Free Angry Management by Chris Crutcher

the door.
    “Jeez. What did you eat? Show me where it is.”
    Tara sets her jaw.
    “Don’t mess with me, little sis. That might work with Mom, but you know it gets no play with me.”
    “Under the bed,” Tara says.
    “Gawd. This place smells like an outhouse.”
    “What’s that?”
    “A place that smells bad.” Montana is on her hands and knees, looking under the bed for the offending excrement. “I don’t see it.”
    “It’s kinda rubbed.”
    Montana furrows her brow. Tara joins her on her hands and knees.
    “Kinda rubbed? This carries the hint of premeditation.”
    Tara stares questioningly.
    “It means you did it on purpose. You thought about it before you did it.”
    “Huh-uh.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Are they gonna gimme away?”
    “I don’t know,” Montana says. “Why do you care? I mean, you always pick the thing that makes them the maddest. It’s like you want to be given away.”
    “ You pick the thing that makes Daddy West the maddest.”
    “Everything makes Daddy West the maddest. And that’s different. I’ve been here long enough I can be a bitch. You can’t start out like that.” Montana swallows her lie. This kid could be her, back before her adoption when she came into foster care. Seven placements in three months. It wasn’t a record, but it would do until she found what the record was. Hell on wheels at four years old. Ached for a mother she can barely remember now, and for whom she still aches. Tara is six, but that’s about the only difference.
    “Why do you keep hiding your poop, little sis? How are you going to make Momma want to keep you? You have to make them think they’re doing something good for you. Do you want her to give you up?”
    “I hate methamphetamine,” Tara says. She pronounces it perfectly.
    “That’s a good thing to hate,” Montana says back. “I hate methamphetamine, too.”
    “If I could throw methamphetamine in the ocean, I could get my real mom back.”
    “You sure could,” Montana says. “But the only person who can throw methamphetamine in the ocean is your mom. So far she’s not doing so hot, and until she drowns it, you’ve got to be good so you can stay here, and that means you have to stop hiding your poop.”
    “I get so mad . And my poop is mad, too. If it could talk it would say, ‘I’M SO MAD!’ I poop ’cause I’m mad I can’t live with my mom. It wasn’t her fault, it was Greg’s. He was always asleep when he was s’posed to take care of me when my mom was usin’ meth. My mom’s not gonna do what she’s s’posed to do to get me back. I’m really scared she doesn’t want me back. That’s the worst thing.”
    “Yup. When you and your poop get so mad, you gotta hide it in the toilet. It’s not Mommy West that’s making you mad.”
    “It’s CPS.”
    “Yeah, but we’ve talked about this. CPS doesn’t make your mom use meth. Your mom makes your mom use meth.”
    “If I was there I bet I could make her stop.”
    “Bet you couldn’t. You could make her not use it in front of you, but you know meth.”
    “Yeah, but if I could be there I could trick the CPS lady again. I could make it look like Mom’s not usin’ it.I did it before. Besides, sometimes CPS makes her feel bad and that’s when she uses it. You use meth when you feel bad.”
    “Other way around, little sis. You use meth and you can’t get your kid back and then you feel bad. Your mom’s making a big mistake giving you up to Mommy West. But if you don’t be good, which means quit hiding your poop and sneaking around at night trying to find things out, Mommy and Daddy West will give you up too. Listen, you’re mad ’cause you’re scared. I was just like you. If you talk about being scared, you might not have to poop. Get mad. Yell and scream. You don’t see me pooping when I get mad.”
    Tara grimaces. There’s no answer.
    “So can you do it? Do you know how bad I’m going to feel if they give you up?”
    “I don’t want to go away from