Fated to be Yours (19 page)

“This school is for all ages. Our teachers are paid through grants we are given by numerous corporations, private donors, and even some government agencies. The children get full medical and dental care through the government programs available, as well as all their meals,” Priscilla says.

“That’s amazing. So all of these children are orphans? Do they stay on premise or do they arrive from elsewhere?” Kara asks.

Priscilla turns and smiles. “The dormitory is actually the building behind this one. We have workers who stay with the children once they leave here and take care of them. All of the dormitories are equipped with everything the children need, such as cafeterias, gymnasiums, a playground and recreational area, so on and so forth. We take excellent care of the children while they’re here waiting to be adopted by loving families. Our goal is to make it as smooth of a transition as possible.”

I’m unable to speak as I continually gaze at all the pictures along the walls, vaguely paying attention to anything that Charles and Priscilla are saying. This is getting a little too close to home for me. I may not have been an orphan, but it sure felt like I was most of the time. The past comes creeping back to me, unbidden and unwelcome, as I remember that fateful day when my whole world crashed down upon me.

“T
ESSA?”

I look up at Mrs. Walsh with a perplexed stare. I’m not making any noise or disturbing the class in any way. She’s clutching a note in her hand as she looks at me with sad eyes. She motions for me to join her at her desk. I start to stand, but something about the way that she’s looking at me tells me that I should bring all of my stuff with me.

I gather my books and pencils into my arms, clutching them tightly against my chest as I make my way to the front of the class. Her head is down as she hands me the note.

“They’d like you to report to the office as soon as possible,” she whispers, placing a gentle hand upon my shoulder but it feels like lead.

I don’t try to talk because I know it won’t do any good. I’d probably break down and cry right in the middle of class and I don’t need to throw more fuel on the fire. School life is already hard enough as it is. The constant jabs and stares of my daily harassment at the hands of my peers. It’s a ritual that I will never be rid of but one that I’ve grown accustomed to, as sad as it is.

With a shaking hand, I take the note from her and give the slightest of nods before I walk through the door and down to my prison sentence. I know what this is about. I’ve feared this day would come for the past few years. But all of my efforts to conceal and hide have obviously slipped through a crack somewhere, exposing what I didn’t want anyone to see.

Sitting in Mr. Richards’ office are two people dressed in neatly pressed suits; one male and one female. Their expressions could be construed as kind only I see them as cruel. I know it’s not meant to be that way, but I’m trapped with no escape in sight. My feet halt my progress, leaving me standing like a statue in the doorway.

“Tessa, please have a seat,” Mr. Richards says, motioning me to the empty chair next to the two social workers.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

Tears threaten to fall. My ears and face burn with humiliation that this has to happen in front of my principal.

“Please Tessa, we just want to talk with you,” the lady says. Her voice is soft and soothing, but it feels like barbed wire to my ears.

She stands and carefully leads me to the chair by the elbow. My books are still tightly clutched to my chest as I sink into the hard fabric, knowing my fate is already sealed for me.

“Tessa, my name is Nancy and this is Mark. We’re with the Child Protection Services. We’d like to speak with you for a moment if that’s all right?”

My eyes dart to Mr. Richards as he sits behind his desk. I shake my head. I don’t want him here to see this. He catches my hesitation and stands abruptly from his chair.

“I’ll wait outside. Please let me know if you need anything,” he says. He places his hand on my shoulder and I shrink further into myself at the touch. He retracts his hand as if he burned me. I hear the click of the door as it closes, sounding like a jail cell in my mind.

“Tessa, we just want you to know that you’re safe. You understand that, right?” Mark says.

I stay stoic and quiet. Tears threaten to fall once more, but I fight them off. My eyes stay focused on their neatly polished shoes. Why does this have to happen now, right here, in the middle of my school day?

They nod their heads and continue. “We received a report that you do not have power at your house. Is that correct?”

I don’t answer.

“We also received a report that you don’t have any running water.”

Again, no answer.

“You’ve been seen at the food shelf on almost a daily basis and occasionally at the shelter. Tell me, is this true?” he asks.

Silence. I won’t acknowledge their statements because even though they’re true, I know what that will mean. And really it doesn’t matter if I confirm or deny them because either scenario will lead to the same result. And I’ve been trying to avoid that for almost eight years.

“Tessa, we really just want to help you. It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

I shake my head. I was never afraid. I had everything under control. All I needed was a few more months and then I would have been in the clear. We would have been okay.

“We’ve been to your house and you should know that your mom, well, she’s not there anymore,” Mark says.

My head snaps up. Where is she if she’s not there? An unexpected pain lances through my chest.

“She’s been committed to the hospital because she’s a danger to herself and to you.”

“No,” I whisper. My head shakes violently back and forth and I can no longer hold back the tears. They’re streaming freely down my face in fierce torrents, splashing across my notebook as it falls away from my chest.

“Tessa, I know you don’t want to believe it, but she is. It’s not good for you to be in that kind of environment. She’s incapable of taking care of you or herself.”

“I do it. I take care of us.”

Nancy frowns. “It’s not your responsibility. You’re not the adult here. She is. Even though the house is surprisingly tidy, you cannot live there. There’s no heat, no power, no running water. It’s not safe. I don’t even know how you managed to survive the winter like that.”

“We’re fine.” I was going to settle up the utility bill next week. We’re only a couple months behind. But the city turned it off anyway. “Just, please, bring her back home. She doesn’t want to be alone.”

She doesn’t want me either, but I leave that part out. I can’t believe this is happening to me, to us, to my world as I know it.

“We can’t do that Tessa. She was ranting about wanting to die because your father left and that you were in the way,” says Mark.

Blackness swirls around me. She told them. She actually told them that she didn’t want me. My fate is sealed. I have no one. A loud sob escapes my lips as I cry into my hands. The sound of my books crashing to the floor doesn’t even register as I fall to my knees, hiding behind my hands as the tears leak through the cracks of my fingers.

They don’t move from their chairs. They just let me have my moment to break down as my world comes to an end. The only way of life that I know is now changing and I can’t say that it’ll be for the better. Am I glad my mom is going to get the help she needs? Possibly. Am I mad that we were ratted out to social services? Undoubtedly.

I stay sitting on the floor, allowing the sadness to take over until I’m comfortably numb. A feeling that I’m well acquainted with. Numbness means nothing can hurt me. Numbness means nothing is there. Numbness means I’m alone.

I hear the muffled scraping of their chairs against the carpeted floor. I watch as their shoes approach me. Polished, black, perfect shoes. My gaze lands on my dirty, nasty sneakers, the ones I found in the dumpster behind an apartment building near our house. They’re a size too small but I took them anyway. Someone obviously didn’t want them and I desperately needed them.

Mark comes into my line of vision, sadness etched across his face. “It’s time to go, Tessa. We’ve found a place for you within the city so you can stay here and graduate.”

Perfect. Staying in town, allowing myself to be the continual target of everyone’s frustration and hatred. They don’t seem to understand what I go through here or what this will do to me. The torment will only get worse once everyone knows that I’ve been placed into the hands of the State, forced into the system that I never asked to be a part of.

“I want my dad,” I cry.

Nancy frowns. “We have been unable to locate him just yet. We’ve left several messages but have been unsuccessful in reaching him. Until we’re able to get in contact with him, you have to come with us.”

He doesn’t want me either. He’s avoiding me, not taking any calls regarding my safety or welfare. My mom was right. It is my fault. Another wave of pain crashes into my chest. I’m alone, unwanted and unloved.

“Tessa, honey, it’s time to go,” Nancy says as if I’m a wounded animal. But I am. I’m deeply wounded. But there’s no fighting what’s going to happen. It’s already done. I just need to face it head on and hope that the next few months go by swiftly so I can leave this town and never look back.

They flank my sides as I stand and gather my books. I keep my head down as we exit the office, heading toward their town car that’s parked out front of the school. A few kids in the hall stop and stare as I walk out the doors, their whispered words echoing in the halls as if they were speaking into a microphone. Nancy places me in the backseat and I look out the opposite window, away from the small crowd that has formed outside, away from the judging eyes of my peers.

“Are you ready Tessa?” she asks.

I don’t respond because it’s inconsequential if I’m ready or not. This is going to happen one way or another. Maybe if I don’t fight, they might take it easy on me. We drive out of the lot, toward my new hell located just outside of town, on a little hobby farm.

Trees line the dirt driveway. The smell of animals invades my nostrils, causing my lips to turn down in disgust. I want to go home.

We stop in front of an old farmhouse. The white paint is peeling away from the siding. The front porch looks sunken into the point where it could fall right off from the main structure. Unkempt bushes line the front of the house. In the distance is an older dilapidated barn with a hole in the middle of the roof.

I look back and forth between Nancy and Mark and begin to cry again. They cannot seriously leave me here. I’m safer back at my house with no power or water.

“I know it looks rough on the outside but believe us, looks can be deceiving. The inside is much nicer,” Nancy says, ushering me towards the front door.

I place one foot in front of the other, forcing my legs to carry me up the stairs. A middle-aged woman opens the screen door before I get there. Her hair is swept neatly into a bun. She has a blue floral dress on with a red apron covered in flour draped over the top. She’s wiping her hands off on a towel and a sweet smile plays across her face.

“Oh, you must be Tessa. Well aren’t you a sweet thing,” she says, enveloping me in a hug. I stand stiffly, not returning the sentiment. She pulls back and assesses me from head to toe.

“You look like you haven’t had a thing to eat in ages. Come child, inside you go. You’re staying with us now.” She politely helps me walk into the front door, closing the screen behind us. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her,” she says to Nancy and Mark.

“We don’t doubt that Mrs. Jenkins. If you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to call,” Mark says. And with a nod between the three of them, the car pulls away and out of sight.

I stand in the front entryway, unmoving, as I assess my surroundings. Dead animals and fish adorn the walls, all staring directly at me, following my movements. The carpet is threadbare, showing a worn path of dirt tracks leading directly to what I assume is the kitchen. It must have been a shade of teal at some point as that’s the only color I can see besides brown. The furniture is straight from an old lady’s house, all floral patterns in cream and pink beneath a thin layer of dust and dirt as well. An old-fashioned TV sits in the corner with the rabbit ear antenna sitting on top.

Mrs. Jenkins pushes me further into the house, toward the kitchen area. A large wooden table with multiple scratch marks occupies the far corner of the room. The metal cupboards are a dingy white, matching the linoleum on the floor.

I don’t want to be here.

She turns to face me; the smile that was present previously has now faded to a slight scowl.