Page 22 of Call You Mine
She nods. “So I didn’t tell anyone about mom. I didn’t want her to try to fix it and make me leave my house. Benji told me about these houses called foster homes where they put kids who can’t live in their own houses. He said they have scary parents who make you eat out of dog bowls and drink out of toilets.” She shakes her head, a shiver going through her body.
It hits me then. “Oh, your teacher is amandatoryreporter.”
It all begins to make sense.
“Georgie, teachers don’t put kids into foster care for noreason—and I’m pretty sure your friend Benji should have some parental locks on his TV.”
“What was she talking about then?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Teachers are mandatory reporters, which means if they suspect one of their students isn’t being treated the way they should be at home, by their parents or guardians, the teacher is legally responsible to report it.”
Georgie throws her hands up in exasperation. “That’s basically the same thing!”
“It’s not.” But I guess maybe to a seventh grader, it isn’t much different than her explanation.
She groans. “Well, sorry, I couldn’t hear a conversation ten feet away and from behind a glass window.” She crosses her arms, frustrated and maybe even a little embarrassed, and I don’t want her to dwell on the confusion. In the end, she convinced herself that telling her teacher would make things worse, and I can’t imagine how alone she must have been feeling over these last months.
“Either way,” I say on a sigh, reaching to put my hand on her forearm and squeezing. “You’re right. And since I told Ms. Mullins about what happened with Mom, she had to report it to Child Protective Services. That’s why Patricia is coming tonight.”
Georgie’s eyes go wide. “But Benji said?—”
I hold a hand up. “I don’t want to know what bullshit Benji said.Isay that we are going to tell Patricia about our plans for you to stay with me permanently. That way, Mom can get help.”
And I can make sure she never puts her drinking above you again.
My chest feels tight, and I ignore the little voice in my head telling me I have no control over whether Georgie is going to be able to stay with me, not if I can’t convince the social worker and CPS that I’m fit to be her legal guardian.
“But—”
“No ‘buts’.” Georgie’s mouth closes, but I know she wants to say more.
“But—” she repeats.
“What did I just say about ‘buts’?”
It’s silent for a moment before we both burst out into laughter.
It’s the kind of laughter that makes you laugh even harder because what you found funny really isn’t all that funny to begin with.
Laughter that has tears falling down your face.
Laughter that you do so you don’t cry.
As we settle, my hand finds my little sister’s, and we both just look at each other.
Throughout our conversation, our bodies angled toward each other. Our heads rest against the couch, our legs pulled up under us, mirroring one another.
“We’re going to get through this, George,” I finally say, breaking the silence. I reach for her hands with both of mine, interlocking our fingers and holding tightly. A tear slides down my cheek, and I don’t know if it’s residual from the laughter or from the way the back of my eyes prickle as I look at my little sister. “I’ll make sure of it.”
I pull her into my arms, hugging her as tightly as I can, just as a knock sounds at our door.
CHAPTER 8
ANDERSON
I honestly thinkI’m just setting myself up for failure at this point.
I tell myself I’m going to turn around at the next light and head back home.
