The Foster Kid

 

The Foster Kid

Bronagh smirked and threw James a look that said I know something you don’t know I know.

When he had started this new school Bronagh had befriended him. He soon found out that for teenager she was pretty nosy. What she didn’t know about people she made it her business to find out. She dogged his every move asking question. But James had learned to keep the secrets of the past to himself.

“Walls have ears,” she sniggered now as she leaned towards him retrieving the pencil she had pretended to drop on the classroom floor.

Uneasiness settled around James’s belly. “Shut up, you. Teacher is watching me. I don’t want detention.” He sighed. He didn’t know how long it would be until he’d be move to another school. He had hoped this was the school where he could stay for a while catch up on his schoolwork

The bell rung for end of class. Bronagh tossed back her wheat coloured hair and followed him out.” Mothers from hell” Have you seen that on TV?” she said an astute look filtering across her face.

James swung around. He had moved next door to Bronagh a month ago. “So what did you hear through the wall? Don’t your parent’s have bawling rows?” he went on without waiting for her answer.

Bronagh startled but quickly recovered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a foster kid,” she said brusquely.

James’s shoulders slumped. That was something he had hoped wouldn’t come out; at least not until he had made some friends. He had told everybody in school both his parents were in the Army and were serving overseas and he had come to stay with his relatives until they came back.

That’s what the argument had started about last night between him and foster parents when they found out he had been telling lies. In the end he had put his head phones on and blocked out the words.

“You could have told me. Best friends don’t keep secret from each other. I can keep it a secret…if you want me to.” Bronagh huffed. “But only if you tell me everything, “she insisted.

James looked at her incredulously. Really? She who had never known that it was like not to have a mother and father to care for her wanted to hear everything about his sad life? About his succession of foster home where, when his crack addict of a mother caught any sense of his being happy she’d come and berate the people reminding them she was his mother and they had no right to love him. Only she could do that, except she couldn’t James thought bitterly.

She had obviously discovered where he was and had made trouble for him again.

Abruptly he turned and walked away from Bronagh. He knew by the time he got to school the next day it would be all over social media that he was a foster kid and a liar.

Going to his first class the next morning he received some odd looks and curious stares. Bronagh wasn’t in class. Where was she? James didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. At break time he was summoned to the Headmaster’s office. He gathered up all his belongings. He knew the drill. His mother had made an accusation against a teacher or his foster parents. Or somebody. He was being moved on again.

To his surprise Bronagh was there. “Meet the editor of our new school magazine,” the Headmaster beamed. “She had written her first article and wants your permission to publish it,” he said proffering a sheet of typed paper.

James gasped as he read what she had written. “Where did you get all this information,” he blustered. It was like a summary of his life.

Bronagh shrugged. “Walls have ears,” she retorted. “And your foster mother has a loud voice.”

James read the article a second time. And he made a decision. He was finish running from his mother and his past. “I am who I am,” he said quietly. “Print it. I can’t be the only foster kid in the school.”

The Head cleared his throat. “I have arranged for you to stay with us until you have finished your studies. I hope that is OK with you?”

His first flush of defiant beginning to fade, James looked down at his feet. “What about my mother…and her accusations,” he mumbled. “She could make trouble for the school.”

The Headmaster drew himself up.”Ah, yes, a bit of a challenge, I admit, but I think you need not worry on that account,” he smiled.

Going back to class James touched Bronagh’s arm. “Thanks for not mentioning in the article that my mother is a crack addict, “he said.

Bronagh shrugged. “Parents who do drugs – that’s next month’s article, “she said nonchalantly