Throw Away Teen

She’s disposable...and she knows it.

A survivor of too many foster homes, B.J. Larson is content living at the youth center where your status is determined by how long your arrest record is. And hers is lengthy. Then she’s placed in a home in the small town of Stewart Falls, Washington—with foster parents who will
“love”
her, not just the money the state pays for her care.

Yeah, right!

B.J.’s not stone stupid. She knows a scam when she sees one. Kids like her never get
“real homes,”
much less
“real families.”
She learned a long time ago that adults can’t be trusted. Besides, B.J.’s too smart to take chances. And isn’t
love the biggest risk of all?

Kudos for
Throw Away Teen

Throw Away Teen by Shannon Kennedy is a well written book. The story revolves around B.J. Larson, a tough, rebellious teenager who has spent most of her life in the foster care system. Naturally, she doesn’t trust anyone, not her case worker, not the administrator of the youth home where she’s been residing, and certainly not her new foster parents, who claim to love her and want to adopt her. I like the characters and the story...I found B.J.’s description of her past as part of the system to be right on. And I really enjoyed the book. –
Taylor, reviewer

I particularly liked the character of B.J. Larson. I found her to be a scared, confused kid, who longed for the one thing she was absolutely certain she would never find: love. Having spent a brief, but terrifying, time in foster care myself, I could certainly relate to B.J.’s feelings of self-doubt to be very realistic. I liked the way Kennedy portrayed the relationships between the characters, and I especially liked how well-developed her characters were—almost like real people. In fact, I think I went to school with some of them! –
Regan, reviewer

THROW AWAY
TEEN

Shannon Kennedy

A BLACK OPAL BOOKS PUBLICATION

Copyright 2012 by Shannon Kennedy

Cover Art by Jackson Cover Designs

Copyright 2012 All Rights Reserved

eBook ISBN: 978-1-937329-76-1

Excerpt

I knew Gabe was right, but the last thing I needed was for him and Ringo to fight...

“
We’re disposable, babe. Americans throw away everything. Garbage, old people, and kids. You and I were thrown away a long time ago. We both know it’s for real.”

Nothing Gabe said was new. I’d heard it all a million times before. But this was the first time he’d had said it with an audience. Ringo stood in the doorway to Ted’s den. I didn’t say anything, but Gabe must’ve realized we weren’t alone. He turned to face Ringo. “Do you always sneak up on private conversations?”

“
I wasn’t sneaking.” Ringo wasn’t mad or scared, just matter-of-fact. “I wanted to hear the trash you were giving B.J. No wonder she has such an attitude.”

“
I don’t have an attitude.” But I felt my knees turn to mush. He watched me the same way he had the night he kissed me. “Gabe’s right about the system. We’ve both been through it long enough to know the truth about how life really works. And it sucks.”

“
Got that right,” Gabe said.

“
More crap,” Ringo interrupted. “Liz and Ted won’t hurt you, B.J. You’re old enough to tell good people from bad ones. And you’re also smart enough not to buy somebody else’s program. Make your own decisions and don’t let some psychotic tell you what to do.”

“
A psychotic?” Gabe’s voice dropped lower and meaner. He started toward Ringo.

I knew a fight was in the works. It didn’t matter which one came out on top. Either way, I’d lose. Gabe was the brother I never had, the one person who always cared enough to look after me. Ringo was the guy I wanted to date, to paint, to fall in love with, provided he got his act together.

CHAPTER 1

Who cares if it’s a beautiful April day
?
The glare of the sun on the windshield was killing my eyes.
I wish Carol would hurry up and get her butt out of the youth center already.
When I kept hassling her about this weekend, she sent me out here to wait in her Ford Escort that’s older than I am. Whenever I bitch about the decrepit rust-bucket, Carol just shrugs and says the would-be wreck is paid for.

It didn’t even have a CD player, just a cassette radio. She kept her collection of cassettes in the shoebox at my feet.
I checked those out already.
Gross. Carol’s taste in music seriously stinks. It’s nothing but country and something called blue-grass.

Gawd, I really want a cigarette.
But I quit smoking at the last foster home. It wasn’t my idea.
The baldheaded Nazi who ran the place like a boot camp washed my mouth out with soap and made me smoke a pack of Marlboros at the same time. It was supposed to make me sick and it did. I puked for three days straight.

The jerk told me if he caught me with cigarettes again, he’d break two of my fingers and still shove soap in my mouth. He didn’t get the chance. I booked it out of there as soon as everyone crashed for the night. That was eleven months ago and I still gagged whenever I smelled tobacco or Ivory.

Of course, that wasn’t the first time I’d had my mouth washed out with soap. That honor went to the old bat I stayed with ten years ago. She decided a five-year-old shouldn’t swear. I learned real quick to consider the location and audience before cussing, but I hurled insults with the best of them.

I made up my mind when I arrived at Evergreen Youth Center. No more living with weirdoes. Sooner or later, one of them would probably try to kill me. I just hoped Carol came to see things my way, instead of yapping that this is a “transitional facility,” and that I’ve more than overstayed my welcome.
What else is new?

I’d been in twelve homes since I was two and that’s only counting the ones where I stayed more than a week. No point counting the one or two day places. I wasn’t there long enough to even remember their names. And since they spent most of their time hollering “Bertha Juniper” at me, I ignored them. I went by B.J. and if somebody tried to tell me the initials stood for “blow job,” it only happened once.

Which is another reason why I’ve been in so many homes—foster parents get excited when a girl starts kicking butts and busting heads every time someone makes fun of her name.
It didn’t happen as often anymore because I didn’t share my “real” name with anyone if I could help it. Of course, me being a fighter was one reason I got along so well in the center. My room-mate, Irene and I were tight. We’d lived together this time for the past eleven months and we always helped each other out. Of course, we’d known each other since we were little and ended up in some of the same foster homes over the years.

I stared at the hole in the toe of my Nike. Irene suggested spike heels, but those were impossible to run in, so I kept my regular shoes. I was wearing my worst outfit today, a skimpy bright red crop top. And it was so tight, it showed every inch of my boobs and the fact I wasn’t wearing a bra. My black shorts were tight, barely covering my butt. Irene and I talked about a belly ring, but I wasn’t stupid enough to let her do the needle and ice trick she’d used on my ears. So, I went for three earrings in each ear and one in my eyebrow.

I also went real heavy on the makeup, slathering it around my green eyes and darkening my long lashes with extra thick black mascara. I put on tons of blush and lots of bright red lipstick
. I have on enough make-up that I could work a corner alongside my real mother, the whore from First Avenue in downtown Seattle.
Not that I ever would, of course. I only dressed like a skank to get what I wanted. And that was freedom. The sluttier I acted and the more fights I got into, the faster I’d be sent back to the youth center.

My red hair was a tangled mess since I hadn’t brushed it for three days. Between the hair, the cosmetics, and the skimpy clothes, my new foster mom should take one look and send me straight back to Seattle. Yippee!

My legs were sticking to the car seat. I lifted one and it peeled away from the vinyl.
What is taking Carol so damn long
? She was probably feeling the need to brag to the other do-gooders about this home visit. I didn’t even want to go. I was only sitting here baking in her car ’cause she beat me at our weekly game of poker. We opened on guts and played for truth.

When I won, I didn’t have to answer Carol’s sappy, dumb questions or do what she told me to do. Her favorite question had to be one she stole from a counselor—the old “And how does that make you feel?” It was nearly as bad as the one from Doctor Phil, “And how’s that working for you?”

Our last bet was over spending a weekend with two senior citizens who claimed they wanted to adopt me.
Am I supposed to believe that crap
? I never reneged on my bets, so now I was on my way to Stewart Falls. I was pretty sure Carol cheated this time though. She’d hardly ever beaten me before and I had a full house.

It was hot today, unusual for spring in Seattle. I eased my bare arms away from the back of the seat.
I’m melting out here
.
The only good part about this visit is no school today
.
I won’t even have to go on Monday
. Carol had promised me a long weekend in the country.
Not my ideal weekend getaway, but what can you do
?

I looked back at the red-brick building again and finally spotted her sauntering toward me. Even though, I knew the truth about caseworkers, every once in a while I liked her. I knew better than to share that. Carol was my fourth social-worker and she might act like a rebel, but it was a scam or she wouldn’t have lasted at Evergreen this long. She wore loose jeans and sloppy T-shirts, despite what her bosses said.
Her long brown hair always swings free, the same way she does
.

Most important, she talked to us kids like we were real people who actually knew stuff. Definitely a scam. My last social worker spent all her time talking loud and calling me “dearie,” as if I was half deaf and stone stupid. She was majorly irritating, but not as bad as the one I had, when I was little, who constantly lied to me.

Carol even spoke to Gabe Abbot like he was human. All the kids knew about Gabe. He was super good with a knife and ran with a gang downtown. When summer arrived, he’d head back to the streets. He always said the group home was just a nice, warm place for the winter and staying there kept him out of Juvie.

Granted, Gabe didn’t care much for Carol. He’d warned me she had her own agenda. Getting rid of me, my room-mate Irene, and him were at the top of Carol’s list. And yeah, I knew he was right. Then again, I didn’t have “stupid” tattooed on my forehead. I didn’t have to get into a big pissing contest with Carol so she showed me that she was the boss and wrecked my life even more. Caseworkers always pushed us around like pawns on a chessboard, but Gabe had to fight the system and authority figures. It was why he’d been arrested so many times.

***

“
Ready for your new home, B.J.?” Carol smiled as she climbed into the car. She wore cut-off jeans today and let out a yelp as her bare legs hit the seat. “Ow! How can you stand this?”

“
It’s not that bad.”

“
Yeah, it is.” Carol stuck the key in the ignition and ground the motor. “As soon as I can, I’m turning on the air conditioning.”

“
Does the AC even still work in this heap?” I shrugged. “Whatever. Either way’s fine. I can handle it.”

“
You’ve been telling me that for the past six months.” Carol kept grinding the motor. “I’m never sure whether to believe you or not.”

“
You’re still making hamburger. Want me to drive?”

“
How about you wait until you have your license next year?” Carol tried again and this time the car started.

“
I already know how to drive though.”

She frowned and drove out of the parking lot in the direction of the freeway. “When are you planning to tell me about that stolen car incident, B.J.?”

“
Never.” I shut up. The car thing got me out of my last foster home with the control freak, aka Soap Nazi. I hadn’t stolen the car. I just took a ride with the kids who did. I knew better than to rat on them. Snitching got a girl hurt. I was fifteen and I’d bounced from foster home to foster home forever. It hadn’t taken me long to learn to keep my mouth shut about what my “sisters and brothers” did. I didn’t have any actual siblings, just the ones who rotated through homes as often as I did.