Fall or Fly. Wendy Welch

in others, the girls had to figure it out. At first, Cami and Deb tried to be good because they wanted to go back home to Mom. Then they were good because they realized that Mom was never going to get it together, so they needed to get adopted. Good kids get adopted first.

      More precisely, Cami thought that they needed to get adopted. Deb lost interest. If this was going to be life from now on, then . . .

      Cami’s eyes roll toward the ceiling, and her face lightens with a bemused smile. “I love my sister. I loved her then; I love her now. Oh, but she could be a real devil.”

      One of their foster homes included the family’s bio daughter, a blond like Debbie of just about the same age. The two took an instant dislike to each other, probably fueled by Deb’s overt envy of her anti-twin. One day, Deb took the scissors from the drawer only adults were allowed to open and barbered the heads of every doll the bio daughter had.

      Straight to the car, I bet, Cami thought when she saw what her sister had done. Sure enough, the caseworker showed up, but only to give everyone a talking to about safety. The sisters didn’t leave for another three months, when Bonnie had enough of a clean streak going to petition for return.

      Stories about the tensions and alliances between birth and foster children could fill an entire book. Comedy and tragedy rage in these situations. At another home, Deb broke a house rule and got mad at the foster mother over losing TV privileges. She sneaked into the dining room, took the china plates that were Foster Mom’s pride and joy from their special cabinet, and smashed them in a big pile on the dining room floor. Cami took one look, went to their room, and packed garbage bags for both of them. Sure enough, Foster Mom called their social worker, in tears.

      In the car, as the caseworker drove away from that former placement in grim silence, Cami turned and pummeled her little sister. “You jerk! I liked them!” Deb grinned and retaliated. The girls slapped and punched until the social worker threatened to pull the car over.

      “Now that I know social workers have to do case notes on the time they spend with foster kids, I wonder what that poor woman wrote that night,” Cami says, grimacing.

      That’s the way it went for a while, with Deb pulling the strings and Cami playing the good girl. Despite Deb’s antics, usually the sisters didn’t get kicked out of homes; they just went from foster parents to Bio Mom and back to fosters as Bonnie got clean, blew it, and tried again. Ironically, the other time Cami remembers when a difficult behavior precipitated their removal, the blame fell on her.

      “I love animals, all animals. The family had this puppy, and it was so cute, but I was maybe eight or nine, and I didn’t see it and I backed up and stood on the puppy’s leg and broke it. Then the woman called and had us taken out of the home. They wouldn’t believe I hadn’t done it on purpose. I still swear to you—it’s like ten years later we’re talking about this, and I still swear—I didn’t mean to. I would never have done that on purpose. I love animals. I just didn’t see the puppy. But we were out.”

      That particular foster home had been looking for an excuse to send them away, the girls knew. Unable to have children of their own, the couple wanted to adopt. Cami and Debbie weren’t yet available for adoption; besides, these foster parents wanted just one child, and younger. Although sometimes it’s just a personality mismatch—you are not the child these foster parents are looking for—in other cases those seeking to adopt get frustrated that the kids in their house are not available because someone is trying to regain custody.

      Eventually, an unspoken message wafts through the home: hurry up and leave so we can find our forever kid. It’s not unusual for kids to pick up on such clues in the vibe of a house. In fact, foster children who lack the skill to discern what kind of place they’re in might have a rough row to hoe. Cami swears she got so good at it, she could tell on the car ride to their new location whether these were people fostering with the intent to adopt, for a paycheck, out of kindness, or for some other reason.

      A parent who drives in silence may not be emotionally invested. The silent ones might be interested strictly in the minimum they would be required to provide without getting their license pulled—in which case, start hiding food in your room right away. Or they could be more the “don’t bother me and here are the rules and there’s the fridge, now let’s just get along” types. Others might say differently, Cami added with her characteristic caution, but in her experience the silent drivers rarely turned into forever family.