A Horse to Love Page 6

  Mrs. Chambers took a reluctant Skye from room to room to meet the staff.

  “Skye,” said Mrs. Chambers as they walked into the front office, “I’d like you to meet Fred Scott, our program director. The Marines weren’t tough enough for him, so he decided to tackle this job.” Mr. Scott pushed his dark muscular frame away from his desk, stood, ran one powerful hand over his crew cut, and reached the other one toward Skye.

  “I’m glad to meet you,” he said. His brown eyes sparkled behind thick-rimmed glasses.

  Skye stuck her dead-fish hand in his. “Yeah,” she said.

  Mrs. Chambers pointed to an adjoining room with a desk and computer. “That’s Mrs. Klase, our secretary, and our van driver, Mr. Boyer.”

  “Hel o, Skye!” Mrs. Klase yel ed as her stubby fingers pecked at a keyboard. Her stare never left the monitor.

  “Howdy do,” Mr. Boyer said.

  In the next office, Skye met an older counselor named Alan Ling, who was from some Asian country.

  Then there were the ten to fifteen kids like her meandering down the hal way or gathering in a large open room. At last Skye had found kindred spirits.

  Red, yel ow, black, and white slouch champions, experts at talking back, highbrow liars, druggies, tire slashers, and hooky players. She might have to suffer through group counseling, but at least she had company.

  Every day after that Skye met with Mr. Scott and the group in a room large enough for a circle of metal chairs to hug the center and cafeteria tables to line the wal s. This was Interactive Instructional Counseling, better known as I C. Mr. Scott and other adults lectured about drugs, pregnancy, parents, and other supposedly important issues. Then after a week of the same boring stuff, Mr. Scott changed the routine.

  As usual, Skye sauntered off the van, complained al the way into the building, and sought out her new friends in the large room. Just like clockwork fifteen minutes before the session began, Mrs. Klase served boring snacks while the group mingled, consoling each other in their miseries.

  Spiked-hair kids with earrings in their noses and eyebrows, girls with Goth makeup and black clothing barely covering their bodies, and boys with elephant-size T-shirts and cargo pants dragging on the floor grabbed their snacks and slinked to the corners in little cliques. Bad attitude seethed in the room —

  except for two girls who were dressed much like the others but stood talking and half-smiling with Mrs.

  Klase.

  Skye melded into one of the corners and practiced her own Oscar-winning pout. But on the inside, al she could think about was Champ.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Scott’s gruff voice announced, “gather around, please. We have no special guests today. It’s Melissa’s turn to bring herself up.” He gestured toward the girls standing with Mrs. Klase. An attractive blonde looked at the floor as her face turned bright red.

  Bringing herself up. Ha! Mrs. Chambers had told Skye about this new type of therapy. Today Melissa would stand before the group and come clean about her latest “sins.” If everything went as planned, she would be gril ed by the rest of the group about what she’d done wrong. Then Melissa had to say she was sorry. That’s when Mr. Scott and the other kids would tel her how great she was.

  “No way!” Skye had said after hearing about it.

  “Why would anyone in their right mind fess up to a bunch of kids who are doing the same things? That’s stupid.”

  “It takes a lot of courage to admit you’re wrong,” Mrs. Chambers had said. “You’l see. And we can’t even begin to help you until you get to that place.” Now Skye found herself mumbling and dragging herself to the center of the room with al the other kids. She flopped into a chair, grumbling under her breath, and waited for the sideshow to begin. In the meantime she spent the moments dreaming about Champ and devising a plan to kidnap him and leave her miserable, rotten life here behind.

  “Before we start” — Mr. Scott’s voice rose as he pushed his way forward — “I have some announcements. Settle down, please.” They al settled in their own good time.

  “First of al , wil the person who blocked the toilet with paper towels please come forward?” A hornet’s nest of snickers erupted from the circle.

  “Al right, quiet down. You may think you’re getting away with something, but we’l eventual y find out who you are, and you will face the consequences.” Begrudgingly, the nest of kids settled down.

  “Secondly,” Mr. Scott continued, “Umlauf’s Bakery cal ed yesterday. Anyone at least fifteen years old want twenty hours of work a week?”

  More dissension erupted.

  “Hey!” he said, almost shouting, and the mob quieted. “Look at it this way. Twenty hours a week in programming or twenty hours a week earning megabucks. Think about it.

  “I also want to remind you that after I C and pizza today, we’re going bowling for our weekly activity.

  Remember, people, no hiding in the bathrooms and smoking, and no couples snuggling in a corner somewhere. You wil al stay with the group. Is that clear, ladies and gentlemen?

  “That’s it for announcements,” Mr. Scott said over the quieting rumble. “Now today is special for Melissa.”He pointed at the girl now sitting sheepishly across from Skye. “Melissa has come a long way in her six months here. She’s learned about responsibility, blame and, wel , Melissa, come up here.”

  Melissa stared at the floor, folded her arms, and stood next to the man.

  “Why are you here today?” asked Mr. Scott.

  “I’m bringing myself up.”

  “Okay, people. You heard that. She’s bringing herself up. Please give Melissa your undivided attention.”

  Like magic, as soon as the words left Mr. Scott’s mouth every kid sat silent and focused on Melissa.

  Skye slouched, watching the others. On the outside, her cool eyes surveyed the circle, while on the inside her mouth dropped open. What’s happening?

  “Okay, Melissa. You have the floor,” Mr. Scott announced.

  A panic-stricken Melissa slowly faced each kid in the room. Skye studied the scene, her eyes darting from Melissa to the other stone faces in the group.

  “I’m bringing myself up because I snuck out of the house at midnight last week and ran away. I know that was wrong.” Her lips quivered as her fingers played with the short sleeves of her too-tight top.

  “Why did you do that?” a teen with a head of tiny braids barked. He folded his arms and sat more erect in his chair.

  “Because my old man — I mean my father — was drunk again.”

  “Unacceptable!” the girl with the nose ring snapped. “Just because your old man was drunk, you ran away?”

  Mr. Scott stepped forward. “It’s ‘father,’ not ‘old man,’ Pam.”

  “Al right — father, ” Pam said. She smacked while chewing a giant wad of bubblegum. “C’mon, Melissa. Tel us why you ran.”

  Skye gawked at them al . Man, this is tough, she thought. No way am I ever gonna do this. No way!

  Melissa’s face reddened even more and her eyes fil ed with tears. “’Cause I’m afraid of him when he’s drunk.”

  “Yeah, but why didn’t you cal Maranatha?” shouted a pudgy girl with a shaved head and ears lined with silver studs. “You know that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re in trouble. That’s the deal we made.”

  “Yeah!” the entire circle repeated in sarcastic voices before they al fel silent.

  Tears ran down Melissa’s face. “I know I should have cal ed instead of running away with Marty,” she sobbed, wiping her eyes with both hands. “That’s why I’m here. I know what I did was wrong. I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  The circle of kids went silent.

  “Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen?” Mr.

  Scott said. “She’s coming clean. She made a mistake and now she’s here to make things right. It takes a lot of courage to do that. What do you say?

  Shal we forgive her?”

  Without hesitation, every kid, inc
luding Skye who fol owed the rest, gathered around Melissa. Boys extended their hands to shake hers, some girls patted her on the back, and others hugged her.

  “We forgive you, Melissa,” Pam said.

  “You did good,” the guy with the braids said.

  Others echoed with “you’re okay now,” or “we’re with you al the way.” I C was over, and Melissa smiled.

  Skye stood back, total y shocked by what she had seen. Never before had she witnessed anybody fess up and real y mean it — in front of a group no less!

  She studied Melissa’s peaceful, relieved face.

  Maranatha was definitely different. But Skye hadn’t decided whether that was a good or bad thing.

  Mr. Scott spoke above the chatter. “Please be seated. Except you, Melissa. Stay here.” He gestured for her to stand next to him and then whispered in her ear. She nodded. The group fel silent.

  “Melissa has something else she’d like to say,” Mr. Scott added. “Go ahead, Melissa.” With stil -glistening eyes, Melissa now beamed with newfound hope. “After they found Marty and me last week, I realized that what I’ve been learning here at Maranatha is the truth. I decided to come clean not only with the staff here but also with God. I accepted Christ into my life, and he’s helping me see things a whole different way. He’s becoming the best friend I ever had. I wish you al would try it. It’s so cool.”

  “I think from now on you’l see a whole different Melissa,” Mr. Scott said. He shook Melissa’s hand

  warmly. “Welcome to the family of God.” I can’t take much more of this God stuff, Skye thought. When I run, nobody’s gonna fi nd me!

  Three times a week at Maranatha, drug and alcohol counseling forced Skye into what she considered her own private torture room — Mrs. Chambers’

  office.

  “Get off my back!” Skye had complained at her fi rst session. “I don’t need you jumping al over me. I’m not high on any drugs!”

  “Maybe you’re not on the hard stuff,” Mrs.

  Chambers said, “but any kid who needs a handful of uppers a day needs help. And that includes you.” After that Skye had nothing to say.

  Stil , she had to face individual counseling again on Friday. After I C, pizza, and bowling, al but three of the others had been dropped off at home. Both Mr. Scott and Mr. Ling had retreated to their offices with their clients, and that left Skye alone with Mrs.

  Chambers.

  Skye’s emotions ran wild. On the outside, she was seething with hatred. On the inside, she just wished everyone would vanish into thin air.

  “Wel , Skye,” Mrs. Chambers said as she folded her hands on the desk, “is today going to be different or are we going to meditate for an hour? You know I’m in this for the long haul. We’l meet as long as it takes to tackle your problems. If you’d start talking, you’d realize that hope and solutions are available.

  What do you say?”

  Mrs. Chambers smiled and Skye looked down. As usual when sitting before this woman, Skye’s heart pounded like a drum and her stomach did backflips.

  Afraid? Of Mrs. Chambers? Yet there was something in Mrs. Chambers’ smile and in her deep blue eyes that caused Skye to feel conflicting emotions. She detested sitting in this office alone with her — and yet she somehow liked it, although she would never admit it. Somehow Eileen Chambers was different. Despite the stupid rules and the fact she stood for everything that Skye hated, Mrs. Chambers real y did seem to care.

  Skye wrestled with her feelings. She’d felt this conflict between liking and hating before. Staying in between the two hadn’t worked in the past, and Skye was sure it wouldn’t work now. She had tried liking

  — no loving — her foster mom four homes ago.

  Skye had handed her heart to Mrs. Taylor on a silver platter. What a mistake! When she discovered that al Mrs. Taylor wanted was a babysitter for the twins, Skye’s heart had been ripped out like a button off a rag dol .

  On the other hand, why not have a little fun? Skye thought. Tell a few dozen lies just to get it over with.Why not? I have to sit here anyway.

  Skye looked up into Mrs. Chambers’ pleading blue eyes.

  “Is that a yes?” Mrs. Chambers asked.

  Skye nodded and gave a stingy this-ought-to-be-good smile as her heart slowed a little and she found herself relaxing into the chair.

  “I think that after a while you’l find that you actual y enjoy these sessions.” Her eyes darted from Skye to the paper and back. “Al we’re going to do is chat, so take a deep breath and relax. I’m just going to ask you a few questions. For the last two weeks we’ve been discussing how important it is to confront your fears. Remember?”

  Skye nodded and ran one hand slowly through her hair.

  “I’ve read your court records, and for a thirteen-year-old kid you’ve been through an awful lot. Can you remember how many foster homes you’ve been in?”

  “Four, five. I don’t know,” Skye forced out.

  Mrs. Chambers gently opened Skye’s file.

  “According to this, you’ve been in thirteen foster homes and never longer than six months. How do you feel about that?”

  “I hated every one of them,” Skye said.

  “Hate drives people to do terrible things. Do you know what hate is?”

  Skye felt her heart pound a little faster before she answered. “It’s when you can’t stand something so bad you could throw up, punch somebody’s lights out, and run away al at the same time!”

  “Did any of those things ever make you feel better?”Mrs. Chambers asked.

  “Throwing up did and so did the other two until I got caught.”

  “But did they solve the problem?”

  “Nah.”

  “What causes people to hate, Skye? What causes people to lie, to murder, to do bad things?”

  “Bad vibes, raw deals — a rotten life that’s not fair.

  I’ve had my share,” Skye said.

  Mrs. Chambers reached for a book on her desk.

  Skye’s eyes fol owed her every move . Not the Bible! Here we go again, she groaned inwardly.

  Mrs. Chambers laid the book down and then leafed through it. “Did you know the Bible tel s us that Satan is the father of lies? He’s the enemy of God and the originator of sin. That includes hate, deceit, murder, and al evil. What do you think of that?” Since we’re talking about lies, I’ll demonstrate.

  Time for a lie — a big one, Skye thought.

  “For real,” she said with a charade of interest cloaking her face. “I never knew that. So it isn’t real y my fault, is it?” Skye knew about that Satan stuff from Mr. Rice, five foster homes ago. Most of the time Skye didn’t buy it. But sometimes she could feel something — anger, rage, hate — when she listened to hard rock or took certain pil s. Who knows?

  Maybe it was Satan’s power. Just thinking about it gave her the creeps.

  “Skye, your hate is your own fault,” Mrs. Chambers said, relaxing in her chair. “According to the Bible, we’re al responsible for our own actions.” She leaned back and smiled. “What do you think of your parents?”

  “I hate them!” Skye’s voice rose emphatical y.

  “How can you hate someone you don’t even know?”

  “I just do. That’s al . Can we change the subject?”Skye’s posture stiffened and her face flushed.

  “It’s going to take more sessions to deal with this issue, Skye. But before we wrap this up, I want you to realize one thing. Although you are total y responsible for al of your actions, there’s a reason behind it. You are so ful of hate for your parents that you can’t see straight. Did you know that anger and bitterness can destroy you?”

  Skye shook her head and slouched in disgust.

  Mrs. Chambers’ voice softened. “Skye, when you al ow bitterness to fester in your heart, it eats away at you just like a cancer. Eventual y it wil destroy you and deeply hurt al those around you. The only way you can get rid of it is to ask God to take it away.

  That
’s why you’re stuck in a cycle of hate. That’s why you do drugs and run away. You need God to clean al that hate out of your heart and fil it with love — his love. Skye, are you listening?”

  “Yeah,” she said weakly. But she was thinking, Not in this lifetime! My parents can rot for all I care.

  chapter eight

  Skye dragged herself off the yel ow school bus in front of Madison with what felt like a ton of books and two tons of homework. She hated this place!

  Besides suffering through the homework, her frazzled brain had been working overtime on this foster home business. If it weren’t for Champ, she’d be history!

  Trudging up the concrete steps, Skye scanned the hal way packed with rowdy middle schoolers banging locker doors, chattering with each other, hurrying, laughing, and scowling. Weaving her way to her locker, she searched desperately for two familiar faces.

  Sooze and Kenny, where are you? I just have to see you before I report to Principal Bubba’s office. I just have to!

  “Hi, Skye,” said a sweet voice from behind.

  Skye turned toward the girl who had grabbed her arm.

  “Oh, hi!” Skye said.

  It was Robin Ward, one of the few people Skye could stand at Madison. Robin had short dark hair and was built like a bul dozer, yet she was sweet as sugar. Robin was an honor rol student and a star softbal , basketbal , and soccer player. Skye hated to admit it as she looked at Robin’s short stocky frame, but she was actual y glad to see her, even if she was a little different.

  Different? It never occurred to Skye until that very moment that Robin was different because she was like the Chambers. She was one of them. A religious nut. A Christian! “Where you been, girl?” Robin asked, pushing her hair behind her ears.

  “In prison,” Skye grumbled.

  “Prison!”

  “Almost. I was placed again. This time in the ultimate torture chamber. Speaking of chamber, their names are Tom and Eileen Chambers. Do you know them? They own Keystone Stables about three miles west of town.”