Chapter Two

Giselle smiled at the girl, who stood before her with a canvas school bag dangling by one strap off a tense shoulder, a wrinkled Mr. Cluck bag clutched in one white-knuckled fist and a resigned expression on her tired face. "Emma? My name's Giselle. Welcome to Haven House." She met the police officer's eyes with an equally warm smile.

"Thanks for bringing her, officer. I can take it from here."

"We set a report to DCFS," the officer said. "You should be contacted by a social worker within the next few days."

Giselle nodded, but not before she saw the look of panic in her new charge's eyes. "That's fine," she said. "Emma's welcome to stay with us for as long as she needs to."

The officer nodded. "We'll be in touch if we uncover anything else," he said. "I'd best be heading back to the station." He hesitated. "You do good work, Ms Dvorak," he said. "Much as I wish we didn't have to contact you quite so often."

Giselle lowered her eyes, but her smile remained. "You won't mind if I take that as a compliment?" she asked.

"That was how I meant it," the officer replied. "Good night. And Emma?" he looked down at the girl. "Nice meeting you. Don't let it happen again." With a boyish smile, he turned and headed back to the squad car.

Emma watched him go.

"Emma?" Giselle turned slightly sideways and held the door open. "Come on inside."

Emma's shoulders slumped. Without a word, she shifted the canvas schoolbag higher onto her shoulder and obeyed.

Giselle followed her into the house and closed the door.

Emma wasn't going to like it here. She couldn't afford to. She wasn't going to like the friendly woman with the rainbow in her hair and the nice smile. As soon as someone figured out where she'd come from, she'd be shipped back to Massachusetts, so there was no point in trying to like it here when she wasn't staying.

"Tomato soup and grilled cheese okay?" Giselle asked.

Emma blinked. That was her favorite meal ever! She knew she shouldn't smile or nod or do anything except maybe shrug like it didn't matter one way or the other, but she ducked her head once and she felt her lips pull back, just a little.

"From what I know about the department," Giselle told her in a friendly fashion, "um… that's Los Angeles County Department of Children and Family Services—I don't know if they call it the same thing where you're from—you'll probably be here for a few days, while we try to sort out where you came from. Your family must be worried about you."

Emma took a bite of the grilled cheese, and her eyes widened when she saw the thick gooey strands stretch from the piece in her mouth to the rest of toasted sandwich in her hand. There was a lot of cheese between those two slices of bread, and it wasn't American slices either. It was a million times better.

Giselle smiled, as Emma took a spoonful of soup. "As I said before, this is Haven House. I'm not sure how much the police officer told you, but we're a shelter for homeless youth. Some of the kids here have been living on the street. Others ran away from bad home situations. Some kids stay here for a night or two. For others, this becomes their home."

Emma absorbed that, but she continued to eat in silence, as Giselle started explaining the house rules. She was used to hearing some version of those wherever she went. Only when the food was gone did she hesitantly ask, "Do I get to pick?"

"Pick…?" Giselle repeated.

"If I can live here or not," Emma clarified.

Giselle's smile didn't dim. "If we can't find your family, or there are reasons why you can't go back to them, and you go into the system here, it's not definite, but it's possible. Our long-term residents are usually in their teens, though, so it's more likely that a different placement will be found. I keep up with a lot of foster families in the city; there are some really great homes out there. Besides here, I mean."

Emma shook her head. "Nobody's ever been able to find my family," she announced flatly. "You won't either."

There were a million things Giselle wanted to say to that, but instinct told her to hold off. Instead, she pushed back her chair, bracing her hand on the table in case her leg buckled, like it still did on occasion. "Would you like anything else to eat tonight, or should I show you where you'll be sleeping?"

Emma pushed her chair back, too. Silent once more, she walked to the kitchen doorway and stood waiting patiently until Giselle joined her to lead her upstairs.

"I was thinking when your tour wraps up in six weeks, we could get started," Jerrica said with a smile in her voice.

"Uh…" Aja cast about desperately, trying to find the right words to say to her foster sister and the owner of her band's record label.

Jerrica picked up on the hesitation almost at once. "Is something wrong?"

Aja hesitated. "Well, nothing's definite."

"Aja?"

She wished she was standing in front of Jerrica now, instead of sitting in a hotel in Manchester, England. Some discussions were so much easier to have in person. "I just think that when the tour is over, I'm going to need a little bit of… downtime," she said unconvincingly. "We've been on the road for almost four and a half months. Some dates, I've been so jetlagged, I know I've been on autopilot. And Craig and Stormer…"

"Craig and Stormer?" Jerrica repeated. "What do they have to do with this?"

"Well, I'm not going to cut them out of the action, just because you want to resurrect Jem and the Holograms!" Aja exclaimed. "Kaleidoscope Haze is a team effort and they're both as much a part of it as Kimber and me." Plus, if I'm right, I think Craig's going to propose to me once the tour is over and once that happens, we're going to be planning a wedding instead of another concert and album. But until he does, that's something I'm not ready to share. If he does, you'll be the first to know. And if he doesn't, I won't have to go through the embarrassment of telling you I was wrong.

Jerrica absorbed that. "Speaking of Kimber, is she around?"

"Kimber?" Aja repeated. "Uh… let me check."

"No!" Kimber stage-whispered from across the room.

Aja winced. She never had been a very good liar. She tried, though. "Uh… I think she must have just stepped out," she said, hoping she was being convincing.

Jerrica's voice took on a new edge. "She's not just sitting in the room with you telling you to tell me she's not there, is she?"

Aja looked across the room at the redhead, who was still shaking her head and gesticulating wildly. "No, of course not," she said, quickly. "I'll ask her to call you when she gets in."

"Okay…" Jerrica said. "I should probably go anyway. I had another call beep while we were talking and I don't know if it's gone to voice mail. You guys are eight hours ahead, right? I'll be at the company until 1AM your time, so phone me there."

After Aja had said her goodbye, Kimber heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"You should call her," Aja said.

"I know, and I will," Kimber nodded. "Once I know I can talk to her like a reasonable adult and not go back to being nineteen and…"

"Immature?" Aja asked.

Kimber mock-glowered. "Younger," she said loftily. Then she sighed again. "I loved being a Hologram then. But now, it feels like it'd be a step backwards. But if I tell that to Jerrica, she'll tell me I'm being silly and I'll get defensive and before you know it, one of us will say something we don't mean and Jerrica will get bossy and…"

"You'll get immature."

"I'm mature!" Kimber snapped. Then she stuck out her tongue impishly at her blue-haired foster sister. "So there!"

Aja giggled. A moment later, Kimber joined in.

There was a knock on the door. Both young women went to open it, revealing the other two member of their band standing in the doorway.

"You two ready?" Craig asked.

"Yes," Aja agreed. "The way you've been talking up this restaurant, I hope it's worth it."

"It is," Craig assured her. "When I was with the Blue Bloods, we'd eat there whenever we were in Manchester. You'll love it."

"Our reservation's for seven," Stormer said. "We should get going." She frowned. "Kimber? Is everything okay?"

Kimber put her irritation at her sister aside and smiled at her bandmate. "Everything's fine," she said, linking her arm into Stormer's as Aja did Craig's. "Let's go."

Phyllis Gabor looked at the file on her desk and a slight smile twisted her lips. It took a certain level of guts to hop on a bus to LA and stonewall a couple of cops when you weren't even thirteen yet. It was the kind of thing she might have done, once upon a time. In her case, it would have been for the thrill of it all. She'd wanted danger and excitement, but Daddy's money had always helped to ensure that she had an out before things got too dangerous.

Funny now that she thought about it. All those rebellious acts, the petty crimes he'd kept out of the media—even when she'd thought having a bad reputation might be a bonus for her image, he'd been more concerned about the Gabor name—the lack of appreciation she'd shown for the money and gifts he'd thrown at her… and for all that he'd berated her, he'd still stood by her. He hadn't even mentioned how thin he'd had to spread his resources to buy her everything she demanded. She shook her head.

Daddy, remember when you promised me anything I wanted for my birthday? Well, I want a movie studio. You said ANYTHING!

She'd had no concept of costs back then. She'd known she was filthy rich, but she hadn't appreciated the difference in price between a Ferrari, a tropical vacation, and a movie studio. She also hadn't realized that when the Misfits movie had bombed and her father had said he was 'giving' the studio back to Howard Sands, what he'd meant was that he'd spent millions to buy the studio and sold it back to Sands at a loss.

He'd never recouped that investment, neither that one nor so many of the other monies he'd laid out to meet her ever-increasing demands. And when he'd died of a heart attack four years ago, once all the estate debts had been settled, Phyllis had found herself with a far more modest inheritance than she'd expected. She'd never thought that her money might run out; she'd seen the paychecks she'd received as the lead singer of the Misfits as chump change and spent it nearly as fast as she'd earned it. And now, she'd had no clue how to manage her finances and no idea what to do with the rest of her life.

That Jerrica Benton had come to the funeral had been surprising enough, though maybe she should have expected it from that kind of goody-goody. But when, some weeks later, she'd reached out and delicately asked Phyllis how things were working out and Phyllis had horrifyingly broken down on the phone and let all her anger and frustration and fear out, Jerrica hadn't mumbled some apology and hung up. She also hadn't offered a shoulder to cry on and a lot of meaningless sympathy. Instead, she'd offered to send over a member of Starlight's accounting team to help her get a handle on her finances.

The news hadn't all been bad. She might not have had a mansion, but a four-bedroom house in Beverly Hills' Doheny Estates neighborhood turned out to be well within her price range. She'd taken one of those career aptitude tests and winced at the list of options, actually laughing out loud when one of them had turned out to be social worker. Somehow, though, the notion hadn't left her alone. Pizzazz didn't do things like this. Pizzazz was a Misfit; the Misfits were wild and rebellious. The Misfits had also disbanded. Roxie was working on her GED and unlike Phyllis, she'd invested a decent chunk of her earnings, so she hadn't had to worry about working to pay her bills—at least not then. Jetta had gone back to England. Stormer had her new band. And her?

She'd done two years of college at UCLA before she'd dropped out, and her grades hadn't been terrible. When she'd finally rung them up to inquire, she'd discovered that getting readmitted wouldn't be as difficult as she'd thought. She would keep most—if not all—of the credits she'd already earned, so it wouldn't be another four years on top of the two she'd already taken. For once, she'd put her reckless streak to good use and filled out the applications. Then she'd promptly forgotten about it until her acceptance arrived.

With her previous credits, she'd earned her BSW in two years and a summer semester. Another two at USC for her Masters'. And now, she'd been with DFCS for a year and a half and enjoying herself far more than she'd ever thought she would. She liked working with these kids. She couldn't help admiring most of them. She'd always been tough and scrappy, never taking crap from anyone, but she'd had her life of privilege and Daddy's bank account as a safety net. You couldn't say that for a lot of the children who turned up in her files, but they still had that same gumption. Even the quiet ones. Sometimes, especially the quiet ones.

"New case, Gabor?" one of her co-workers asked, seeing her reading the file.

Phyllis looked up. "New kid, Tersigni," she corrected. They were children, not statistics.

Carla Tersigni shook her head tolerantly. "Don't get too involved, Gabor," she said, not unkindly. "They'll just break your heart."

"I'd have to have one first," Phyllis shot back with a humorless smile. "Did you want something?"

"Just to remind you you've got a student shadowing you tomorrow."

Right. Fieldwork was a major part of the curriculum for social work undergrads and she'd put down her name to take on a student twice a week. She hadn't expected much to come of it; she was still relatively new at this, but her performance reviews had been good so far and the department was chronically understaffed. She nodded. "Got it. Got a name for me?"

"Nope," Tersigni said. "We're getting four of them. Maybe Azavedo," she jerked her head toward the supervisor's office, "is doing some kind of personality testing or maybe she'll have them draw straws, but I guess you'll find out who yours is tomorrow at nine."

Phyllis shrugged. "Well, when nine rolls around tomorrow, I'll be ready. Meanwhile," she sighed, "I need to see if anyone filed a missing persons report on a kid who showed up at the Greyhound terminal on a bus that made fifteen stops between Bangor and Downtown LA."

"Better you than me," Tersigni sniffed. "Hey. Good luck."

"Luck's for amateurs," Phyllis said, pushing back her chair. "Later."

Emma didn't have a nightgown with her, but Giselle made a monthly pilgrimage to the Los Feliz Flea Market for just such eventualities. Emma wasn't the first kid to turn up on her doorstep with little more than the clothes on her back.

"I think one of these might fit you," she told Emma, laying out a long-sleeved, pink nightgown with a picture of Barbie, a sportier, yellow, brushed cotton with vermillion collar and cuffs and a Snoopy picture, and a pale blue, two-piece pajama set that sported Jem and the Holograms. Emma's hand wavered between the Snoopy and the Jem, before hesitantly choosing the latter. Giselle smiled. "Jem fan?" she asked, in a friendly fashion.

Emma shrugged. "I think I heard them on the oldies station once," she said. "I never knew what they looked like until now."

Ouch. "Well, go ahead and try them on," she invited. "And we can pick out a couple of outfits you can change into over the next few days, too. We can wash what you're wearing."

"I brought socks and underwear," Emma said. "And another t-shirt."

"That's good to know," Giselle said. "You're still welcome to borrow anything that fits for as long as you're here."

Emma hesitated. "I… I might need a," she lowered her voice, looking a bit embarrassed. "I think I need a bra."

Her checkered button-down hung loosely enough that Giselle couldn't confirm it, but if Emma didn't need one today, she probably would need one soon.

"Well," she said, "most of the girls who come here are a bit older and a little," she smiled and dropped her voice slightly, "more developed. Bras need to fit properly, and while I don't think I have your size here, if you can manage until tomorrow, we can head out to Robinsons-May… uh," she noted Emma's blank look. "I guess they don't have that store where you're from. Anyway, there's one not too far from here. We can check them out in the morning." She could probably have told the girl that once she was in a more stable placement, her new guardian would take care of getting her whatever clothes she might need, but Giselle didn't like passing the buck more than she had to. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time that an 'emergency placement for a night or two' stretched to a month or longer.

Emma mulled that over for a minute before giving Giselle a cautious nod.

"Would you like me to take you back upstairs and help you settle in for the night?"

The girl shrugged, silent once more, but as she fell into step again beside Giselle, there was slightly less distance between them and her fingers were tracing the Jem and the Holograms logo on the pajama top almost reverently.