at my trailer the day before yesterday, my mother laughed and welcomed us inside. She sat there smoking a joint – of my weed – in front of the social worker and offered to help me pack. I thought for sure she’d flip, try to beat my ass or let her flavor of the week do it, as she always has when I’d get suspended or kicked out of places. She knew if social services stepped in it meant no more welfare for her, and no more welfare meant no more “free” cocaine – she’d have to put in extra time on her back without it. And that was a problem because the prime prostitute from Gateway Trailer park has expensive taste in powder.
I knew it wasn’t because the worker was there, she didn’t give a shit about that. Shit, she talked with the lady like she’d known her all her life – shitty and hateful with a nasty smile on her face. The worst that would happen if she was reported would be a few days in jail, and that meant nothing to her, they already knew her well. According to my mom, it’s almost easier to score a sack in county than it is out here – and there, her trades are welcomed. She doesn’t discriminate against gender. A women’s money is worth just the same, she’d say.
No, I knew by her nonchalant attitude she’d gotten herself a new supplier, be it a new dealer willing to take a trick for a trade or client who stuck, who knows.
Who fucking cares.
“You must be Ms. Vega?” I follow the voice to find an older woman with deep wrinkles and dark frizzy hair. Her tone isn’t exactly welcoming toward Ms. Vega, more quizzical if anything.
“Yes, ma’am.” Ms. Vega hesitates for a second before stepping forward to shake the woman’s hand. “Ms. Maybell, this is Raven Carver, seventeen, out of Stockton California.”
When the woman turns my way, the roughness framing her eyes smooths.
“You had a small journey, huh, Raven?” the woman asks.
“It’s Rae.”
The woman smiles and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looked genuine. And hell, maybe it is, another bastard’s kid means more green in her pocket.
I’m aware I could be judging unfairly, but ... are there still people who choose to house fucked up rejects for fun?
“Rae.” She smiles a little. “You’ll be in room seven. There are two bunks per room, but the last two who were in there were sisters, so both left together last week. You’ll have it to yourself for a bit, but that don’t mean funny business will be any easier for you. Not sure if you were told, but this is a girls only home, the boys are there.” She points across the lot to another white house about two court spaces away. “There’s no drugs, no sex, no stealing, and absolutely no fighting amongst the other girls. Other than those few things, it’s a nice deal here. Hurry on, put your things away and we’ll get you to the high school. They’re expecting you.”
With a sigh, I make my way to the door, pausing when she calls out again.
“Oh, and Rae?”
I glance over my shoulder with an eyebrow raised.
“Behind the house is off-limits. You can go as far as the swing set there but beyond that, the dirt road? It’s not for walking down. This whole front part, though, is yours to roam.”
“Sure,” I respond and face forward, taking in the mental institution style housing. Plain white walls with random couches against them make up the room, a single TV hanging high in one corner and bolted into the wall – preventing it from being easily stolen, I’m guessing. A card game left mid-play lays on the coffee table and an ashtray sits beside it.
“What the hell is this place?” I mumble to myself, jumping slightly when an unexpected voice answers.
“It’s four walls to stuff the runaways and problem children ‘til nobody is forced to pretend to care anymore.” When I lock eyes with the girl, she decides that means I want the full breakdown and keeps talking. “All the kids here are shipped to the local high school as part of some poor kid program. It’s quite a place. Nothing but a bunch of ritzy privileged assholes with the exception of us few fuck-ups, and a handful of others from the low-income housing track down the road. But it’s not divided like you’d think, more one big system.