the police raided their house, sometimes at night, lying in bed, she wished like hell that she and Compton lived somewhere else—anyplace but with their mother. Now she regretted wasting a wish. But if she was gonna believe in junk like wishes, then she also had to believe that they came in threes.
She looked Compton in the eyes and said, “Sure I’m sure.”
PR system: “Calliope and Compton Conley, come to the administration office ASAP.”
A horde of curious, mean, and lonely eyes flitted toward them. Why were they being summoned? Their eyes seemed to ask.
Calliope wondered the same thing. Sometimes if a kid didn’t do one of his chores, he was called. Then put on room restriction for a week. She and Compton weren’t allowed to share the same room; Grayshell was segregated by gender, no exceptions for siblings. So if either of them were put on restriction, they wouldn’t be able to see each other. Not good.
The pace to the head office was a slow one. The hallways were poorly lit with high ceilings. No walk in the park, but at least they were still together, for now.
ADMINISTRATION OFFICE was painted on the frosted glass half of the wooden door.
Better than a bull.
The secretary looked up from a book she’d been reading. She seemed upset that she was being disturbed. She said, “Mrs. Crabtree wants to see ya.” Then nodded toward another door.
Mrs. Crabtree was head mistress of Grayshell, the warden.
Compton looked to Calliope, wanting to know what she had made of all of this; Calliope shrugged her shoulders in response to the question marks in his eyes. At this point his guess was as good as hers.
There was only one way to find out what was going on, she thought.
Inside, the large office was lined with credenzas with lots of framed pictures of children with what she took to be their foster parents. And on the walls hung framed letters from kids who were successful and made it out of the Valley. Warden Crabtree sat nestled behind a chrome desk. Healthy green plants—all kinds—were carefully arranged throughout the space. The walls were painted bright yellow. The contrast, compared to the rest of the place, was as stark as heaven and hell.
Like Malibu Barbie dressed in a designer white blouse, black pencil skirt, and a touch too much makeup, Crabtree pushed a tuft of blond hair behind her ear, wearing a red-lipsticked, painted-on smile. “We have good news for you two,” she said in a jolly voice. When the siblings didn’t ask what it was but instead just sat there and waited for her to drop it on them, that wasn’t good enough for her. “I said, we have good news for you.” Calliope had no idea how Crabtree managed to squeeze the words through those thin, tightly pressed lips of hers.
The proclaimed good news came in the form of a gray-haired old lady sitting in the corner like Raggedy Ann.
“This is your great-grandma, Mabel Moon,” the headmistress ceremoniously announced. “She’s come to pick you up.”
Pin-drop silence filled the space awkwardly.
The sheer volume of Mabel’s dress—turned up red, pink, and green flower print—bitch-smacked the quiet clean out the room. And when she opened her mouth to say, “Is these my grandson’s chi’ren?” her words were just as loud as the outfit.
“Well,” Mrs. Crabtree reclined back in her chair and said, “why don’t you lovelies introduce yourselves.”
After getting a silent “okay” from Calliope, Compton offered his name and a hello. He was going to extend his hand but then changed his mind quickly before he had extended it.
“And I’m Calliope.”
Mabel just stared at them—her eyes were volleying from one to the other as if she were looking for a sign. Something that would confirm that they were hers.
A spark seemed to show. Then some of the coldness dissipated in Mabel’s glare. “You got Boo-dey Boy’s nose,” she said. She put her hand up to her chin as if she was thinking. Then she looked closer and
She looked Compton in the eyes and said, “Sure I’m sure.”
PR system: “Calliope and Compton Conley, come to the administration office ASAP.”
A horde of curious, mean, and lonely eyes flitted toward them. Why were they being summoned? Their eyes seemed to ask.
Calliope wondered the same thing. Sometimes if a kid didn’t do one of his chores, he was called. Then put on room restriction for a week. She and Compton weren’t allowed to share the same room; Grayshell was segregated by gender, no exceptions for siblings. So if either of them were put on restriction, they wouldn’t be able to see each other. Not good.
The pace to the head office was a slow one. The hallways were poorly lit with high ceilings. No walk in the park, but at least they were still together, for now.
ADMINISTRATION OFFICE was painted on the frosted glass half of the wooden door.
Better than a bull.
The secretary looked up from a book she’d been reading. She seemed upset that she was being disturbed. She said, “Mrs. Crabtree wants to see ya.” Then nodded toward another door.
Mrs. Crabtree was head mistress of Grayshell, the warden.
Compton looked to Calliope, wanting to know what she had made of all of this; Calliope shrugged her shoulders in response to the question marks in his eyes. At this point his guess was as good as hers.
There was only one way to find out what was going on, she thought.
Inside, the large office was lined with credenzas with lots of framed pictures of children with what she took to be their foster parents. And on the walls hung framed letters from kids who were successful and made it out of the Valley. Warden Crabtree sat nestled behind a chrome desk. Healthy green plants—all kinds—were carefully arranged throughout the space. The walls were painted bright yellow. The contrast, compared to the rest of the place, was as stark as heaven and hell.
Like Malibu Barbie dressed in a designer white blouse, black pencil skirt, and a touch too much makeup, Crabtree pushed a tuft of blond hair behind her ear, wearing a red-lipsticked, painted-on smile. “We have good news for you two,” she said in a jolly voice. When the siblings didn’t ask what it was but instead just sat there and waited for her to drop it on them, that wasn’t good enough for her. “I said, we have good news for you.” Calliope had no idea how Crabtree managed to squeeze the words through those thin, tightly pressed lips of hers.
The proclaimed good news came in the form of a gray-haired old lady sitting in the corner like Raggedy Ann.
“This is your great-grandma, Mabel Moon,” the headmistress ceremoniously announced. “She’s come to pick you up.”
Pin-drop silence filled the space awkwardly.
The sheer volume of Mabel’s dress—turned up red, pink, and green flower print—bitch-smacked the quiet clean out the room. And when she opened her mouth to say, “Is these my grandson’s chi’ren?” her words were just as loud as the outfit.
“Well,” Mrs. Crabtree reclined back in her chair and said, “why don’t you lovelies introduce yourselves.”
After getting a silent “okay” from Calliope, Compton offered his name and a hello. He was going to extend his hand but then changed his mind quickly before he had extended it.
“And I’m Calliope.”
Mabel just stared at them—her eyes were volleying from one to the other as if she were looking for a sign. Something that would confirm that they were hers.
A spark seemed to show. Then some of the coldness dissipated in Mabel’s glare. “You got Boo-dey Boy’s nose,” she said. She put her hand up to her chin as if she was thinking. Then she looked closer and
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