A teen in foster care must choose between the woman who wants to adopt her or the mother who abandoned her amidst the cliques and bullying of middle school.
EXCERPT FROM RETURNABLE GIRL
“Veronica Hartman has been returned nine times between the ages of eleven and thirteen.”
That’s what it says in my file, but if you include the return by my uncle and Raylene the week before Christmas almost two years ago, then it really has been a total of ten times--so far. The last time, I got kicked out of Lancaster Academy for throwing a pair of scissors at my art teacher. And the time before that, I buried my foster mother’s keys in the backyard behind the barn. That number doesn’t include the times I had to stay at the shelter, or the overnight emergency placements; I can’t even remember most of those.
“All that returning can do some damage,” Alison says, “but you’ve got to find ways to cope.”
Alison Hauser is my foster mom (at the moment) and she’s also a therapist. She hasn’t returned me yet, and I’ve been with her over three months, but that doesn’t mean she won’t. Lately, I guess, she’s been considering it. Like this morning, for instance, after I threw the frozen can of orange juice across the kitchen.
“I’m not a thief!” I screamed at her as I let the can fly.
“Veronica Hartman has been returned nine times between the ages of eleven and thirteen.”
That’s what it says in my file, but if you include the return by my uncle and Raylene the week before Christmas almost two years ago, then it really has been a total of ten times--so far. The last time, I got kicked out of Lancaster Academy for throwing a pair of scissors at my art teacher. And the time before that, I buried my foster mother’s keys in the backyard behind the barn. That number doesn’t include the times I had to stay at the shelter, or the overnight emergency placements; I can’t even remember most of those.
“All that returning can do some damage,” Alison says, “but you’ve got to find ways to cope.”
Alison Hauser is my foster mom (at the moment) and she’s also a therapist. She hasn’t returned me yet, and I’ve been with her over three months, but that doesn’t mean she won’t. Lately, I guess, she’s been considering it. Like this morning, for instance, after I threw the frozen can of orange juice across the kitchen.
“I’m not a thief!” I screamed at her as I let the can fly.
