Out Of This World

Prologue

TWENTY YEARS AGO

“And what about—umm—Sofia?”

The pause that fills the living room has me holding my breath, squatting lower in the hidden hallway around the corner. I huddle over my knees, puffing out my cheeks to keep the air in my mouth. Listening.

No one says anything.

That probably isn’t a good sign, right?

The social worker interviewing my current foster family gives a thoughtful hum. I hear a pen scratching on paper as she marks down a note and mutters, “I see.”

The mommy and daddy for this house are nice. They never yell or take my toys away or get angry with me for asking too many questions. I thought maybe they were so kind because they liked me and wanted me to stay.

I can tell my foster mom feels bad when she sniffles. “It’s just so much,” she bursts. “We already have four of our own and we’re taking as many fosters as we can, but—”

I know she’s right. There are only three bedrooms in this little house. We already have four sets of bunk beds just to fit their Real Kids and the rest of us.

Our foster dad cuts in, his voice low and uneven. “I’m afraid there’s no room here for anything… permanent.”

Anything.

Because that’s sort of what I am. Just a number on a file. A name on a list.

“I see,” the social worker repeats. “Well, in that case, since her placement is at an end, I suppose I’ll come back and collect her tomorrow. If you could just sign—”

Their voices fade into background noise as I run out of air. Dizzy, eyes stinging, I let my cheeks deflate on an exhale, scurrying down the hall as quietly as I can. The other kids are playing in the den, but the happy sounds in there only make my throat thicker.

I don’t want to go in there and see all the fun stuff I won’t be able to play with anymore after tomorrow. And I don’t want to think about how I’ll miss the people I spent the last six months getting used to, either.

Instead, I shuffle past, hoping to make it to our shared bedroom before anyone notices and tries to follow me.

One of the other foster kids likes to make fun of me for hiding. He isn’t mean about it, really. But he thinks it’s funny that I burrow under all the blankets I can get my hands on, especially when I’m sad.

Maybe I should stop doing that. If other people don’t like it… could that be one of the reasons none of these moms and dads keep me?

There’s no one in here to tease me tonight, and I’m glad. I don’t think I could take it without crying.

My bottom bunk is unmade. Is that the reason? I wonder, the thought hurting my chest, echoing through the emptiness there. Should I have made my bed every day?

It’s too late to find out, so I pile my covers on top of me and roll around until I feel like a burrito. Poking my head out, I find I’m facing the room’s one small window.

It’s already dark outside. Winter is coming—but I won’t be here once the holidays hit.

That thought is enough to finally push my tears from my eyes. They cloud my vision, swirling everything into a watery mess.

I don’t see the moon, tonight. Maybe that’s why the stars in the distance seem brighter than usual. I blink, trying to clear my bleary gaze. Sure I’m imagining things.

I’m not, though. They really are special—extra shiny. Just as far away… but somehow closer. As I watch, one of them suddenly winks, shooting across the distance.

A falling star.

The movie we watched last night said a whole bunch about making wishes. Normally, I think all that stuff is dumb.

But, just this once…

I close my eyes, hoping for a home. Or a family. Or even just… friends. Ones I’ll get to keep.

I’m not sure if anyone is listening. But by the time I open my eyes, the shooting star is gone—and it takes my wishes with it.