Free Fallout by Ellen Hopkins Page B

only
    to break the insufferable silence. “Who’s Lainie?”
Young Rosa (maybe ten?) rushes
to respond, She used to live here ,
but she ran away. Walter says
good riddance, but Tanya …
Shh. You talk too much , scolds Eliana,
who is thirteen or fourteen and definitely
carries an air of older sibling. Lainie
had … issues. She spits the last word.
    I can’t help but laugh. “Don’t we all?”
    That shatters the iceberg, or at least
    chips it heavily, as everyone contributes
    to a chorus of giggles. We’re not exactly
    friends, and trust will never happen
    here, but at least we don’t hate one
    another. And while the mood is halfway
    relaxed, I might as well ask, “So what’s
    with Walter?” Tanya is easy to read.
    The communal amusement vanishes.
    And though no one says a word,
    I have all the answer I need.

WE CHANGE SUBJECTS
    And within twenty minutes, I know
most everything there is to know about
Eliana and Rosa Garcia Famosa.
    Their father came from Cuba to
the United States via Mexico, where
he met some very bad people who
    he later went into business with.
In Texas, he fell in love (my take:
lust) with their mother, Irena, and
    together they came to California,
where the girls were born. Irena
Famosa expected her husband to work
    in the lush fields of the San Joaquin,
but Ignacio Garcia chose easy
riches, moving methamphetamine
    for a Mexican cartel. One day
he went away and never came back.
Irena grieved for a time, but met
    a new man. A very jealous man
who suspected her of things she
never did. He killed her anyway.

END OF STORY
    Except for the fact
    that this happens to be
    the girls’ fourth foster home
    in six years, and Rosa can’t
    remember her mother’s
    face. Sad, I suppose.
    But “sad” is a main
    ingredient in every foster
    kid recipe. We must choose
    to accept it, or go off the deep
    end ourselves. I could
    easily dive in
    over my head right
    now. The others wait for
    my story, but this will not be
    a straight exchange. “I’ve been
    with my dad, but he just
    went to jail for DUI.”
    Familiar excuse. Nods
    all around. And Mom? Why
    is it always easier to talk about
    Dad than her? “And my mother
    has pretty much written me
    off.” The truth bites.

I KEEP UNPACKING
    As I talk. It doesn’t take long.
My history or unpacking. Everything
    I own pretty much fits in three
drawers plus five coat hangers.
    Too aware of the three pairs
of eyes, inventorying every article
    of clothing and five favorite
books, I find a way to keep my
    cell phone discreetly stashed.
Some things need to stay secret.
    All I want to do at this moment,
though, is pull out the phone, dial
    Kyle’s number, hear his satin
voice promise he’s waiting for me.
    Is he waiting for me? Or has he
completely forgotten me already?

IMPOSSIBLE, I KNOW
    But even considering it makes me
want to pace. My heart accelerates,
    like something wild, snared. Caged.
I can’t let the others see it. As nice
    as they seem, if they intuit weakness,
I have rewarded them with a weapon.
    I deliberately plop down on the bed,
calm my arterial stutter. No pacing
    now, damn it. Now or ever, not here.
Instead, like an imprisoned wildcat,
    I lock eyes with the human just
beyond the bars. The one staring
    at me with interest I cannot tolerate.
“What about you, Simone? Why are
    you here?” Come on, Ghost-girl. Tell
me your story, although I’m half-afraid
    to hear it. Half-afraid. Half dying to, because
the eyes mine are locked to are haunted.

ZERO RESPONSE
    So I prod just a bit. “Come on.
    I told you my sordid little tale.”
Nothing.
    I look over at Eliana and Rosa.
    Both are wide-eyed, silent.
Nada.
    Hmm. This one must be good.
    “Is your dad, like, a serial killer?”
Zilch.
    She shoots a dry-ice glare.
    “Okay, fine. I don’t care, anyway.”
Empty.
    I wish I were rooming with las
    cubanitas . Even three to a room.
Vacant.

THANKFULLY
Tanya calls from way down the hall,
Girls! I need some help. Hurry!
There is some sort of a muffled