"Fraud!" Charlie called my name. Well, his nickname for me.
"What?" I called back.
"Happy birthday, man," he said, slapping me on the shoulder. I cringed. The bruise there was still fresh.
"Thanks," I said.
"Get anything?" He asked.
"Who would get me anything? Malcolm? Janet?"
"You'd think for a guy's thirteenth they'd do something."
I shrugged.
"Miss Abernathy gave me a card."
"See, you got something. Maybe your social worker will bring you something.
I rolled my eyes. Arlene hadn't been to see me in four months. This was my third time back in the Boy's Home. I'd been here six months already. The first time I was here, when I was 10, I was here for three months. She said she'd get me placed in a home 'as soon as possible'. Bullshit.
The second time was after that foster home got condemned when someone found out they had too many foster kids. Oh. And they abused the shit out of us. I spent a year at the Boy's Home then. Going by that trend, I figured I'd be here for at least two years this time.
"Yeah. Wake me up when I pass out from holding my breath," I said. Charlie shrugged.
"Maybe they'll give you a cake at dinner," Charlie said. Then we laughed. No one got a cake for their birthday here.
We went into the cafeteria for lunch. I took my tray and looked at the food. Or, what passed for food here. Charlie and I sat with our gang, Terence, Jim, Tyler and James.
"What the fuck even is this?" Terence asked, lifting the slab of mystery maybe meat with his fork.
"I hear there's a meat shortage," I said. "That's last week's dish sponge with gravy."
The guys laughed.
"Honestly, that sounds more appealing than this looks," Terence muttered.
We ate quickly. If you sit and wait, someone's bound to come try to spill your lunch in your lap or just steal it.
Most of the guys left me and my gang alone. Terence was fifteen and tall and muscular. He'd beaten the shit out of a few dumb kids in the past. You don't mess with Terence if you value your life. Charlie was fourteen and my roommate. His parents died in a car crash and he got into trouble in his last foster home, so he got sent to the Boy's Home. Tyler's parents were in prison for drugs. Tyler was in the Boy's Home for the same reason. He needed therapy before they'd place him in a foster home apparently.
Jim and James both had parents who'd beaten the crap out of them. James' parents kept him locked in their basement. He was nine when social services finally got him out of there. He was twelve now. He was a long hauler. He'd only ever been at the Boy's Home. Jim was also thirteen like me. His story wasn't much different from mine.
Just as we were finishing lunch, Bruno came over to our table. Bruno was the oldest kid in the Home. At seventeen he was about to age out.
"You little fags got my money?" He growled.
"Where the fuck do you think we're going to get money from?" I asked him.
"Aww. Didn't no one send you a card for your birthday? Doesn't your mommy love you?"
"Don't talk about my mom," I warned him.
"What are you gonna do about it? Huh? You little faggot," he said.
I launched myself at him. She may not be a good mother but she was my mother. Only I was allowed to talk shit about her.
I started punching Bruno. Shouts of 'fight, fight, fight!' filled the room. I stopped hearing it and was zeroed in on Bruno. I punched him in the stomach, face, anywhere I could.
"Stop! Stop this right now!" Someone was shouting.
I turned to see who dared try to stop us. It was Malcolm and Jake. Fuck.
Bruno took advantage of my distraction and landed a blow to the right side of my head. I saw stars. Then nothing.
When I woke up, I saw I was in the hospital wing. I groaned.
"Stephen!" A voice said as I opened my eyes. I took a second to let my vision clear. It was Arlene.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I'd like to know what you were thinking trying to take on Bruno. You know fighting is against the rules."
"Big deal," I said. "So I'll get a demerit. What are they gonna do? Take away my privilege to what? Watch crappy TV in the day room? Oh no. I'm so upset. Please don't take my TV time away!"
I pretended to be sad about it. Fifty boys, twelve sharing the TV on this floor. You think we ever agree on something to watch? Maybe if there's a football or baseball game on, but otherwise? Fat chance. Then I rolled my eyes so she knew I wasn't bothered by losing my TV privileges.
"Stephen, you can't go around getting into fights! How's that going to look to your foster parents?"
I looked around the hospital wing.
"Yo, Arlene, do you see any foster parents around here? By the way, where the fuck have you been? I've been here for, like, six months. I think you've come maybe once?"
"I have a really big caseload, Stephen. I can't be here every day."
"Did I ask you to be here every day? You used to come once a week. Then it was once a month. Now it's what? Once a year?"
"Stephen, that's not fair."
"You know what isn't fair? Growing up with a mother that hates you, her boyfriend who rapes you and then getting stuck in this joke of a foster system."
"You're right. None of that is fair. But we're stretched so thin, Stephen. I'm doing my best. I'm trying."
I rolled my eyes. But I looked at Arlene. She looked tired. When she first was my social worker, she was great. But as the years have gone on, she was less positive. She was burnt out. Or getting there. I felt a little sorry for her.
"How's Chris?" I asked her.
"He's doing well, thank you," Arlene smiled.
"And Annie?" Arlene's eyes lit up. When I was eleven, Chris and Arlene got married and when I was twelve, they'd had their daughter.
"She's doing very well, thank you. Still not sleeping through the night, but she's getting there."
"Cool," I said. "So why are you even here?"
"Well, I'd hoped to come wish you a happy birthday. I brought you a present."
"Thanks," I said. She handed me a gift bag. It was a book. The book was called 'Freud: A Life For Our Times'.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Remember how people wound ask if you were related to Sigmund Freud because you have the same last name? That's his biography. I know how much you read. And I know you're reading way outside your grade level. I thought you might like it."
"Thanks," I said, dropping the book back in the bag.
"I also have some good news for you," Arlene said.
"Doubtful," I said.
"I found another foster home for you. Let's go gather your things and get you to your new home."