How to Get Dirt
By S. E. Campbell
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
HOW TO GET DIRT
Copyright © 2013 S.E. CAMPBELL
ISBN 978-1-62135-153-5
Cover Art Designed by Book Beautiful
For Noel, who made my own family whole.
Chapter One
Excitement filled Pickles Bartley’s heart as she sat in the cafeteria at the Walter Peabody Home for Children, which was empty except for the janitor who rolled his trash can across his floor. On an average day, she should have been in school with the rest of the foster girls, but today she had been called out for a special meeting. Blood rushed in her ears and her heart pounded. The normally bustling cafeteria’s silence was horrible because it allowed her no distractions from her own thoughts. She stared straight ahead at her social worker, Mrs. Beazley. The brilliant glare of fluorescent lighting emphasized the fine lines around her hazel eyes. Laugh lines, one of Pickles’ foster moms had once called them. Pickles liked Mrs. Beazley. For as long as she could remember, the woman had been there for her.
“I think we found you another foster home,” Mrs. Beazley said, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind one ear. “This one is in Seattle. A nice family. Young. What do you think?”
Mrs. Beazley slid a photographer in front of Pickles. The couple in the picture belonged on the cover of a magazine. The woman was a thin brunette and the man had dark black curly hair.
“They look nice,” Pickles said. “What are their names?”
Mrs. Beazley frowned. “Miranda and David Harris. They’re from Michigan, and you will be their first foster child. They might be looking to adopt someday.”
The hope that never quite died with each disappointment began to blossom again. Pickles had hopped from one foster family to the next, but what she really wanted was a family to call her own. Mrs. Beazley had once told her that her parents had abandoned her on the footsteps of a police station when she was three years old. Pickles recovered from the abandonment and had been in the foster care system ever since. Her dream, though, was always to find one thing — a family who would love her.
“Do you think they would like somebody like me?” Pickles asked. “Didn’t they want a baby?”
Mrs. Beazley’s pale face grew red. “Well, yes, but so does everybody else. When they couldn’t get a baby, I asked if they would like to try foster care. You’re a sweet girl, Pickles. Never, in all of my years of working this job, have I met a girl as nice as you. I believe with all of my heart one of these days a family is going to adopt you permanently.”
With a slow nod, she concentrated on the smiling couple in the picture. Please let them be the ones to love me enough to want me for always. With her thought finished, she lifted her face and met Mrs. Beazley’s kind gaze. “When can I meet them?” Pickles asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock.” Mrs. Beazley grinned at her. “How would you feel about going to lunch? I’ll come over early to help you look pretty. My daughter has outgrown a lot of her dresses and I think you might fit one of them.”
“Oh, Mrs. Beazley, thank you.” Pickles leapt to her feet, grinning.
“Anytime, Pickles.” Mrs. Beazley’s smile faded as she slowly got to her feet. Confused, Pickles cocked her head as she also stood. “Mrs. Beazley, is something wrong?”
“No.” Mrs. Beazley fought back tears. “It’s just sometimes I wish you could be my own daughter.”
With a grin, Pickles stepped forward and hugged Mrs. Beazley around her plump middle. Mrs. Beazley hugged her back until the air was choked from Pickles’ lungs. Sometimes I wish I was her daughter too. Mrs. Beazley smelled of bacon along with a sweet floral perfume, which Pickles had come to know as well as love. It was comforting, like home. When Mrs. Beazley stepped back, Pickles smiled at her, though she felt her heart clench with hope, nervousness, and fear. None of her past homes had worked out for her, but this couple appeared perfect. She couldn’t help but feel excited and anxious at the same time. Tomorrow would be a frightening day for her.
“Don’t worry about me,” Pickles said. “If they adopt me, I’ll be real happy. If they don’t, then this isn’t such a bad place to be. I mean, I could be out wandering the streets, right?”
Shaking her head, Mrs. Beazley reached forward to tousle Pickles’ short bob. Blonde strands of hair got in her face. Laughing, Pickles tried to straighten it.
****
The next day, she shook with excitement and nervousness. Pickles stood in front of the mirror with Mrs. Beazley beside her. Her roommate, Prudence, sat behind her. Pickles was short, dense but not fat, with a jaw-length bob, plump red cheeks, and bright green eyes. Prudence was her complete opposite, tall and thin with long brunette hair and toffee colored eyes. Pickles believed if Prudence didn’t get adopted, she would be picked up by a modeling agency, which was actually one of the other girl’s goals.
“That dress looks good on you,” Prudence said. “But in the green, you really look like a little pickle.”
They both laughed. Mrs. Beazley stepped over to pat her head. Pickles spun in the mirror for her and the knee-length dressed fluttered around her plump kneecaps. Nothing in her dresser was as fine as this.
“You like it?” Mrs. Beazley asked.
“Do I ever!” Pickles exclaimed. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Then it’s yours.”
With a cry of delight, Pickles stepped over to embrace Mrs. Beazley. She squeaked in surprise before hugging her back, tightening her grip. Today the woman didn’t smell of bacon, but she wore the same perfume.
“Maybe your new foster parents will get you clothes a lot better than this,” Mrs. Beazley said. “Maybe you’ll get a hundred new dresses.”
“I would just settle for good parents,” Pickles said.
Once again, Mrs. Beazley remained silent. She then grabbed Pickles’ hand. Pickles stared up at her in wide-eyed confusion.
“You ready to go to the restaurant to meet your new foster parents?” Mrs. Beazley asked.
“It’s not fair your social worker always takes you to cool places and gives you clothes.” Leaning against the wall, Prudence pouted. “Mine always makes me meet people in the dumb cafeteria. I don’t think she even remembers my name half the time.”
Mrs. Beazley gave her an apologetic look. “Maybe I’ll talk with someone one of these days and help you out, okay, Prudence?” Then she glanced back toward Pickles. “You ready to go?”
“Of course.” Pickles beamed.
Chapter Two
The restaurant was called Yuki’s Diner and Grill. When Pickles first saw it, she thought it was a Chinese restaurant. As they drew nearer, though, she spotted the menu in a glass case on the wall and saw it was actually a sandwich restaurant.
As she examined the menu, Mrs. Beazley pointed inside. “Look, Pickles, there are your new foster parents.”
Pickles went rigid with nervousness. What if they don’t like me? What if I don’t like them? She had had some horrible foster parents over the years. One woman had not allowed her to eat for two days and had forced her to sleep on the floor. Another had sixteen kids, including other foster kids. Pickles
had felt as if she was invisible. A part of her didn’t even want to look inside. She liked the idea of pretending the perfect parents in the photo were just that — perfect.
But she knew she had to be brave.
She stepped forward and peered through the window, spotting the couple at once.
Miranda was more beautiful in person than she had been in the photograph, but now instead of having long hair, she had a bob which was similar to Pickles’ own. Today she had on bright makeup that matched her purple, fluttery dress. The napkin she held was crumpled and torn. She plucked at the edge, ripping tiny pieces off. At her side, David sat with his arms crossed in front of him, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor. His jaw appeared tense.
“They look scared,” Pickles said.
Mrs. Beazley grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “So do you. But that’s a good sign. That means they care what you think of them, right?”
“Yeah.” Pickles nodded, beaming. “My last family didn’t care at all. I don’t think they even knew what my name was.”
“I’m sorry about that, Pickles. It was their loss. You are a marvelous young lady.”
Before Pickles could say anything more, Mrs. Beazley began to tug her along toward the door. Mrs. Beazley opened the entrance.
As soon as she pulled the heavy glass door open, Pickles’ stomach grumbled at the smell of cooking onions and garlic. She ignored her hunger and started over the median that stood between her and her new family. Miranda peered at her, waved, and then gave her a luminous smile. Pickles waved back eagerly, her heart thundering in her ears. Miranda turned to prod her husband’s arm, and he gave her a stern nod. His elbow slid along the table and bumped into his drink. The clear liquid sloshed as the glass wobbled. Then it toppled over, splashing water and ice cubes over the top of the table. Pickles giggled.
“See?” Mrs. Beazley smiled down at her. “They don’t seem so bad, do they?”
“I like them already,” Pickles said. “They’re clumsy like me.”
Mrs. Beazley laughed.
The two of them walked over to the table. Pickles extended her hand to Miranda. Instead of a handshake, though, Miranda stood up to hug Pickles. Miranda smelled different than Mrs. Beazley but still nice, like sweet-smelling fruity lotion. Pickles squeezed Miranda’s sides before she let go and grinned. David also stood, walked over, and gave her an awkward hug. The fresh scent of his aftershave made Pickles think of sunny days on the beach.
Mrs. Beazley sat down at the table. A moment later, Pickles plopped down next to her and surveyed their little group. Her breath caught. Miranda was shaking!
“It’s okay, Mrs. Harris,” Pickles said, smiling at her. “I’m a nice kid. I don’t fight or anything like that. You don’t need to look so scared.”
Miranda’s mouth fell open. After a brief moment of silence, she threw her head back and laughed. She and David exchanged glances.
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “David and I just have never had a foster care child staying with us before. We didn’t know what to expect. Maybe you can help us understand, okay? Mrs. Beazley said you’ve gone to a lot of homes and that you’re helpful and sweet.”
Beaming at Mrs. Beazley, Pickles nodded.
“It isn’t too hard,” Pickles said. “If you let me stay with you guys for a while, I promise I’ll be good. I’ll do all the dishes, vacuuming, cooking, and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” David said, looking at Mrs. Beazley in alarm. “I didn’t know we were hiring a maid.”
Mrs. Beazley’s expression grew fixed. “I’m sorry. Like I said, she’s been to a lot of homes. Some people didn’t treat her the right way. Never had a complaint about her, though. Not one. She is an exemplary girl.”
“I can see why,” Miranda said kindly, looking at Pickles. “I like you already, but you won’t have to take care of us. It’ll be our job to take care of you, okay?”
It was just like in the books Pickles had read in school. She couldn’t believe it. Already, David and Miranda were acting like real parents, the kind she had always dreamed of having. She beamed at them as she nodded. It was so easy to picture the three of them, sitting at a dinner table eating while enjoying a good conversation.
Pickles squirmed with excitement. She already couldn’t wait to get home.
“Are you alright?” Mrs. Beazley asked. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
“I’m just so happy,” Pickles said. “I’ve met many foster parents, but none have been as nice as you.”
Miranda and David exchanged looks. Miranda nodded.
“I’ve never met anybody as nice as you, either,” Miranda said. “I can’t wait to have you in our home.”
This is it. It has to be. The home I have waited so long to have. She was so happy she could hardly read the menu.
****
“I’m going to miss you so, so much,” Prudence said, hugging Pickles. “Promise me you’ll visit, okay? You are so lucky. It sounds like Mrs. Beazley found you a home with people who aren’t going to ignore you or beat you.”
Prudence had also had bad luck in foster care. Still, if it had happened to her, then maybe it could happen to Prudence too. Holding her friend close, Pickles felt hot drops of tears on her shoulder. Poor Prudence.
“Will you be okay?” Pickles asked, stepping back and touching her teary face.
“Yes.” Prudence wiped at her eyes. “It’s just I hate this place so much. I am going to miss having you around. Will you write me stories and send them to me?”
“Of course.” Pickles held her book bag close. “You know you’re the only one who listens to the stories I make up.”
“Maybe your new foster parents will like them too.”
Pickles tried hard not to smile at the thought because Prudence was so upset. She nodded, grabbed her black suitcase, and then hugged her best friend one last time. Someone knocked on the door. A second later Mrs. Beazley came inside with her car keys in hand. When she saw Prudence was crying, she walked over to hug her too.
“When I get back, we’ll have a long chat, okay?” the older woman said, patting Prudence’s head. “Maybe I’ll take you out to dinner sometime.”
“But you aren’t my social worker.” Prudence frowned. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I can be your friend.” Mrs. Beazley jostled Prudence’s hair in the same way she did with Pickles.
Still scowling, Prudence clutched her head.
Mrs. Beazley gazed at Pickles. “You ready to go, Pickles?”
“Of course,” Pickles said. “I’ve never been more excited for anything in my entire life, not even shopping day. I feel like I’m going to pee my pants.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that.” Mrs. Beazley winked.
After one last hug, Pickles took Mrs. Beazley’s hand and walked with her outside, into the hallway. They went down the hall, took a right, and then went outside after talking to the nice security lady. Pickles was led to Mrs. Beazley’s purple van and was once again reminded of a giant driving grape as she clambered inside.
Mrs. Beazley walked to the driver’s side door, got inside, and then drove down the road. She didn’t speak for a long time, so Pickles watched the clock as her excitement and fear grew. Seattle is a long way from here. I won’t get to visit with Mrs. Beazley as much.
“I’m going to miss you,” Pickles said.
“I was just thinking of that.” Mrs. Beazley reached over and squeezed Pickles’ hand. “I see you as a daughter as much as I do a case. I want you to know that. But I know it’s for the best you go to Seattle. Plus, it’ll only be an hour away. I can still visit you sometimes, just not once a week like I usually do.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beazley.”
Silence fell in the car, except for the distant twang of country music quietly playing on the radio. The trees along the side of the road lined up like wooden soldiers, their own personal honor guard. Green leaves fluttered as the grape van blew past them. “Mrs. Beazley, do you think this
family is going to be the right one?” Pickles asked.
“Heaven help me, I do,” Mrs. Beazley said. “But don’t tell anyone I said that. When I found them, I thought of adoption, not just foster care.”
When Mrs. Beazley winked at her, Pickles felt her stomach warm.
Chapter Three
Mrs. Beazley drove her van into a parking lot next to a group of townhouses and pulled into an open space. The black door on the unit directly in front of them contrasted starkly with the white siding, but the colorful welcome sign made Pickles smile.
“This is it,” Mrs. Beazley said, switching off the ignition. “You excited?”
Pickles nodded, struggling out of her seatbelt. She opened the car door and then jumped out. She collected her backpack, swung it over her shoulder, and then she whirled around to walk toward the front door. Before she could knock, the door opened; her new foster parents stood at the other side of it, once again looking so perfect Pickles wanted to cry in joy.
My family. This is my family now. I hope they do eventually adopt me.
“Hi, Pickles,” Miranda said. “Sorry if we startled you. We were watching from the window. You have no idea how excited we are to have you here.”
Stepping forward, Miranda swept Pickles up into her arms to hold her close. Pickles shut her eyes and tingled with suppressed happiness. Her heart warmed. Happiness swelled so strong within her, she could have flown. A moment later, David stepped forward to embrace her too. His arms were gentler than Miranda’s, which surprised Pickles, but she felt her heart grow warm all the same. When David drew back, he then pecked her on the forehead.
“Welcome to our home,” he said. “We have a room upstairs for you.”
“You mean I get my own room?” Pickles asked, shocked. The last family she’d lived with, the Johnsons, had given her a room with four other kids. The two sets of bunk beds had taken up so much space in the small room, the only thing they could do in there was sleep.
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