Falling Harder Read Free

many siblings is staggering to me.
    “Adopted?” Miss
MacCoy says, the corners of her mouth falling, “No, Nadia...The Goldsteins are
foster parents.”
    “I don’t
understand...” I say, running my fingers nervously through my thick blonde
ponytail, “I thought that I was staying with the family that was going to adopt
me someday.”
    Miss MacCoy lets
out a barely audible sigh. “In a perfect world, that’s what would be
happening,” she says, “But you have to understand, Nadia. It’s harder to find
adoptive families for older children.”
    “It is?”
    “Yes, I’m afraid
so. You see, most families that are looking to adopt a child prefer to take in
a newborn, so that they can raise her as their own. Foster kids get sort of a
bad reputation, so the older you get, the more difficult it is for us to place
you.”
    “But...I’m
really well behaved,” I insist, fingering my compass anxiously, “I never leave
dirty dishes around the house, and I’ve never gotten less than a B+ in school.
Doesn’t that help?”
    “I’m sure that
if a family is looking to adopt a twelve year old girl, you’ll be at the top of
the list, Nadia,” Miss MacCoy says with a sad smile.
    It doesn’t
escape my notice that she uses the word “if” rather than “when” every time
adoption comes up. I clench my teeth, fighting to keep a sudden swell of
heartache down.
    “I guess this is
OK for now,” I say, gathering my things. “Let’s go meet my new family, I
guess.”
    Miss MacCoy walks
me up to the Goldsteins front door. As we approach, I can hear a noisy racket
leaking out through the cracks in the walls. My foot touches down on the first
step of the stoop as the front door flies open. I feel the wind get knocked out
of my gut as I hit the ground, toppled by some burly projectile. The world
spins around me as I struggle to suck in air. I’m vaguely aware of a big,
booming laugh sounding out overhead. I feel Miss MacCoy’s hands on me,
straightening me up. Blinking around, I struggle to make sense of the scene.
    Two boys,
fourteen or so by the look of them, are wrestling viciously on the patchy green
lawn beside me. The front door of the house stands wide open, knocking against
the vinyl siding. They must have knocked me over on their way out onto the
grass. A plump, harried woman stomps out onto the porch, planting her hands on
her hips.
    “Daryl! Chuck!”
she yells in a raspy, low voice, “Get your asses back inside! Quit making fools
of yourself, for once.” The two boys pay her no mind whatsoever, and she turns
to me with a grunt. “Oh, hey there!” she says, crackling a yellow-toothed smile
for my benefit. “You must be Nadia! Welcome to the Goldsteins."
    I steal a glance
at Miss MacCoy, asking her silently whether there’s been some mistake. But
she’s wearing a resolute mask, and I know that this is it. This is really the
place that I’ll call home for the time being.
    “Is this our new
sister?” hollers one of the boys, a thick piece of work with ginger hair and
freckles. “She’s cute!”
    “Shut up dude,”
yells the other boy, chubby and blonde, “That’s freakin’ gross.”
    “Get inside and
wash up,” Mrs. Goldstein commands the boys. They storm past us into the house,
stealing looks at me as they go. Something about the way their eyes linger on
my narrow shoulders and hips, the bare skin of my legs where the denim cutoffs
end, makes me uneasy.
    “I’ll let you
take it from here,” Miss MacCoy says, pulling me into a brief hug. “Take care,
Nadia. I’ll see you soon.”
    My social worker
hurries back to her car, leaving me in the care of my new foster mother. Mrs.
Goldstein plants a firm hand on the back of my neck and marches me up the porch
steps.
    “You’ll love it
here,” she assures me, “We’ve got cable, and a tire swing out back, and
meatloaf every Wednesday. You like meatloaf Nadia?”
    “Sure,” I say
weakly.
    “Great!” Mrs.
Goldstein says, “You’ll get along