glass. Jemma brought her hand to the counter and began to tap softly, the sound almost soothing.
"Sorry," Skye murmured, turning slightly so that her cheek was nestled in the crook of Jemma's neck. "I shouldn't have dropped the glass, but I definitely shouldn't have freaked out when Phil said my name like that. He just startled me, you know?" Skye felt Jemma nod. She knew that Jemma knew. That she understood. "He doesn't seem like he'd hit us, but when he raised his voice, I just…" Skye trailed off.
"Fight or flight," Jemma supplied. "It's a natural instinct. It startled me, too."
"I'm sorry he got the broom out," Skye continued. "I'm sure that didn't help things—" The sound of Phil's feet on the stairs cut Skye's apology short, and both girls clamed up. Skye stood up straight, and Jemma tucked her tapping hand into her pocket, out of sight.
"Band-aid!" Phil announced, brandishing the bandage. "And I found some ointment, too, so that the cut doesn't get infected." He made to start dressing Skye's injury, but she reflexively flinched away from his touch. Phil tried his best not to look hurt, but Skye knew she had upset him.
"Sorry," she said again, for what felt like the millionth time that morning. "It's not you, it's just… Jemma usually patches me up, you know?"
"Sure, sure, I understand," Phil said, nodding. "That's fine." He passed the ointment and bandage over to Jemma "I just hope you know that I'm always happy to do that kind of thing. That's kind of one of my jobs, so I'm always here to help."
Jemma made quick work of the cut, coating it in a layer of medicine and wrapping it snuggly in the bandage. She had attended to many of Skye's injuries over the years, patching her up from scuffles with orphanage bullies and helping her to recover from abusive foster homes at St. Agnes. Skye was sure she looked like a poster child for battered foster kids at this point, with her bruised face from yesterday and her sliced up hand from this morning. It was probably a good thing Phil and May weren't making them go to school today, because she would surely draw unwelcome attention looking the way she did.
The three stood in an awkward silence then, no one sure what to say next. Luckily, the awkwardness was alleviated by the sound of May on the stairs, and her arrival moments later. She was dressed professionally, in a neat-looking suit, and her hair was down from its earlier ponytail.
"What'd I miss?" she asked, looking from face to face and taking in Phil's discomfort and Skye and Jemma's skittishness.
"There was an accident involving a broken glass. Skye hurt her hand trying to help clean it up," Phil supplied, gesturing vaguely towards Skye's hand. "Did you know that Jemma is an excellent nurse?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"That doesn't surprise me," May said. She smiled at Jemma, but her eyes were still inquisitive, flashing from Phil to Skye and back. "Are you all right?" Skye nodded, a little embarrassed by all the fuss that she had caused with a single dropped glass. Still, as embarrassing as the situation had been, she couldn't deny that the outcome had been much tamer than it would have been if she was in a different foster home. A brief flash of a belt buckle across her back because of a broken vase crossed her mind, and she gave herself a good mental shake to clear the memory. This place was different. May and Phil had already started to demonstrate that, as hard as it was to remind herself.
"Well, is there something you'd like to do while we wait?" Phil asked, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. "We could—" He was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. "I should have figured. Vic's always on time," he chuckled. May went to get the door, and Phil ushered Skye and Jemma into the living room. The girls sank into the marshmallowy couch, sitting side by side and close enough that their shoulders were touching. Out of the corner of her eye, Skye noticed Jemma's hand snake down and start tapping absent-mindedly on the front of the couch. As Phil eased himself into an armchair, May came into the room, Victoria Hand behind her.
The girls' social worker was a tall, imposing woman in her late 30s. She wore sharp, black glasses and a serious look on her face, but her dark hair had streaks of bright red in it that hinted at her more spontaneous nature. Of all the social workers Skye had had, she definitely liked Miss Hand the best. Even though she looked stern most of the time, Skye knew that she was kind, and that she tried her hardest to find good homes for all the kids she looked after. She was even cool enough to dye her hair, which raised Skye's opinion of her considerably, in addition to the fact that she never called Skye the stupid name the nuns had given her.
"Hello Skye, Jemma. It's good to see you both." Her voice didn't reveal much emotion as she greeted them, but the corners of her mouth tugged up. Both girls smiled and waved as Miss Hand took a seat in the other armchair. May came and sat on the couch with them, but her attention was fixed on Miss Hand.
"It's been too long, Vic," she said. "You and Izzy ought to come by for dinner sometime, catch up." Skye had no idea who Izzy was, but the idea of Miss Hand coming over for dinner amused her. She wondered what the buttoned-up social worker would be like off the clock.
"Definitely," Phil chimed in. "We've hardly seen you two since Izzy transferred to the Two Rivers precinct."
"I know, I know," Miss Hand said, laughing a little. Skye looked at Jemma, eyebrows raised. This was a first. "Izzy loves the smaller department, though. She was ready to slow down a little, I think, and the investigations team over there is a great fit."
"Glad to hear it," May nodded. "We miss her on our force, of course, but it sounds like it was a good move."
"It was," Miss Hand agreed. "And speaking of good moves, how are you girls settling in here?" Skye was a little taken aback by the sudden shift from small talk to business, and it took her a second to process and respond.
"Oh, uh, good," she said, trying to make her mouth and her brain catch up to the conversation. Miss Hand nodded and turned her attention to Jemma, waiting for a response from her as well. She never let anyone else speak for Jemma, or any of her kids. Skye had always liked that about her.
"Good," Jemma echoed.
"Wonderful," Miss Hand said, a real smile flitting across her face. "Jemma, when May and Phil here reached out about fostering, I thought of you right away, so I'm happy to hear it's going well so far. And Skye, I know this wasn't a part of the original plan, but I must say I'm delighted that you met Phil and May yesterday." Skye cocked her head slightly, confused by Miss Hand's words. "I've been trying to see about finding a placement for the two of you together for a while now," Miss Hand explained, "since you two are such a good pair, but I didn't realize that May and Phil were thinking about fostering more than one child at the same time, otherwise I would have suggested it initially. So really, it seems like it was good fortune that brought you both here." Skye mulled over what Miss Hand said. It definitely felt like good fortune that she and Jemma were together, but she felt like they hadn't been in this home long enough yet to say if it was good luck that they were here yet. She felt a little guilty for thinking that, because Phil and May had been so nice so far, but she knew that could change after a while.
"You thought I would be a good fit?" Jemma's question interrupted Skye's musings. With a pang, Skye thought about what must be going through Jemma's head. Usually, foster families picked Jemma out because they thought she was going to be easy. A polite genius of a kid who had some bad luck, rather than a bunch of behavior issues and baggage. That all went out the window when they realized that, while Jemma was whip smart, she was also just as much of a handful as the "bad kids" they had wanted to avoid. Maybe Jemma didn't talk back or break rules, but she got overwhelmed, she didn't say much to anyone besides Skye, she tapped and fidgeted and counted and did all other kinds of odd things without even realizing what she was doing. If things weren't right, if they didn't go according to plan or didn't fit with how Jemma thought they should be, it could set her off and send her into a spiral. Skye didn't care about any of that, of course. She cared more about how kind Jemma was, how clever she was, how funny she could be when she wanted to, and how she made Skye feel safer than any adult she had ever met. But most foster families didn't see Jemma the way Skye did, so for Miss Hand to pick out Phil and May as a match for Jemma, rather than them picking her without knowing her first, must have filled Jemma with reassurance and hope.
"Absolutely," Miss Hand said with confidence. "I've known them both for a long time, and I know that they will take very good care of you."
"How do you know each other?" Skye wanted to know. She hadn't meant to ask that, but the question had flown out of her mouth before she realized. She was curious, she had to admit, and no one seemed angry at the question, so maybe it was okay that she asked.
"Well, let's see," Miss Hand said thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if May met Izzy or me first, but she and Izzy used to work together, before Izzy transferred, and May and I used to work on cases together, back before May made detective… either way, we all met through work, and we've been friends ever since."
"You're a detective?" Skye was impressed.
"Yes," May said. "Did I not tell you that last night? I'm sorry. Yes, I've been a detective with the Manitowoc PD for several years now. Before that, I was a police officer, and a lot of times Vic and I would work together on cases that involved kids."
"Who's Izzy?" Skye asked. She was kind of enjoying the role reversal, asking her social worker and foster parents questions, rather than the other way around.
"My wife," Miss Hand replied, a touch of pink creeping onto her cheeks. "She's a police officer, too."
"You're married?" Skye's jaw dropped. She had never considered her social worker's life in so much detail. Her name was Miss Hand, to be fair, though. Next to her, Jemma let a giggle slip.
"Yes, I am, although I don't usually talk about it with the kids I work with," Miss Hand said pointedly. She cleared her throat, and pulled a pair of file folders out of her bag, signaling to Skye that the conversation was over. Both folders were hefty, cinched shut with rubber bands and binder clips, although one was about twice as thick as the other. Skye knew that one was hers. Not only had she been in the system longer than Jemma, she caused a lot more trouble as well.
"I've brought over Skye and Jemma's files for you two to peruse," said Miss Hand as she passed the folders to May. "These are the originals, so I'll have to take them back with me, but you'll received an email copy by end of day." May set the folders on the coffee table, unopened. Skye had to admit she respected May's self-control. Most foster parents were eager to dig into the files and find all the things wrong with their kids. She appreciated that May seemed like she would rather focus on the conversation at hand than start rifling through every bad thing Skye had ever done.
"Skye, Jemma, you know the drill," Miss Hand continued. "You'll be expected to follow all of Phil and May's rules, you must go to school while you're here. You have my number if there's something that you need, but Phil and May are your foster parents, so they should be able to help you with most things. Do you have any questions for me, or for Phil or May?" Skye opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Miss Hand clarified: "Questions about fostering, Skye." Skye closed her mouth and slumped back into the couch a bit. None of her questions met that criteria. Miss Hand took her defeated body language as a no, and turned to Jemma, who just shook her head, eyes on the floor and finger tapping.
"Well, all right then. Girls, if you could give us a few moments alone, I'll be sure to say goodbye to the both of you before I leave," Miss Hand told them. Dutifully, Skye and Jemma rose from the couch and made their way towards the stairs. This was part of the routine: Miss Hand always had to speak with the foster parents separately, so that she could tell them things about their new kids. Skye had managed to sneak back to hear the speech about herself more than once, curious to know what Miss Hand thought of her, but she had never heard the speech about Jemma before. Once she and Jemma were around the corner and out of sight, Skye flashed a mischievous look at Jemma and waggled her eyebrows at her.
"Want to hear what they're going to talk about?" she asked, trying to entice Jemma into eavesdropping with her. Jemma's brow furrowed.
"I don't think we should, Skye. Miss Hand said to give them time alone."
"They are alone, technically. We're not in the room, so it counts." Jemma bit her lip and started tapping her leg.
"Oh, come on," Skye urged. "Aren't you curious to know what Miss Hand is going to say about you?"
"She talks about us?"
"Have you never tried to hear before?" Skye was incredulous, but on second thought realized that of course Jemma the rule-follower had never tried to sneak a listen. "Okay, that was a bad question. But look, you have to admit that a part of you is really curious, now." Jemma thought for a moment, clearly wrestling with the decision. Skye took her wrist and guided her to the corner of the wall that separated them from the adults.
"You can leave if you decide you want to," Skye whispered, crouching down and craning her ear towards the living room. "You don't have to stay, but I want to listen." Jemma hesitated for a moment more, then crouched next to Skye. Her jaw was clenched in an effort to stay silent and probably, Skye thought, from the stress of breaking a rule.
"So how are things going, really?" They heard Miss Hand ask with concern. "I know it's been less than a day, but things have already taken such an unexpected direction…"
"They seem to be okay, so far," said Phil. "It's a little hard to tell, of course. Things are still new, and we haven't built up any trust yet, but as far as I can tell they're all right. Skye and Jemma are wonderful girls."
"They are," Miss Hand agreed. "They've been somewhat difficult to place over the years, but it's not because they aren't good kids."
"What can you tell us about their backgrounds?" May wanted to know.
"There are more details in the files, but I can give you the basics," said Miss Hand. "Skye was brought to the orphanage as a baby, no name, no records, nothing. The nuns aren't exactly sure how old she is, but they guessed that she was less than a year old when they got her. Her official name is Mary Sue Poots, assigned to her by the orphanage, but I'm sure she's already made it clear how much she dislikes it." There was a chuckle, and Skye could picture the adults all getting a laugh out of that. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Even hearing the mention of her terrible full name made her mouth taste bad, like lemon juice or vinegar.
"She's got a good heart, I'm sure you can see that from how she is with Jemma, but she's had a rough go of it. None of her placements have ever stuck for long, either because the homes were bad, or the fit wasn't right. There have been a few incidents here and there, nothing too serious. Some fighting from time to time, some minor theft. She's gotten into trouble with computers before, as well. She's good with them, but she doesn't always use them for good, if you catch my meaning. She's smart, but school is a challenge, between the moving around and the fact that she doesn't always apply herself."
Skye rolled her eyes, irritated to hear one of her least-favorite descriptions shared. She had lost track of how many teachers had said that she could do so much better if she "just applied herself." She still didn't know what that really meant, nor did she know why teachers didn't understand that she tried hard to do schoolwork, but so often there were just more important or interesting things to do. It didn't help that they always gave homework that was either way too hard or way too easy. Next to her, Jemma took her hand and offered a squeeze. Skye smiled. Jemma never thought she was dumb or didn't try hard enough.
"Jemma's a little trickier," Miss Hand continued. Skye's ears pricked up, and she leaned in as close as she dared. She could hear Jemma's breath catch beside her. "Her parents brought her to the United States when she was four, and they were killed in a car accident when she was six. No other family, so she came to St. Agnes. I have no idea if she always had her… eccentricities, or if they developed after the accident, but I'm sure you've noticed some of her more unusual behavior."
"Just bits and pieces right now," Phil said. "The finger tapping is the main thing we've seen. And she's very quiet. Oh, and Melinda picked up on the counting almost right away, although I didn't realize it at first." Now it was Skye's turn to squeeze Jemma's hand in comfort. Neither one was surprised that Phil and May had already noticed Jemma's quirks, but it still didn't feel great to hear them say it out loud.
"Yes," Miss Hand replied. "She's very bright, does very well in school and on tests, but things like holding a conversation, making eye contact, those are hard for her. She has behaviors that some people find odd, like the tapping. You probably haven't seen it yet, but she does have episodes from time to time, she'll shut down. Some foster families have handled that better than others, but so far none have been able to give Jemma the support that she truly needs."
"And you thought of us?" May asked. "Even though we've never done this before?"
"Yes," said Miss Hand emphatically. "Look, I know you two. You're some of the best people I know, and I know you'll make great parents. I have to be honest, the day you told me you were thinking about becoming foster parents, I was over the moon. I know things haven't always been easy for the both of you…" Miss Hand trailed off for a moment before continuing. "I just mean, I've always know that you two are more than cut out for the job. Just be patient with the both of them. They've both been through a lot, and they'll take a while to fully open up, but they're remarkable kids. Keeping them together is going to help them both a lot, I think. You might have already seen how different they act around each other."
"Jemma's much more vocal with Skye," May remarked. "She's hardly said a word to us, but I've heard her use full sentences with Skye."
"That's not uncommon for them," Miss Hand said. "And Skye has always been a little hotheaded, but she's very gentle with Jemma."
"I'll be honest, Vic, when I saw Skye stick up for Jemma with those girls at the orphanage, something clicked for me," admitted May.
"Not when we caught her listening at the door before that?" Phil teased. "That's what did it for me!"
"She reminds me a lot of you, May," Miss Hand told her. "I really think this place is going to be good for them. I think you'll be good for them, and frankly, I think they'll be good for you, too." There was a long pause before anyone spoke, but Phil finally broke the silence.
"Thank you, Vic. Thank you for thinking of us, thank you for helping us with this whole process. We're hopeful." The sound of rustling papers and people getting to their feet drifted around the corner, and Skye and Jemma stood up quickly, dashing up the stairs as silently as they could. Skye flung open the door to Jemma's room and beckoned Jemma inside, her heart racing.
"Sit, sit!" Skye hissed, pointing to the chair. Jemma obeyed, perching herself on the edge of the seat. Skye flopped down on the floor in front of the bookshelf and pulled a couple of books down, tossing one to Jemma, who, miraculously, caught it. Both girls opened up the books and pretended to read just as a soft knock came at the door.
"Jemma? Skye?" Phil cracked the door and poked his head in. "We're finished up downstairs. Victoria's getting ready to leave, if you want to come say goodbye, and then we'll get ready to head over to the school, okay?" Skye popped up from the floor and stuck the book back on the shelf before Phil could notice that she had been holding it upside down by accident. Jemma was a bit more methodical, replacing her book neatly and re-shelving Skye's haphazard one as well before following the other two back down to the living room. Behind Phil, both girls gave the other a sideways glance, and Skye had to bite down on her lip to keep from bursting out in laughter.
Goodbyes were exchanged with Miss Hand, who left shortly thereafter without much fanfare, and Phil and May started bustling around the house, getting ready to go. May emerged from her office with a badge on her hip and a briefcase in hand and kissed Phil quickly on the cheek before leaving the house herself.
"Good luck with the school," she called on her way out. "Call me when you're finished, Phil, and I'll meet you all for lunch."
"Have a good day, honey," Phil said, waving as May shut the front door. "All right, what do you say we get ready ourselves and go check out the school, hm?" Skye wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to go see her new school, but she knew there was no point in dragging her heels. She grabbed her battered sneakers from her room and shoved her feet in, then met Jemma in the bathroom where they both brushed their teeth. Skye took a long look at her bruised face in the mirror while she brushed, and was pleased to see that, while she did have a decent-sized bruise on her cheek under her eye, it was at least a nice-looking shade of purple.
"What do you think the school will be like?" Skye asked around a mouthful of toothpaste. Jemma spat into the sink and rinsed before answering.
"Who knows? I just hope we can convince them to put us in the same grade…" Skye nodded solemnly before spitting and rinsing as well. Technically, Jemma was a year younger than Skye, and so would normally be in the grade below her, but sometimes, depending on the school and their policies about skipping, Jemma was allowed to jump up a grade. Sometimes there were schools where Skye felt like maybe she should be the one to move down a grade instead, not that she would ever admit that to anybody. The whole school thing was so messed up anyways, it was hard for Skye to really get an honest idea about what grade she actually belonged in. She was pretty sure she was 13, which would put her in the 7th or 8th grade, and she had been in both just this year. At St. Agnes, she was an 8th grader, and Jemma was in 7th, since the school that the nuns sent them to was super strict about kids being in their "proper" grades, whatever that meant. She was just glad no one had tried to put her into high school yet. She knew she wasn't ready for that at all.
"Skye. Skye?" Jemma's voice snapped Skye back to attention. "Didn't you hear Phil? It's time to go, come on." Skye shook her head, drawing her focus back to the real world, and tailed Jemma down the stairs to meet Phil.
"Got everything you need?" he asked as he gathered up several stacks of papers and balanced a travel mug on top of them. The girls nodded. "Great!" Phil smiled. "If one of you could grab my keys off the hook by the door, then we'll be ready to go."