Dorinda's Secret Read Free

Audi 5000—they would have never found me, yo.”
    â€œHow come?” I ask—because I’m really curious how an eleven-year-old kid thinks he could disappear and live by himself.
    â€œâ€™Cuz when I ran away from my last foster home, they didn’t find me. I came back by myself,” Khalil says, like
he’s
bragging or something.
    â€œHow many foster homes wuz you in?” Nestor asks.
    â€œFour,” Khalil says, like he’s talking about trophies.
    â€œI was in three,” Nestor says, like
he’s
bragging.
    â€œI almost got adopted,” Chantelle blurts out.
    Hmmm. I’ve never heard this one before. Maybe Chantelle is fibbing, just to get attention.
    â€œNo you didn’t,” Nestor says nastily.
    â€œYes I did, but I didn’t want to stay,” Chantelle says.
    Twinkie nuzzles up to me and puts her head on my shoulder, her fuzzy hair flouncing all the over the place. “I bet you that boy
wuz
looking for
somebody.
”
    Twinkie is so smart. “Yeah. I bet you he was,” I reply, then hold her tight while we watch the show.
    â€œI wanna find my father,” Khalil announces. It’s the first time he’s ever said anything like that. I notice that Nestor is pretending he’s not listening.
    â€œHow do you know you’ve got a father?” Chantelle asks, with an attitude.
    â€œâ€™Cuz I do. My mother told me,” Khalil says matter-of-factly.
    â€œYou have a mother?” I ask, surprised.
    â€œOf course I have a mother, stupid,” Khalil says, getting annoyed now.
    â€œWell,
I
don’t,” I say, just to show him I’m not stupid.
    â€œYes you do,” Khalil says. “Everybody has a mother.”
    â€œWell, I never
saw
her!” I exclaim, embarrassed.
    â€œDon’t you ever want to find your mother?” Nestor asks, ganging up on me too.
    â€œI don’t know,” I say, determined not to let them win. I’m not going to tell them about my sister at Mrs. Parkay’s—she was my first foster mother, the one who gave me away. I try not to think about her anymore, because Mrs. Parkay probably doesn’t want to see me anymore—and I sure don’t want to see her.
    â€œI’ll bet you
my
mother has long hair like an angel,” Twinkie says, smiling. “I know she’s gonna come and get me one day.”
    I can’t believe Twinkie said that! When I was younger, I used to think the same thing. Of course, I don’t anymore. I don’t know where my mom is, or whether she’s alive or dead—I’d like to at least find out someday, but I guess I never will.
    Now Arba climbs up onto my lap. Poor Arba. Her mother came to America from Albania looking for a better life, but died of pneumonia. At least one day she will know where
her
mother is. When she’s older, I’ll make
sure
she knows.
    â€œI know what Khalil’s daddy looks like,” Nestor says, hitting Khalil on the head.
    â€œYeah—how do you know?” Khalil riffs back.
    â€œHe’s got a big coconut head—like you!”
    â€œYeah—well, we know your father probably has a big mouth, Nestlé’s Quik,” I tell Nestor.
    Corky and Twinkie start giggling. Arba has fallen asleep on my lap, so I take her into her bedroom and put her in bed. I kiss her on the cheeks, and she whispers, “Good night, Do-reedy.”

Chapter 2
    A s I lie on my pillow, I can’t stop thinking about that runaway boy, Paulo Rivera. Why did he tell all those lies? I wonder if he was just trying to pull an okeydokey and get money out of people by making them feel sorry for him. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for a kid hiking, biking, and sailing 2,000 miles just to find his father, right?
    When they found him, the reporter said, he had $150 in his pockets. Tossing in my bed, I decide I would
never
go looking for my family, you know what I’m saying? I don’t care where