“I like her. She’s kind of cool.”
“You mean the ‘old lady’?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, good.” Lori gives her a tight smile. A ferrety smile. “You’ve got what, twenty-two hours left, right? Try to make the most of this experience. And I hope I don’t need to remind you that you’re on probation. If you’re caught drinking or doing drugs or otherwise breaking the law, we’re back to square one. You clear on that?”
Molly is tempted to say, Damn, you mean I have to shut down my meth lab? And I gotta delete those naked pictures I posted on Facebook? But instead she smiles steadily at Lori and says, “I’m clear.”
Pulling Molly’s transcript out of the file, Lori says, “Look at this. Your SATs are in the 600s. And you have a 3.8 average this semester. That’s really good.”
“It’s an easy school.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
“It is a big deal, actually. These are applying-to-college stats. Have you thought about that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Last year, when she transferred from Bangor High, she was close to failing. In Bangor, she’d had no incentive to do homework—her foster parents were partiers, and she’d come home from school to find a house full of drunks. In Spruce Harbor, there aren’t so many distractions. Dina and Ralph don’t drink or smoke, and they’re strict. Jack has a beer now and then, but that’s about it. And Molly discovered that she actually likes to study.
No one has ever talked to her about college except the school guidance counselor who halfheartedly recommended nursing school when she got an A last semester in bio. Her grades have kind of shot up without anyone noticing.
“I don’t really think I’m college material,” Molly says.
“Well, apparently you are,” says Lori. “And since you’re officially on your own when you turn eighteen, you might want to start looking into it. There are some decent scholarships out there for aged-out foster youth.” She shuts the folder. “Or you can apply for a job behind the counter at the Somesville One-Stop. It’s up to you.”
“SO HOW’S THAT COMMUNITY SERVICE WORKING OUT?” RALPH asks at dinner, pouring himself a big glass of milk.
“It’s all right,” Molly says. “The woman is really old. She has a lot of stuff.”
“Fifty hours’ worth?” Dina asks.
“I don’t know. But I guess there are other things I can do if I finish cleaning out boxes. The house is huge.”
“Yeah, I’ve done some work over there. Old pipes,” Ralph says. “Have you met Terry? The housekeeper?”
Molly nods. “Actually, she’s Jack’s mother.”
Dina perks up. “Wait a minute. Terry Gallant? I went to high school with her! I didn’t know Jack was her kid.”
“Yep,” Molly says.
Waving a chunk of hot dog around on her fork, Dina says, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
Molly gives Ralph a what the fuck? look, but he just gazes placidly back.
“It’s sad what happens to people, y’know?” Dina says, shaking her head. “Terry Gallant used to be Miss Popular. Homecoming Queen and all that. Then she got knocked up by some Mexican scrub—and now look at her, she’s a maid.”
“Actually, he was Dominican,” Molly mumbles.
“Whatever. Those illegals are all the same, aren’t they?”
Deep breath, stay cool, get through dinner. “If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Hey, now, ladies, that’s enough.” Ralph is smiling, but it’s a worried grimace; he knows Molly is pissed. He’s always making excuses—“She didn’t mean nothing by it,” “She’s yanking your chain”—when Dina does things like intone “the Tribe has spoken” when Molly expresses an opinion. “You need to stop taking yourself so seriously, little girl,” Dina said when Molly asked her to knock it off. “If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re going to have a very hard life.”
So Molly moves her mouth muscles into a smile, picks up her plate, thanks Dina for dinner. She says she’s got a lot of homework, and Ralph says he’ll clean up the kitchen. Dina says it’s time for some trash TV.
“Housewives of Spruce Harbor,” Ralph says. “When are we going to see that?”
“Maybe Terry Gallant could be in it. Show that yearbook photo of her in her tiara, cut to her washing floors.” Dina cackles. “I’d watch that one for sure!”