The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (leveled readers txt) 📗

breathing whistling into the silence. I was warm and safe in this room. I’d experienced that same feeling when I clung to Colby all those years ago. We were two clumsy teens experimenting with sex in that rundown little room, but I’d spent years trying to recapture the same intimacy in the arms and beds of many other men. It had eluded me until now. Colby, my first, and Guy who I hoped might be my last lover, would always be the best, and that was something positive about my life that would never change.

I could never risk losing Guy. And that’s why he could never know about Birdie.

Even though I was so close to finding her.

27

Summer break was looming on the horizon and I still hadn’t summoned up the courage to tell the kids I was leaving. I was afraid I’d lose them. They’d see it as treachery or desertion. Not a simple career move.

I knew their way of thinking. It went like this. You start by trusting every well-intentioned adult who enters your life. You cling to them, believing they can actually help you. Then, one after another, they drift away or cast you off when they can’t cope with the ton of messy baggage you’re carrying. I’d lived that life. Always hoping that this time I’d land a permanent, nurturing home where good, kind people would cherish me and never let me down. It didn’t happen for me. Until the Levines turned my life around and then Guy came along and adored me.

But the kids in my class, they’d poured out their hopes, fears and deepest, darkest secrets into those journals and I’d received them with a promise that we shared a bond of trust that couldn’t be broken. How could I tell them I was packing up and leaving?

I’d already lost Carla. Hadn’t heard a word about her since I’d seen her at the manicure salon. But Dane was actually close to graduating and I couldn’t jeopardize that fragile situation. Especially when there was a faint chance he could go to college and make a better life for himself.

Robin always knocked himself out searching for scholarships, bursaries, awards – anything to keep the kids away from the streets. That guy was dedicated. Irreplaceable. Not like me. And though I convinced myself they’d easily find a replacement for me, I still felt guilty that I’d sold myself out for money and prestige.

But there was no turning back now. I’d come too far.

I stayed late at school on the day of the stag party, flipping through the journals, reading the same sentence ten times over until I looked up and almost jumped out of my chair. Dane was standing at the back of the classroom. He’d dyed his hair and now sported a cerise Mohawk cut. Along with his wire-rimmed glasses he looked like some half human, half goblin character from a Harry Potter movie.

“Got a question?” I said, beckoning him closer.

He shook his head. He usually talked in two-word sentences. “Tell you something?”

“Sure, anything.”

When he dug his hands into the pockets of the ripped trench coat and hunched his shoulders, he reminded me of Colby. A stab of pain ripped at my heart.

“It’s Carla,” he murmured.

I leaned forward and spoke softly as if he was a bird that would fly away at the slightest noise. “Okay – tell me.”

“She’s with Rafferty. It’s bad stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

He shook his head. “The girls. He gives them stuff. Gets them high. Makes them work for him. Hires them out.”

“For what?”

“That’s all I know,” he said, shaking his head. It was useless to push him any further. “I gotta go now.”

I called after him. “If you find out anything else, Dane. I’m here.”

He nodded without looking back at me, then was gone.

I stood up, my heart thudding. Rafferty. That sweet-faced bastard, that conniving prick. Fifteen years ago, I’d found out everything there was to know about Mr. Earl Rafferty and his business.

The night before our planned escape, Lester and Patti had a couple of friends over. Tray and Anita. Two wild-eyed junkies who’d stopped by a few weeks before and promised to bring along some quality meth.

Perched on my usual chair in the corner of the living room, I was trying to write an essay outline when I heard Patti in the kitchen jabbering like a fiend to Lester while he stirred up a huge pot of mac and cheese. Tray and Anita sat like a pair of shabby scarecrows at the kitchen table, a scrunched up brown paper bag in front of them. Tray was skinny with stringy, yellow hair. Every time Lester passed by, Tray’s hand shot out to cover the paper bag.

I was just about to make a hasty retreat to the bedroom when, for the first time in days, Birdie dragged herself out of bed. She flopped down on Patti’s couch, grabbed the sacred remote and began to flip through the channels. My stomach churned. I had to get her out of the room before Patti found her there. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window showing me how much Birdie had changed. Her body was so thin her shoulder blades poked through her skin, which was covered in pale peach fuzz. If Patti got pissed off she could snap those bird arms with one twist of her pudgy fingers.

“Come sit at the table,” I whispered.

Birdie looked at me with blank eyes.

“Patti’s gonna be pissed.”

“Screw her. Wait a couple of hours. Then the shit’s really gonna hit the fan, Miss Goody Two Shoes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How long do you think they can lock me up here like some sad junkie? Every day I have to fight off Lester the pervert while you go off to school like Miss Perfect Angel. I know you’re in it with them. I know you’re getting high on all their junk.”

I knelt down by her chair. Her eyes blazed out from dark hollows. “You don’t know what