Pavi Sharma's Guide to Going Home

by Bridget Farr

  “I’m Marjorie Jennings, Pavi Sharma’s guardian. I’m here to see Ms. Taylor.”

  My heart beats frantically in my chest as I wait for her to enter the room. I’ve never been in trouble before. I am a good foster kid. It wouldn’t be smart business if I didn’t follow my own rules.

  “Sorry it took me a while to get here,” Marjorie says, taking her seat.

  “Not a problem at all.” Ms. Taylor rolls her chair closer to her desk and the two of us.

  Marjorie finally looks at me, her eyes a mix of disappointment and, thankfully, worry. “What happened, Pav?”

  Before I open my mouth, Ms. Taylor has answered for me. “She was found in a classroom with an eighth-grade boy. And the lights were off.”

  With the word “off,” she gives Marjorie a knowing look.

  “What were you doing in there?” Marjorie asks.

  “We were just talking,” I say, and Ms. Taylor rolls her eyes, pushing a strand of platinum-blonde hair behind her ear.

  “Really?” Ms. Taylor asks. “With the lights off?”

  “Yes,” I say, looking her firmly in the eyes. “Just talking.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Marjorie asks, her tone gentle but probing.

  “No. We used to be at the same shelter.”

  Marjorie’s shoulders relax and even Ms. Taylor gives me the face. And then I realize I have my out.

  “Lenny, our old coordinator at the shelter… he’s… retiring… so I wanted Santos to take a card to him, since he was going to be there one last night before he moves. To his new home. He’s really worried about it. It’s his first placement.”

  Ms. Taylor clicks her tongue and shakes her head. Marjorie doesn’t seem to completely buy it.

  “And the only time you could give him this card was during class? In a dark classroom?”

  “It was stupid,” I say, now looking at Marjorie. “But we’re not supposed to be in the hall, and we didn’t have the lights on because we were just in there a few seconds before Mr. Ramirez came.”

  Marjorie reaches for my hand. “You need to be more careful, Pavi. People are going to make a lot of assumptions now that you’re older, especially if you’re spending time with an older boy.”

  “I just wanted to make sure Lenny got his card. He… he did a lot for me.”

  “I know, Pav,” Marjorie says, squeezing my hand. “I could have taken it for you. Or let you go after school. Just talk to me, okay?”

  “Or me,” Ms. Taylor says, reaching across the desk to squeeze my other hand. I’m about to be pulled in half. Sensing the weirdness, Marjorie lets go.

  “What will her consequence be?” Marjorie asks, and Ms. Taylor smiles.

  “It’s her first time, so we’ll let it go. Just make sure you stay out of restricted places.”

  “Of course.” This is turning out better than I could have imagined. I hope it’s going as well for Santos.

  “I have to get back to school,” Marjorie says, standing up and pushing her chair toward the desk. “I’ll see you and Hambone later.” She gives me a hug before walking out of the office. I go to follow her, when Ms. Taylor stops me.

  “Pavi.” She sighs, pulling me into a side hug. “You can always come here to talk. I am here. For. You.”

  I give her my best Front Door Face and escape out of her office.

  HAMILTON’S BIG ADVENTURE

  After school, I wait for Hamilton on the brick ledge outside the main building. He’s ten minutes late, so only a few students are still hanging out by the flagpole, waiting for their parents. I should be working on the mountain of homework Hamilton and I were assigned, since we already got a late grade in math and an 82 on Mr. Ramirez’s Texas history project. I should be trying to get caught up, maybe even get ahead, but instead, I bite the end of a piece of hair while I replay the phone call over and over again. Will they actually go investigate? Will there be anything to see? Just as I move to create split ends in another strand of hair, Hamilton comes bursting out of the door, dragging his baritone behind him, the plastic of its case scratching along the sidewalk.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. Pavi! That was the most exhilarating day of my life! I’ve never been in that kind of danger!” He drops the enormous black case to the ground and bends at his waist, taking a deep breath. “Well, one time I was trapped on the top of the Ferris wheel for fifteen minutes while they fixed a mechanical issue, but that was nothing compared to today.”

  “Today wasn’t real danger, either,” I say, swinging my legs over the edge to face him. “You didn’t even get caught.”

  “But I could have been!” He hops up to sit beside me, missing the first hop, but then managing to get a seat. “I was watching Mr. Ramirez’s feet as he was talking to you and thinking, This is it. Your life as an A-plus, no-detention student is over. You’re now officially a bad kid. But then he stopped and you two walked out, and I was so relieved!” He stops. “But I would have done it for you. Gotten caught. If I needed to.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

  “Did you get in trouble? Santos has lunch detention for the rest of the week!”

  “What?” I say, leaning closer to Hamilton so the stragglers outside don’t hear our business. “He has detention? How do you know that?”

  “I went and found him after school. That’s why I’m late.” Hamilton reaches down to grab a water bottle from his backpack. He takes a big swig before offering it to me. I decline. I don’t want his backwash. I want details.

  “And he told you he has detention?”

  “Yep. The whole week, because he wouldn’t say anything when Ms. Williams questioned him. Can you believe it? Not one word. And Ms. Williams is super scary! She’s made, like, half the eighth graders cry. If it was me, I would have cracked. Totally.” Hamilton hoots before taking another swig of his water. “Honestly, I thought Santos was a bit creepy at first, with all the skulking, but man, is he impressive! His adult voice during the phone call… he sounded like a real man! I bet he’s going to have a beard by freshman year.”

  He was pretty impressive. I hop off the ledge, realizing if I wait for Hamilton to finish talking we will be here until tomorrow morning. I pick up the front of his baritone case, and he grabs the other end.

  “And then to just walk into the principal’s office, plop his feet up on the desk…”

  “He did not put his feet up on the desk,” I say as I step over a crack in the sidewalk.

  “Well, not literally, but figuratively, he totally did. He’s like a rock! Like a silent… rock!”

  “Maybe he should be your boyfriend.”

  Hamilton shrugs. “Not my type, but if he was, totally. That is a cool dude. Minus the not-going-to-class and constant glaring.”

  “I’m glad you know what you want.”

  At the stoplight, we mix with the people waiting in line at the new taco restaurant. A giant man in workout clothes towers over Hamilton. We rest the case on the sidewalk as we wait for the light to change. Our afternoon routine.

  “Was Mom mad?” Hamilton asks as the light turns and we begin moving across the street.

  “Not really. Worried, mostly, but I told them a story about the shelter, so I didn’t get in trouble. We probably should be careful, though, not to make her suspicious. Let’s get our homework done right away tonight. Our math assignment was late and… we got an eighty-two on the lyrics assignment.”

  Hamilton gasps. “No! How did that happen? We turned that in on time.”

  “I don’t know yet, but we can’t afford another low grade or your mom will start to think something’s up.”

  “Maybe she’ll just think we are going through a defiant stage of adolescence.”

  “I don’t think that helps us.”

  “So, do we just wait now? To find out if they’re going to do something about the bad family?”

  “For a few days, at least. I need to get back to Crossroads and see when she’s supposed to move in with them. I’ll try to find out if Lenny has
heard anything. He should know right away if something is up.”

  “Cool,” Hamilton says as he sidesteps a puddle from last night’s rainstorm. “I’m going to type up the notes for us. I have a folder labeled COMPUTER GAMES so Mom won’t find it, even if she’s looking.”

  “Smart. ‘Pavi’s Secret Mission Notes’ was too obvious?”

  He laughs. “Pavi and Hamilton’s Secret Mission Notes.”

  I smile. That’s right. It’s our secret mission now, and step one is complete.

  When Marjorie gets home, Hamilton and I are already through our math homework and the last of the ice-cream sandwiches. We should have more done than we do, but Hamilton kept pulling out his little notebook and reliving this afternoon. He’s even made some corrections (of what, I have no idea. I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to encourage).

  “Hi, Pav. Hi, Hambone.” Marjorie drops her purse on the counter and picks up the empty ice-cream bar box, frowning at the four wrappers stuffed inside. “I see you got a lot of eating done. Did you get much homework done?”

  Simultaneously we hold up our math packets and beam identical smiles at her.

  “Anything else left to do?” Marjorie asks, flipping the switch on the coffeepot we already filled with fresh grounds. There was no Crock-Pot to start today.

  “We both have English, and I have Spanish homework,” Hamilton says.

  “I have one article review for science,” I add.

  Her side to us, Marjorie takes a deep inhale of the brewing coffee. “Any work for Mr. Ramirez? You know I expect all assignments to be your very best work.…”

  Hamilton’s wide eyes flick to me, and he mouths “She knows.”

  Of course she knows. She checks our grades online. You can’t fool a mom who is also a teacher.

  “No, ma’am,” I say, and Marjorie turns to us.

  “Hambone, why don’t you go practice your baritone for a bit before dinner? I was thinking pizza tonight?”

  “I already practiced my twenty minutes,” Hamilton says in a bit of a huff. He always practices right when we get home. It’s her rule.

  “Go ahead and do an extra fifteen, then. You know you wanted extra credit in that class anyway.”

  “I don’t need extra credit. I have an A. You can’t get higher than that.”

  “Do it for the love of the music, then.”

  Hamilton gives his mom a suspicious look before slinking off the counter stool. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be alone with Marjorie until I’ve figured out what to say. When Hamilton gets to the doorway to the kitchen, he stops and turns. “Ten minutes.”

  Marjorie smiles, filling her cup with coffee. “That’s fine.”

  My stomach turns as I pretend to show my work for a math problem, trying hard to not make eye contact while Marjorie adds cream and sugar to her mug. She takes a sip before bustling around the kitchen, tossing out the ice-cream bar box and unpacking her lunch bag. It’s the calm before the storm. Or the rain shower. Or light gust of wind. She was so calm in the office, but maybe she was waiting until we got home in private to get mad at me. She’s never yelled at me before. Maybe she will today. Or maybe I’ll just get the Voice. And the Look.

  “So, Pavi…”

  I look up from my math homework like I have no idea where this conversation could be headed. Would you like to know what new book I’m reading? Or whether I’ve laid out my clothes for tomorrow? I have great answers to those questions!

  “Yes?” I ask, my pencil still in my hand so she knows I’m ready to jump back into this very challenging homework at any second. The sound of Hamilton playing his warm-up march comes through the air vents. He’s playing louder than necessary and pounding his foot to the tempo.

  “You didn’t seem comfortable speaking in front of your principal, so I wanted to check in about what happened at school.”

  I drop my eyes before looking back at her, that pencil staying right where it is. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. It would almost be easier if she yelled. I know how to handle yelling.

  “It’s okay to have private things you don’t want to share with me. I get that.”

  Marjorie knows about keeping the past quiet. She told me when I first moved in about Hamilton’s dad: how he left when Hamilton was just born and how she moved down here to live closer to her parents. They never talk about him; it’s like one day Hamilton popped into her life, and as far as we know, she’s never dated anybody else.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me about what happened today?” The way she’s looking at me makes me consider saying yes. Maybe even telling her about Meridee, telling her everything. But I don’t.

  “I told you everything at school.”

  Marjorie sets her coffee cup on the counter. “Then I’m glad it was no big deal. I do want you to know that you’re getting to the age that…”

  Oh my gosh, please let this not be a changing-body talk. I don’t need a foster mother–foster daughter heart-to-heart. They already told us all this in fifth grade, but foster parents always want to have the special growing-up moments: learning to ride a bike, first-day-of-school photos.

  Marjorie continues talking about feelings and my changing body (yep… it’s that kinda talk) and my hand is starting to cramp from holding this pencil in the air, but I refuse to set it down.

  “Just know you can trust me, Pav. With the things you don’t think I’ll get. I don’t want you to keep secrets because you’re worried I’ll be mad or unhappy with you.”

  She reaches across the counter, and I drop the pencil so I can squeeze her extended palm.

  “You can go stop the music,” Marjorie says, giving my hand one final squeeze. I hop off my stool.

  “I should have bought him a harp,” she mutters as I head for the stairs.

  OCTOBER BIRTHDAYS

  The next day, I stand outside the main office window after school, staring at a bouquet of roses with a huge heart balloon floating above them. When I was younger, I always wanted someone to send me a large HAPPY BIRTHDAY balloon with a couple of small colored ones beside it and maybe a teddy bear. I knew Ma couldn’t afford any of that, but I envied the kids who would get the small yellow slip from the office, asking them to come down to pick up their gift. We all knew to look through the office’s glass window when we walked to gym or music. Those balloons would be waiting on the counter, a floating symbol of the kind of love that everyone is promised but not everyone gets.

  Ma did give me her own gifts sometimes, stories as she cooked or a song as I got ready for school. Those were my roses, but just like real flowers, they didn’t last.

  I want Meridee to have a chance for balloons. I have to go to Crossroads and see her. I don’t know if Child Protective Services would have already made the call, but I can ask Lenny. At the very least, I can figure out when Meridee’s moving in with them. I can start the countdown.

  They’re setting up decorations for the October birthday parties when I get to Crossroads. Lenny and Keisha are standing on chairs, trying to hang the same HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner they used when I was there. The cardboard letters are scuffed along the edges and part of the letter R is ripped off where a piece of tape was stuck to it. They’re playing music out of someone’s phone, and kids come in and out of the room, helping with a job before they get bored and leave for something else. I wave at the two boys, Jackson and Simon, who are sitting in the corner attempting to blow up balloons. Without a helium tank, they won’t float above the table, but they’re fun to kick around on the floor, especially for the little kids.

  “Hey, Ms. Sharma,” Lenny shouts as he spots me. “Come over and hold this end.”

  Keisha smiles at me as I move over to Lenny’s edge of the banner. He hands me the frayed edge of the string. “Hold this here a second. I’m gonna tape this up.”

  “How’ve you been, Pav?” Keisha asks, and I tell her about school as I hold up my end of the string. “Hey! Get down!” Keisha yells, and I turn
my head to see Jackson and Simon standing on the back of the couch, ready to dive into the small pile of balloons on the worn carpet.

  “Cannonball,” Jackson yells, but Keisha stops them with a forceful “Boys!” Unfortunately, her command doesn’t get ahead of Simon’s momentum and he tumbles headfirst down the couch and onto the floor.

  “Dude, let’s video that!” Jackson cheers as he pulls Simon back up. “Keisha, can we use your phone?”

  “No, and down off the couch now.” She turns back to the decorations.

  “Is Meridee here?” I ask as Lenny hands me the old tape dispenser.

  “She should be in the playroom. We haven’t enrolled her in after-school programs yet,” Keisha says as she climbs down from her chair.

  “She still has a placement?”

  Lenny rubs his chin before answering. “Yep. Her caseworker called this afternoon and said things are on track. They want to set up a family visit first, but then she’ll move in on Thursday.”

  My stomach drops. “So, everything’s okay with the family?”

  Lenny frowns. “You’re still thinking about that? I told you it’s all good.”

  “Have you been there? To at least check it out?”

  “What’s all this about?” Keisha asks as she tears off a couple of pieces of tape.

  “Nothing,” Lenny answers before I can explain myself. “Pavi’s worried about an old foster family of hers, but everything is fine. I checked in with Meridee’s caseworker, and she said there’s nothing to worry about. Pavi needs to focus on school. All those volcanoes.”

  He winks at me, but his smile is infuriating right now. I don’t know why I bothered asking him for help. Apparently, it’s up to me. Again.

  “You’ve got enough to worry about, Pav,” Keisha adds, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “Let us do our jobs for a while.”

  I fight the urge to scream. “I’m going to go see Meridee now.”

  Their good-byes are muffled by the party supplies they are holding in their mouths. I pick up my backpack from the place I dropped it. Beside it is a handmade card on a folded piece of printer paper. “Happy Birthday” is scrawled across the front in loopy crayon. There’s a child on the front. No balloons, no friends, no sun in the corner of the page. I set the card up on the table.