Presley stared at the new house from the back of the social workers car. It looked... awful. There was no dressing it up. It was run down, there were old cars and appliances in the yard. How had this place even qualified for the foster program? There were usually requirements.
She sighed. Two weeks. She only needed to make it two weeks.
She felt a twinge of anger rise up for Blaine Ericson. She had been so happy at the last home. She and Leila had gotten along so well, had so much fun. She was hardly older than Presley, but she had been the best foster mother Presley had ever had. Then Blaine got home from his tour overseas. At first things were great. Leila was happy, they were both happy and excited, spending a lot of time alone. Then Leila went back to work.
Presley had noticed his lingering looks first. She stayed later at school, throwing herself into afterschool clubs and volunteering and tutoring. It hadn't worked long. Leila was an LPN, so her hours were sporadic and long. When she finally began noticing the way Blaine was looking at their foster daughter, she had immediately called Presleys social worker and told them it wasn't working out. Worse, she treated Presley like it was her fault. Now here she was, less than two weeks before her birthday and stuck in this horrible looking place.
She took a deep breath. No. Don't judge based on its appearance. One of her kindest foster mothers, or grandmother as she liked to be called, was dirt poor and she had been wonderful until she was no longer able to care for her foster children.
"Are you ready?" Miranda asked brightly, but Presley could see and hear the false cheer in her voice.
"Sure," she answered, shouldering her bag.
Miranda walked to the door militantly, it was the only way she moved, and knocked smartly. Rap rap rap. Presley caught up to her but stopped behind her. Miranda was short, but she still looked down at Presley as she turned to give her a tight smile. She turned, then gave a quiet huff and knocked again. Rap rap rap.
The door jerked open and a bleary eyed woman looked out. "Oh. S'you. You're early, you weren't supposed to be here till ten."
"It's ten after ten," Miranda said primly, looking up at the tall, skinny woman in her nightgown that hit her above mid thigh. The woman had bleach blonde hair that was tangled and scraggly and lank with more than two inches of gray roots showing. Her face was gaunt and she had a perpetually dissatisfied expression on her face.
"This her then? Come in." The woman shoved the door open and walked away.
Miranda looked back at Presley in worry, then they both followed the woman into the house. For a wonder, the living room was tidy. The furniture was old, like it had been passed down from her grandparents, but it was all clean.
"Sit down," the woman commanded tersely. "Want coffee?"
"No thank you," Miranda answered, perching on the edge of a chair, clutching her bag on her lap and looking around distastefully.
"No thanks," Presley said quietly, sitting on the and of the couch, dropping her bag at her feet.
The woman scowled and sat down. She had obviously wanted coffee herself, but knew it would be rude to leave them sitting while she made herself some. Making them some too would have been a good excuse.
"This is Presley," Miranda said by way of introduction. "Presley, this is Dorris Hanson."
"Mrs. Hanson. Don't let my kids call me Dorris, it just sounds disrespectful."
"Of course. Mrs Hanson then."
"This is only for two weeks, right? I usually only take younger kids, but you said this was just two weeks."
"Yes, twelve days actually."
"That's fine. Your room is right through there, girl," Dorris said, waving at the door to the hall.
Presley glanced at Miranda who nodded minutely. "Go ahead, there are a few things Mrs Hanson and I need to talk about."
Presley got up and grabbed her bag, going down the hall. As it turned out, it was easy to find. There were two doors. One was a bathroom and one was a small bedroom. It held a single twin sized bed and an old chest of drawers. That was it. No closet, just a small room with just enough room for the two pieces of furniture. Presley was fine with that, at least she had her own room. She set her bag on the bed and looked out the small window to the backyard. There was a clothesline full of mens clothes and beyond that, a field of old cars.
She sat down and wondered if she would be going to a different school now or the same school. She glanced at her bag but didn't want to open it. She didn't want to unpack. She wanted to stay ready to leave.
An hour later, Dorris came in without knocking. "Well, you ain't much, are ya? Little slip of a thing. S'pose you're useless for hard work. It's fine. You'll still have chores, of course. You'll pull your own weight here."
"Of course," Presley said softly, standing. She was used to this part. Two weeks. Not even that. Twelve days. Twelve days. She could do this. She forced a smile.
Dorris led her through to the kitchen. "Dishes will be your responsibility after every meal. Keep the kitchen clean. Mopping, trash, dishes, everything."
"Ok, I can do that," she answered with a smile.
The woman led her on through the house and into a mudroom with a washing machine and an open door to the basement. "This is where you will wash the laundry. You know how to do laundry?"
"Yes ma'am."
"You'll wash it here and hang it up outside. You'll gather it up from each room every day. Come on," she said, turning and heading down the stairs.
Presleys stomach sank as she got to the bottom of the stairs. She knew as soon as she saw it that this was where Dorris lived. Upstairs was a facade, a way to pass the foster system test. The main room was a large living room, full of old, dirty furniture. A tall, skinny man looked over his shoulder and looked Presley up and down, then sneered at her. There were three boys, ranging from eighteen to about twenty five. She knew the youngest, she had seen him at school. They all stared at her as well.
"That's Mr Hanson and three of my boys. Bobby, Lewis and Dale JR. Boys, this is... what was your name girl?"
"Presley Miller," Dale answered for her. "She's in my class. She thinks she's real smart."
Presley swallowed hard. Dale was one of the boys who ran with the bullies though she had never seen him do anything himself. He was a hanger on, too afraid to bully on his own, but happy to hang out with those who did.
Dorris grunted. "You'll be keeping this area here clean too. I cook, but you'll be bringing the food down here and taking the dishes back up. Come on."
Twelve days.
Dorris led her down a hall and Presley knew from the length of the hall that the basement was larger than the house upstairs. "These are the boys' bedrooms. Johnny and Everett are at work right now. That one there is mine and Dales room. You don't go in there, I will put the laundry outside the door. This last room here is the bathroom. You'll scrub it every day. Every day, you hear?"
"Yes ma'am."
That room across from it? That's where you'll be sleeping."
Of course. Twelve days.
"Go get your bag and bring it down to your room and you can get started on your chores. Clothes on the line should be dry."
Dorris turned and walked away and Presley went to retrieve her bag. Her 'room' was a glorified closet with a thin, dirty mattress on the floor.
Nope.
Presley pulled her phone out and snapped a picture, then went to send it to Miranda. No signal. She would have to go back upstairs to send it. She slipped it into her back pocket and set her bag down on the mattress. There was no floor, it was only big enough for the mattress. She turned and started to go back up the stairs.
"We got rules here," one of the older boys said quickly, before she made it to the stairs. "During chore time, we can't have electronics, including phones. It distracts you and you ain't workin' like you should. Phone goes in that box right there," he said, pointing to a black metal box with a lid and hasp. Presley did NOT want to put her phone in there.
Calm down. She could get it as soon as she was done. She could sneak it if she had to. She put her phone in it. She wasn't too worried about them looking at it, it was password protected.
When she finished laundry and dishes, she was distraught to see a padlock on the hasp as she went down to clean the bathroom. She couldn't say anything yet, she still had things to do.
When she finished and did ask, Bobby had the key and he had gone to work. He worked overnights at the factory and wouldn't be home till morning. She asked for a blanket and pillow and Dale laughed at her. "We all make due with what we have here, girl. If you are cold put more clothes on, use your bag as a pillow."
Twelve days.
When Presley woke up, she sat bolt upright from a nightmare, panting. There was no light in this room, she had to open the door. What time was it? She stumbled down the hall and looked around, looking for a clock. There was a man out there that she hadn't seen the day before.
"Umm, hi. Do you know what time it is?"
"Who are you?" the boy/man asked with a lazy smile as he looked her up and down.
