Runaways (Orphans 5)

/>

beneficiaries."

You lucky kids? Do a good deed? Louise and Gordon care about someone else besides themselves? Crystal, who is smart enough to become President someday, if women could ever become President, told us how Louise and Gordon receive money for each child and how that money grows as the child gets older, and then how that money is tax free!

"It's Saturday. Why can't we sleep later on Saturday?" Raven moaned.

"Bring it up at the next meeting of the direc

tors," I quipped. "You better move your rump, Raven,

before the rug rats take up both bathrooms."

On our floor we had to share the bathroom with

six other orphans. Gordon was always lecturing us

about running the hot water too long. We were

convinced he was the inventor of the two-minute cold

shower. The Lakewood House had its own well, and

he threatened us with the horrible possibility of our

running out of water and having to bring it up in pails

from the lake.

"I hate this," Raven grumbled. For a moment I

stared at her as if she had said something unexpected. Yes, I hate it too, I thought, but neither of us

has had any prospective parents nibbling around us.

And chances were, we never would. Crystal, who was

a junior computer whiz, spent the most time of anyone

on the home's one donated computer. She often

presented us with wonderful facts, especially about

foster children. On any given day, she claimed, there

were nearly 50,000 foster children who no longer lived with their mother or father and have been declared by the courts as free to be adopted, but who usually remained in state-run, state-funded substitute care. Good luck to all of them. Crystal told us the population of foster children is growing 33 times faster than the U.S. population in general. Maybe

we'll take over the world, I joked, but no one laughed. I slipped into my panties and reached for my

jeans just-as Crystal burst into our room, her face

flushed. She was still in pajamas, which for Crystal

was very unusual. She was Miss Punctuality. "What?"

"She's doing it again! She worse. She's like . . .

petrified wood!"