and if he didn’t, she must have

been one magical piece of ass.

Cynical? Me? Yeah, maybe

I am, but then, why wouldn’t

I be? Since the day I was born,

I’ve been passed around. Pushed

around. Drop-kicked around.

The most totally messed-up

part of that is the more it

happens, the less I care. Anyway,

as foster homes go, this one is

okay. Except for the screaming.

SCREAMING, AGAIN

It’s Darla’s favorite method

of communication, and not

really the best one for a foster

parent. I mean, aren’t they

supposed to guide us gently?

Her shrill falsetto saws through

the hollow-core bedroom door.

Ashante! How many times

do I have to tell you to make

your goddamn bed? It’s a rule!

Jeez, man. Ashante is only

seven, and she hasn’t even

been here a week. Darla

really should get an actual job,

leave the fostering to Phil,

who is patient and kind-eyed

and willing enough to smile.

Tags: Ellen Hopkins Crank
Source: readsnovelonline.net