This time it wasn’t my fault.
On the last day of June, I was leaving the Johnson house hold and
headed to my thirteenth placement. This day I had dreaded for so
long. Standing by the front door, baggage by my side, I faced my
foster parents, playing my best tough-girl role.
“Y’all don’t have to wait outside with me,” I said.
“Are you sure?” asked Lynn, her light- skinned face red from
crying. “Yeah, I’m good,” I lied.