[ She places her hand, palm down, against Sarissa's arm, closes her eyes, and concentrates. It takes several moments, but then—
Sarah is small, seven or eight, sitting alone in an overgrown back garden and pushing herself on an ancient swing tied to a tree branch. Ahead of her is the group home, what they used to call an orphanage, before the term fell out of use. A tall building, dark brown brick, dark windows, and inside, communal bedrooms with old, uncomfortable beds, long dining tables meant for too many kids, and all of them overcrowded and ignored and built with sharp edges.
"You must be Sarah," a woman says, approaching from the side yard. She's Irish. "Heard quite a bit about you."
Well, that's never good. Sarah doesn't bother looking up. "Did you change your mind?" she asks dully, like this has happened before. Like she's tired of trying anymore.
"About what?" the woman asks.
Sarah shrugs. "You're the new one, right? Until the next new one."
"So sure it won't work out already?" Mrs. S asks, approaching the makeshift swing.
Sarah finally looks over, but not really. She peers out from behind her hair, eyes downcast and suspicious, mouth set in a thin line. "It never does," she says. Not sadly, really. Just stating a fact that's been drilled into her all her life. "Pretend parents are stupid anyway."
"Oh," Mrs. S says, kneeling down to be on her level, "real parents can be stupid too. Or even worse. Luck of the draw, really."
Sarah looks away, up at the cloudy sky, and scuffs her shoes into the dirt. "Guess I'm really unlucky."
"I could say the same," S says. She doesn't smile, and her eyes are sad. "But you know what? You can learn to make your own luck. You can even make your own family. One you choose because you want it."
Sarah looks from the sky to her shoes, says nothing.
"Not saying it's easy," S says. "Family almost never is. But I'm ready and willing to give it a go. Are you?"
Sarah, finally, looks up, blows the hair out of her face. The expression in her eyes is very much like hope. She doesn't believe, but she wants to. "Maybe for a little bit," she says finally. "Like a few days." ]
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[ She places her hand, palm down, against Sarissa's arm, closes her eyes, and concentrates. It takes several moments, but then—
Sarah is small, seven or eight, sitting alone in an overgrown back garden and pushing herself on an ancient swing tied to a tree branch. Ahead of her is the group home, what they used to call an orphanage, before the term fell out of use. A tall building, dark brown brick, dark windows, and inside, communal bedrooms with old, uncomfortable beds, long dining tables meant for too many kids, and all of them overcrowded and ignored and built with sharp edges.
"You must be Sarah," a woman says, approaching from the side yard. She's Irish. "Heard quite a bit about you."
Well, that's never good. Sarah doesn't bother looking up. "Did you change your mind?" she asks dully, like this has happened before. Like she's tired of trying anymore.
"About what?" the woman asks.
Sarah shrugs. "You're the new one, right? Until the next new one."
"So sure it won't work out already?" Mrs. S asks, approaching the makeshift swing.
Sarah finally looks over, but not really. She peers out from behind her hair, eyes downcast and suspicious, mouth set in a thin line. "It never does," she says. Not sadly, really. Just stating a fact that's been drilled into her all her life. "Pretend parents are stupid anyway."
"Oh," Mrs. S says, kneeling down to be on her level, "real parents can be stupid too. Or even worse. Luck of the draw, really."
Sarah looks away, up at the cloudy sky, and scuffs her shoes into the dirt. "Guess I'm really unlucky."
"I could say the same," S says. She doesn't smile, and her eyes are sad. "But you know what? You can learn to make your own luck. You can even make your own family. One you choose because you want it."
Sarah looks from the sky to her shoes, says nothing.
"Not saying it's easy," S says. "Family almost never is. But I'm ready and willing to give it a go. Are you?"
Sarah, finally, looks up, blows the hair out of her face. The expression in her eyes is very much like hope. She doesn't believe, but she wants to. "Maybe for a little bit," she says finally. "Like a few days." ]