Page 38 of Main Event

Her jaw tightens slightly. “I wasn’t spying.”

“I know. You came in early and saw us through the window. That’s not spying—that’s bad timing.” I hold her eyes. “I want you to know something about that conversation. I need you to understand what I was doing in that room.”

She waits.

“That woman has been connected to things that have hurt people,” I say carefully. “People like your friend. I’ve been building a picture of what she’s involved in, and part of how I do that is by letting her think she has access to me. By giving her exactly what she expects to find—someone who needs her help.” I pause. “The coffee wasn’t what it looked like.”

Deja is very still.

“How do I know that’s true?” she says.

“You don’t,” I say. “Not yet. That’s fair.”

She looks at me. The measuring look again, longer this time.

“My friend wasn’t the only one,” she says. “At that party.”

I wait.

“It was me too,” she says. “Not that day. But after. My foster mom made an arrangement. I didn’t understand what it was until later. Until I was old enough to understand what the word means.” She’s very controlled.

The control of someone who has rehearsed this. “I ran away from that placement when I was twelve. I’ve been on my own since then.”

The center is completely quiet.

“Where have you been sleeping?” I ask.

She pauses. The kind that means she’s deciding whether the test is over.

“Wherever I can,” she says. “Abandoned buildings sometimes. With people I know sometimes. The shelter on Peachtree once, but they report to the system, so I only went the once.”

I look at her. Twelve years old, running. Three years surviving the way kids survive when they’ve learned that the system’s version of safe is not the same as actual safe.

“Deja,” I say.

She looks at me.

“I was in the system from the time I was six,” I say. “I know what it taught you about where safe actually comes from. And I know that every adult who has put you somewhere they called safe has been wrong about what that word means.” I pause. “So I’m not going to tell you I have somewhere safe. I’m going to ask you to let me try. And I’m going to tell you that if it doesn’t feel right, you can leave. Nobody is going to make you stay anywhere.”

She looks at the table.

“I’ve heard that before,” she says.

“I know,” I say. “I said it anyway because it’s true this time, and I need you to have heard it even if you don’t believe it yet.”

She’s quiet for a long time.

“Who?” she says finally.

“People I trust,” I say. “Which I don’t say easily. There’s a girl named Kelly—she’s fifteen, she’s been with them for almost two years. She came through the system too. I think you should talk to her before you decide anything.”

Deja looks at me.

“Can I think about it?” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “Take whatever time you need.”

She nods. She picks up her pencil. She goes back to the homework infront of her.