God- this took forever to write! I must have re-writen this chapter five times before it finally sounded right. But here it is- fastest turnaround on an update I've ever had.
Social Services is quite possibly the most boring place on the face of the earth.
That thought drifted across Samantha's mind as she stared at the plain white wall across from her uncomfortable office chair, ignoring the drone of her social worker, in what she had long ago dubbed one of the crown jewels of the urban wasteland- Social Services.
The suffocating tiny conference room was painted a harsh, uncompromising white, and the floor was carpeted in an unimaginative shade of industrial gray. There weren't even any windows to provide some natural light- the florescent overhead reigned supreme, sucking any shred of color out of the drab landscape.
She sighed, turning her head to face the ceiling, and ignoring the pause in conversation and the disapproving looks the two other conferring adults in the room sent her.
With her legs tucked up on the left arm and supporting her head on the right arm of the chair she had selected, absent mindedly spinning herself in slow little half circles, she was the picture of boredom.
Beside her rested a beaten-up cardboard box and a cheap, fraying duffel bag- and across the table, both her social worker, Mitchel, her uncle, guilty looking, balding man in his fiftes, and another person she didn't know were discussing what was, in effect, her future for the time being.
One would think Sam would be more interested in their conversation. In truth, she'd heard it all before. The excuses her relatives made, the pleads Mitchel would attempt to employ, and the talk of who would take her in.
Oh, screw it. I'm getting a soda. This is making me thirsty.
Without a word, Sam unhooked her legs and stood up, walking toward the door.
"Sam!" Mitchel said disapprovingly, interrupting the stranger mid-sentence. "Where are you going? We're busy, here. And it's rude to leave in the middle of a conversation."
Sam turned around, tossing her hair over her shoulder and out of her eyes. "I'm getting a soda. You don't need me here to decide where I'm being shipped to next. I have no say, certainly."
Mitchel sighed in resigned defeat, while her uncle looked stricken. "Go on, then. I'm certainly not going to stop you."
Sam nodded curtly, but gave him a quick and rare smile before darting out into the narrow hallway. Mitchel was a nice guy- for a social worker. He did care about her, on the surface at least- and he tried not to be too demanding, to be supportive. But he was just an extension of the broken life Sam lead, and try as she might, her hate for that life often spilled over onto him.
Briskly, glad to be out of the tense atmosphere of the conference room, Sam walked down the hall to the vending machines. Rifling in the pocket of her cotton anorak, she dug out a couple of crumpled dollar bills and fed them into the single soda machine.
I guess some people don't like sugar. Sam thought with a smirk. Maybe that's why most of them look so sour all the time.
Pleased at her pun, she scanned the small selection- water, coke, diet coke, sprite, root beer. Frowning with disgust at the lack of selection, Sam punched the button for Diet Coke, and waited as the machine spit out the soda.
Grabbing the bottle from the machine, Sam sat at one of two small tables set up for employees. Gently, she placed the bottle on the table before placing her hands and forehead onto the formica surface, eyes closed. She hated these meetings- and she wasn't going back in there until they made her.
Samantha, or Samantha Abigail Broulet, as it said on her records, was no stranger to social services and the boredom therein. She'd been in them all the way from California to Maryland, shunted from relative to relative ever since- Samantha shuddered. Ever since the fire.
She was a unique case in Social Service's files- while none of her extended family would accept full legal custody, they were happy to take her in- for brief periods varying from three months to half a year. The longest she'd ever stayed in one house was eight months.
But it could have been worse. As unlucky as I am, I'm lucky.
Her frequency in social offices had acquainted her with the realities of the foster care system. She'd seen them to many times to count- the kids, a garbage bag full of all they owned at their feet, wearing clothes to loose for their skinny bodies and expressions of either defiance and hatred or broken defeat.
At least she had relatives who cared enough to save her from that. And as much as they avoided her, at least they accepted her as family. Her only possessions- the duffel bag and cardboard box still in the conference room and their contents- came from them and their belated gifts.
On that note, I wonder who I'll be mailed off to this time. Whoever it is, the guilt everyone's going to feel at kicking me out again is probably going to ensure I stay at least past Christmas.
This is what, the fourth home in six months? Can't say I blame Uncle Todd though. What with it being almost September- he has what, three kids of his own, and his girlfriend's four to provide for? Getting seven kids ready for school is enough, without another girl on top of it.
Mentally, Sam ran down the list of family members who she hadn't stayed with in a while.
Oh, please don't let it be Aunt Georgia. Last time I stayed with her- shudder. I spent three months trying everything possible to get out of the house. Ladylike does not agree with me.
She was about to go on, but at that moment, Mitchel's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Are you planning on coming back at all, or were you hoping I'd forget about your rather rude exit while I tried to get your uncle to take you back for the week?"
Samantha raised her head a bit and cracked open one eye. "I wasn't until now. Do I have to go back?"
Mitchel snorted. "Would I be here if you did?"
"Yes."
"Fair enough, I suppose. But we're done for now-and I brought you your stuff." He dropped the duffel bag at her feet and set the box down next to it, a bit more carefully.
"Thanks." Sam set her head back down on her hands.
"You okay?"
Sam closed her eyes again. "Just tired. I haven't slept well lately. Stress, I suppose." It was true that she hadn't slept well- heck, Sam hadn't slept well for months, likely even years. And she could hardly admit why.
How could she tell Mitchel, as nice and concerned and ordinary as he was, about what she saw on a daily basis- and about the shadow horses that followed her when she was alone? About the dreams of her mother begging and pleading for mercy as her daughter ran- and about the dream that had tormented her since childhood, the nightmare that had no end and no beginning; the nightmare that was simply fear, pure and unadulterated.
Ever since she could remember, she had been able to see things other people couldn't. The shadows that moved as she passed by- the hummingbird that had collected a friend's lost tooth on a sleepover, the golden sand that had shimmered above her playmates' heads as they slept at that same slumber party, and the soft blue shimmer that had sometimes coated snowballs thrown from nowhere on an unexpected snow day.
But, most of all- the girl she knew as Amay, who not even her friends who believed steadfastly in the Tooth Fairy and her counterparts could see. The girl she still knew- but now as the May Queen, and her best friend, the immortal companion she could never be parted from.
She opened her eyes to Mitchel's blond good looks- the sort of thing you'd expect in a California surfer, not a Michigan based social worker who happened to take on the role of champion for the most misfit girl ever to cross his path. No, she couldn't ever tell him that.
"Alright." He said, concerned. "Just wanted to let you know, you're spending the night at a safe house. Your uncle can't take you, or so he claims, and we can't find anyone else on such short notice… especially since your Aunt Georgia's in the hospital."
Samantha sent up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had caused that.
"How long to I have to stay here until we can go?"
Mitchel shrugged. "Not long. I just have one more case today. She's getting adopted, finally- but she may end up joining you tonight. Some freak snowstorm knocked out power at her adopter's home and they can't make it. So I've got to tie up her lose ends before I drop you off."
Sam made a noncommittal gesture. All of Mitchel's cases seemed to get adopted- all except her. But then, that was her crazy family's fault, not his.
"Fine- you know where to find me. One question, though- how long do you think I'm going to be placeless?"
Mitchel shrugged. "Not long, I think. We're working on it- and your uncle claims he knows someone who'll take you in for him."
"Really?" Sam asked, interest piqued. "Who?"
"I'm not sure. Some friend of your mother's, l think."
"Oh." Sam's momentary hopes deflated. "Well, go on. I'll be here if you need me."
She closed her eyes again, and felt Mitchel rest his hand on her shoulder in an attempt at encouragement. "Don't worry. It'll work out."
Sam sighed heavily as he lifted his hand and walked away. When she was sure he was gone, she opened the bottle of Diet Coke and took a sip.
Yeah, right. It never does.
Okay. Can anyone see where this is going? Maybe yes, maybe no-?
Review and tell me!
PS: Five favorites and seven follows within four hours of publishing is a new record for me- thanks to all who read this! I know there are some good ROTG fics out there with much better summaries, and I thank everyone who stopped and looked.