Free Angelborn by L. Penelope

probably wondering what’s got me so chatty. “To find two people perfect for you in every way? That’s what we call an abundance of riches.”
    My heavy leather boot crunches a couple of stray leaves that have the audacity to cross my path. “It sucks for the one who doesn’t get picked, though, doesn’t it?”
    She’s thoughtful, head to the sky, curly hair up in a messy bun haloed by the dying afternoon light. “But it stands to reason they have someone else out there for them too. Right?”
    I shrug. Cosmic mysteries of the universe are not my thing. It doesn’t matter anyway.
    It’s not like anyone is climbing out of hell for me.
    We stop at the steps to the DSS building. Rosie turns to me, smile firmly in place.
    “It was great to see you, Maia. Remember what I said when we first met — it hasn’t changed.”
    “Thanks, Rosie,” I mumble, waving my arm around vaguely, hoping she understands that to mean not just for lunch but for everything she’s done over the past six years.
    When I turned eighteen, I figured we were done, but she called me the next day to ask about the history paper I had due and kept calling after that. Every day for months. She sat with me in the library as I filled out the scholarship applications. Took me shopping for college supplies.
    I haven’t had many promises made to me in my life, and even fewer have been kept. But Rosie was there on the worst night of my life, and the next days and months that weren’t much better. And she always keeps her promises.
----
Before
    I’ve never ridden in an ambulance before. I don’t remember too much about it, mostly just the blood. The blood wouldn’t stop. I expected one of those red-orange lights to come for me, but it never showed.
    It takes stitches on top of stitches to close me up. One for each layer of skin. The bandage is tight around my arm, but the shot they gave me erased the pain. For now.
    I wait for Karen or David to come in, but I think they’re still talking to the cops. The nurses bustling in and out don’t look me in the eye.
    Noisy footsteps clatter on the linoleum, and a mass of curly brown hair appears, followed by a smiling face. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, wearing a red dress and red high heels. It’s the middle of the night, and she doesn’t look like she’s been dragged out of bed, but she obviously doesn’t work in the hospital.
    “Hi, Maia. I’m Rosie Velasquez. Your old social worker, Cindy, isn’t with the department any longer. I’ll be taking on your case.”
    Cindy was in her fifties and always reeked of cigarettes. I’m not sad to hear she’s gone, but I’m a little wary of this cheery creature in front of me. She pulls a chair up to my bed and sits down in a waft of flowery perfume.
    “What are you doing here?” I ask, then wince. My voice is still raw from screaming.
    Rosie smiles and picks up the little plastic cup by my bed, holding the straw to my lips so I can drink.
    “Thanks,” I whisper. “Are you coming to take me somewhere?” I figure I can’t go back to Karen and David’s; a group home is probably the only option now.
    “The doctors want to keep you here … transfer you to the psychiatric ward, for a little while. They want to be sure you’re not going to hurt yourself anymore.”
    I should have known this was coming. It’s amazing I’ve avoided the psych ward as long as I have. One look at the reports from my other foster families, and she probably saw the pattern emerging.
    I just sigh and stare at the ceiling. “I didn’t hurt myself.”
    I don’t see her reaction, but her voice is calm and kind. “You say that a girl named Natasha did this to you. She stabbed you and started the fire?”
    I nod, clenching my jaw.
    “The same Natasha that your foster parents say died before you were ever placed with them?”
    I shrug. “Yeah. It doesn’t matter if you believe me. That’s what happened.”
    She’s quiet for so long that I finally turn and look at