Page 1 of Property of Quake

PROLOGUE

WHITNEY

Nine years old…

“What are you doing?”

I whirl around and glare at Ryan. He’s twelve, and I hate him. I don’t even care that Sister Beatrice would make me sit in silence for hours if she knew how I felt. Ryan has been mean to me from day one. It’s bad enough that my parents didn’t want me anymore, but he makes it worse by his constant teasing and bossy ways.

“Nothing,” I mutter before turning back around to stare into the room reserved for families coming to pick up their new additions.

Ryan steps up beside me, and I wrinkle my nose at his smell. He’s one of the kids who gives the nuns a hard time when it comes to taking a bath or shower. Boys and girls are separated at Sacred Haven Children’s Home, but it’s impossible not to hear him getting in trouble. A few times I’ve heard the way he screams and cries, and I always feel bad for him, but then he does something like get close, and his stink makes the pity disappear.

“You know that’ll never be you, right?” he taunts as I watch the man and woman gush over Bethany, the baby they came to adopt.

Yes, it will!

Twelve years old…

“Go to your room, Whitney.”

Tears fill my eyes, but I turn around and walk toward the room I share with the other girls waiting for a family of their own.

At breakfast, Sister Beatrice announced that a couple was coming to meet some of the children, but then she said that they’re only interested in those under five years old. I refused to leave, which only resulted in a standoff with Sister Mary Jane. I’d have won, too, if Sister Beatrice hadn’t returned to the dining hall.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

I stop walking and face Ryan. He moves to stand against the wall, and the smirk on his face is so smug that I want to punch him.

“Telling myself what?”

“That you’d have won,” he says, and when I tilt my head, he continues. “You tend to mutter what’s going through your head when you think you’re alone.”

“Shut up.”

“Oooh, be careful. Wouldn’t want one of the nuns to hear you say that.” When I stay silent, he takes a step toward me. “When are you gonna learn that no one wants a kid that was already given away by their parents?”

You’re wrong!

I scurry the rest of the way to my room, and later, after all the kids are sent to bed, I struggle to sleep. I don’t know how long I lay here before slipping from beneath the blanket and creeping out of the girls’ wing.

The building is different at night. It’s quieter, softer, less intimidating.

I don’t even realize where I’m going until I reach the chapel. Pushing open the double doors, I step inside. The candles aren’t lit, having been extinguished hours ago, but the moonlight that streams through the stained-glass windows illuminates the space.

I slide into the pew closest to the doors and stare at the cross that hangs above the altar.

“Why?” I whisper. The one-word question encompasses so much.

Why did my parents leave me here when I was five?

Why didn’t anyone want me?

Why did every family who walked through the front door choose someone else?

My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall. I’ve spent so much time with wet cheeks, and I’m tired of it.

“Twelve,” I say, my eyes remaining on that stupid cross. “Twelve kids have been adopted this year, but not me. Why?”