A Hourse to Love (2 page)

“Yeah, right,” Skye returned in a loud, sarcastic whisper.

“Girl, I’m trying to help you. Now cool it!” Wilma stood. “Your Honor,” she apologized, “I beg the court’s indulgence. I think Skye has learned her lesson this time. She real y is sorry.” The lawyer gently placed her hand on Skye’s shoulder.

Like a faucet that had sprung a leak, Skye’s eyes glistened with moisture as she stared at the judge.

She realized that turning on the tears was her last hope to avoid Chesterfield. Skye crumpled her face into an Oscar-winning pout and tears flowed down her now-red cheeks.

Wilma reached into her pocket and handed Skye a wad of tissues. Skye dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. With her puppy-dog eyes and quivering lips, she repositioned in the chair, folded her hands around the tissues, and smiled innocently at the judge.

“I’m not buying it!” Judge Mitchel announced. “I’ve been through this act before and it’s getting a little old. Save your tears for Chesterfield, Skye. They don’t work anymore. Sorry, Wilma. Nice try.” The judge stacked a pile of papers. “Does anyone have anything else to say?”

“If it pleases the court,” Samuel Dansing said, standing, “Eileen Chambers would like to request that she and her husband, Tom, be granted custody of Skye Nicholson.I believe Your Honor is aware of the Chambers’ fine record as foster parents.”

“Eileen,” Judge Mitchel said emphatical y, “I was afraid that’s why you were here. You
don’t
want this kid.Trust me. She ran the last two sets of foster parents out of the business.”

Eileen Chambers glanced over at Skye and then stood to her feet. “Your Honor, we’d real y like to give this a try. We’ve had troubled kids before and — ”

“Not like this one, you haven’t. I mean it. You’re diving in way over your heads.”

“It’s worth a try, Your Honor. I think we can help her.”

Judge Mitchel leaned back in his leather chair and stroked his beard. He glanced at Eileen, then at Skye.

Eileen waited patiently. Skye sat quietly with fake ribbons of tears stil trickling down her face.

“I’l consider my decision. Until then, we’re adjourned,” Judge Mitchel said. He rose, gathered a thick pile of folders, and hastened off to a side room, slamming the door.

After a week in juvenile hal , Skye found herself seated in front of a battered wooden desk at some place cal ed Maranatha Treatment Center. Al she knew was that she wasn’t going to Chesterfield and she would be going to another foster home. Skye acted like the thought didn’t bother her one way or the other.
More foster parents. Big deal
, she told herself. Her last set of foster parents had dropped her off at the Children and Youth Agency two weeks ago.

Easy come
;
easy go. Another day in the life of an
unwanted nobody
, she thought, looking around the empty room.
So what else is new?

Down in her super slump, Skye folded her arms and crossed her legs, her eyes exploring every corner of the cramped office. The wal s were a faded yel ow that matched the worn-out carpet perfectly.

She took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose.

Yuck! Smells like the boys’ locker room at school!

She scanned the two big windows on either side of the desk and decided they were probably last painted before she was born. The only bright spots in the whole place were colored posters spaced evenly on the wal s, posters about God and courage and peace. Final y, out of boredom, Skye focused on a name plaque on the desk: Eileen Chambers, Special Needs Therapist.

Great!
Skye complained to herself.
Someone else
who thinks she can figure me out. The only special

“need” I have is to get outta here!

Behind her a door opened and closed. Skye looked up to see Eileen Chambers approaching the desk. The woman settled graceful y into a rickety swivel chair, looked at Skye, and smiled. Skye stared openly at her bright yel ow T-shirt with the letters MARANATHA in rainbow colors splashed across the front.

“Good morning, Skye,” Mrs. Chambers said. “How are you today?”

Skye lowered her head, her face wrinkling into a pout.

“Oh, the silent treatment?” the woman said. “Okay, have it your way — for now.”

Skye listened while Mrs. Chambers shuffled papers, opened and shut drawers, and squeaked the stubborn chair. Final y, after what seemed like forever, the woman spoke, and Skye glanced up.

“According to this, you’ve got some pretty big problems,” Mrs. Chambers said, holding up a folder with papers sticking out. She dropped it in the middle of the desk. “Al of us here at Maranatha Treatment Center are wil ing and able to help you find some solutions, young lady.”

Why does everybody who sits behind a desk call
m e “young lady”?
Skye griped to herself.
They all
know I’m not a young lady. Never have been —

never will be.

Mrs. Chambers leaned back in the chair as far as she could. “Skye, Judge Mitchel has placed you into our after-school program.”

Skye just stared into her blue eyes.

“You certainly have made quite a reputation for yourself at Madison Middle School.” The woman slipped a paper from the folder and placed it on the desk. “This list of offenses is something else. And what’s with this assault on Hannah Gilbert? You threw soda in her face and set fire to her books.”

“I just don’t like her stupid face, that’s al !” Skye snapped. “Someday I’m gonna punch her lights out.”

“There’s more to life than hating people. What are you trying to do? Prove you’re the toughest kid at Madison?” Mrs. Chambers smiled discreetly.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Skye sneered.

“Anyway,” the woman continued, “your life is about to take an about-face. Honey, you have so much potential, but it’s buried pretty deep. We can help you find the other you.”

“Honey’s for bees, and I ain’t sweet! My name is Skye!” She pul ed her arms tighter against her chest.

“Al right,
Skye
,
”
Eileen Chambers said sternly.

“You have much to learn. One of those things is respect for authority.” She leaned forward, folding her hands on top of a pile of folders. “Here’s the deal. Are you listening?”

“Yeeeesss!” Skye drew out her response like air escaping from a bicycle tire. She tightened her shoulders and clenched her fists.

“I hope you’re wil ing to accept the terms of the judge’s decision. Frankly, you have little choice. Your only other option is Chesterfield for who knows how long. I’m sure you’d rather not go there. Now, here’s the plan.” She pul ed out another paper from the same folder. “First — and you’re going to like this —

you’l go back to Madison after you serve a ten-day suspension. You real y should have been expel ed, you know. But I think everyone is wil ing to give you one more chance since you’l be living with Mr.

Chambers and me at Keystone Stables.”

“What’s Keystone Stables?” Skye asked harshly.

Mrs. Chambers smiled again. “Wel , it’s our home for one thing. And it’s also a special needs dude ranch, licensed by the State of Pennsylvania. We operate on state funding, grants, and private donations. You should love it there. But back to your daily routine; after school every day you wil be transported by van here to Maranatha Treatment Center for counseling. Any questions so far?” Skye folded her arms tighter. Staring at the floor, she counted slivers of caked mud left by other people’s sneakers. This woman would never know if she was listening or not.

“Look at me when I speak to you, young lady.” Silence. Final y, Skye felt compel ed to look up.

“Thank you. Next, and most importantly, you wil spend an unspecified length of time in our care, not only as a Maranatha client but also as a foster child in our home at Keystone. Maybe a year — it’s al contingent on your behavior. The Johnsons have already brought al your clothes and signed the release papers, so we’re ready to move you today.

I’l be your caseworker here as wel as your foster parent, so get ready. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together — like it or not.” Skye’s eyes flared, and her cheeks flushed with anger.“You have
got
to be kidding! You’re going to be my counselor as wel as my foster mother? I’d rather rot in juvie!” Skye ran her fingers through her hair angrily as she glared pitchforks at the woman.

“That can be arranged, Miss Nicholson!” the woman retorted as her blue eyes locked on Skye’s.

“We need to get some things straight right now.” She leaned forward al the way over her desk. “Sit up in that chair when I speak to you!”

Skye reluctantly sat up and scowled.

“Number one: your days of tel ing people what to do are over,” Mrs. Chambers lectured.

“Number two: this is what the judge ordered. We wil al comply with every word, including you.”

“Number three: Chesterfield always has empty cel s for kids who think they know everything. Al I need to do is pick up that phone. Any questions?” Eileen Chambers leaned back into her chair, certain she had made her point. “And one more thing: you may cal me Mrs. Chambers or Mrs. C, but never Eileen. Is that clear?”

“Ei — ” Skye’s face turned red and ice hung from her voice.

“Yes, Miss Nicholson?” Mrs. Chambers said as she leaned forward, daring Skye to try it.

“Ei — Wil I have my own bedroom?” Skye’s voice changed, now showing some concern amidst her anger.

“It’s al taken care of.” Mrs. Chambers relaxed.

“We have lots of room at our house. And,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “there’s also a surprise waiting for you.”

W
elcome to Keystone Stables, Skye!” Mrs.

Chambers said as they climbed out of the van.

Skye fol owed Mrs. Chambers up a long ramp onto the porch of a ranch home located in the country. The spring rains had given way to a warm breeze and a crystal-clear sky. Skye took a deep breath, trying to hide her feelings as she recal ed the last few weeks.

Another foster home was nothing new for Skye Nicholson. As long as she could remember, she had lived in foster homes, and each one just deepened her anger.

Her real parents? She wasn’t sure where they were. Al she knew was that when she was two, there had been a car accident and she had been taken to live with strangers. As she grew older, Skye asked Child Protective Services about her parents. They would only tel her that she had been placed in foster care because her parents were involved with drugs.

But where are my parents? Are they even alive?

If they are
,
don’t they want me?

Those questions haunted Skye at night, and now they ate away at her stomach as she faced more strangers with more rules that she had no intention of obeying.

Mrs. Chambers, juggling a briefcase and groceries, struggled to find her house key but final y gave up and rang the doorbel . “I know someone’s home,” she said.“We’l just wait a few moments.”

“What do you think I’m going to do? Run away?”Skye said as Mrs. Chambers rang the doorbel again.

Running away sounded better the more Skye thought about it, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d done it. She pictured the pavilion at the city park and her favorite hiding place behind the dumpster. It sure looked good right now. To be away from everything! Here she was again, doing what she hated the most — moving in with strangers.

What kind of a mess am I in this time?
Skye thought as she scanned the front porch. The house was beige. Windows on each side of the door had blue shutters with carved hearts. A shiny brass knocker hung on the white front door. The cement floor wrapped around to her right, encased in fancy white railings and posts. Skye hated to admit that even though it was one more rotten foster home, this one had a homey feel to it. Just as she turned toward the yard, the door opened.

“Hi,” a voice said.

Skye turned slowly.

“Come in,” said a slender girl a few years older than Skye. The teenager had long, kinky red hair and tons of freckles that clashed with her bright red plaid shirt. And she was sitting in a wheelchair.

One of Skye’s favorite pastimes was keeping her outside from finding out what her inside was feeling.

Inside, her mouth hung open. On the outside? A classic pout.
This is the surprise?
she fumed
. Just
perfect. Another brat to make my life more
miserable. And a crippled one at that. Now I know
why I was brought here. Maid service!