up and brushed away a single tear.
Little Ryan turned to him mother. “Why’s Peter crying?” he asked.
Carly looked despondent on the love seat, her joy and awe, replaced by reality.
Peter’s heart was already taken.
Chapter 18
Libby stepped quietly through the door of the Milwaukee group home. Could she be lucky enough that her housemates would be asleep?
“Yo, girl. You got me anything good tonight?” Darnel, a tal skinny black kid, asked from the couch where he lay watching a reality show featuring rappers and drug dealers.
“This is al they had left.” She tossed him a white take out-bag. “Maybe there’l be extras from the fish fry tomorrow.” Days after arriving at the group home, Libby got a job working at a restaurant in the mal. If she was going to be stuck living in this hel hole, she planned to avoid it as much as possible.
Only two weeks passed since her arrival on Thanksgiving Day. It felt like months.
“Hot damn, you done nice girl, but where’s my rings?” Darnel stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth. He ate constantly, but was the skinniest guy she’d ever seen. The first time she laid eyes on him she’d been terrified of his gangster appearance--baggy pants, metal chains and mega attitude. Now she knew his image was mostly an act, probably for survival’s sake. He talked smack but so far was harmless.
“Sorry, no onion rings tonight. Maybe next time.” In an effort to blend in and not make enemies, Libby always brought back leftovers from work.
She walked down the halway, her grip on her bag tightened like a vise as she approached the bedroom. Silently, she opened the door to the room she shared with Juanita, a volatile psychopath, whose single goal in life was to terrorize Libby; and Kely, a pale girl who dyed her hair the color of death, wore dark eye makeup and dressed in black. Juanita sat on her messy bed sheets cleaning her fingernails with a switchblade as she rocked to an iPod. Kely slept soundly in her depressed state.
Ignoring Juanita, Libby went straight to her side of the room.
She grabbed her shower stuff. Living at the home was a cross between a colege dorm and juvenile hal. You kept your stuff to yourself. You didn’t share, and stealing was a common occurrence.
Libby’s things disappeared on a regular basis. Within hours of her arrival and Thanksgiving Day the phone Peter gave her was gone, her last tie to him permanently cut. She’d bet money Juanita was the klepto. She kept her money with her everywhere she went, including the shower.
She grabbed a long t-shirt to sleep in and padded to the door. A swish and then thud rang in her ear. Libby froze. Juanita’s knife stuck in the wal just inches from her face. She held her breath, afraid to turn around.
“Hey blondie, what’s the big hurry? Ain’t ya gonna say hi?” Juanita lounged against the headboard, a snarl on her face.
Libby ran out of the room. At least she knew the knife was in the wal and couldn’t hurt her. Juanita’s cruel laughter folowed down the hal.
Inside the bathroom, she locked the door and rested her head against it. Her hand gripped the door knob until she could breathe again. She hated that girl. Her mom always said it was wrong to hate, that everyone had good in them. But Mom never met Juanita.
She closed the lid to the toilet. The boys always left it up. She sat down and took a few moments to pul herself together, but it was getting harder. It took her al just to survive.
Scott, the leader of the group home, was nice enough, but he didn’t have a clue what went on. He was al ‘peace out and love your neighbor.’ Why a pacifist wanted a job surrounded by teenage derelicts she couldn’t imagine. His easygoing manner kept the kids a little less stressed, but he did a lousy job with behavior management.
She looked around the smal bathroom. In here she was safe from hassle, in the only spot she could be alone. Before she took her shower, she grabbed cleaning supplies from under the sink and gave the room a quick once over. Everything in her world was a mess. At least she could shower in a bathroom that didn’t have smears on the mirror and the guys’ whiskers al over the sink. In a couple of minutes, the bathroom countertop and mirror were clean and smeled like lemons.
Libby inhaled