Strays

By Virginia Castleman

Sara and Anna Olson awaken each morning without the comfort of their parents love. Orphaned at a young age, theyve tried their best to find a sense of safety and security within the foster system. At nine and eleven, they know more about the world than children twice their ageand its a knowledge they have paid dearly to earn.

Inspired by true events, their story is one of survival, but its also one of friendship, sisterhood, and hope. They must find the strength to face the world with courage and faith. Amid the tattered remains of their innocence, the sisters know that no matter what else life delivers, they can always count on each other.

When their ever-shifting world is rocked by three wood-splintering knocks on the door one cold, autumn night, the sisters flee into the darkness, alone and terrified. What could drive them into the frigid night air? On that night, Sara makes a promise to her sister, one she spends her whole life trying to keep.

But it may be a promise that is destined to be broken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Feb 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781480805279

Virginia Castleman

Virginia Castleman is a freelance writer who works with Veterans Upward Bound. She also teaches college English, produces writing videos, and writes children’s books. She is the author of Sara Lost and Found, Strays, Erosion, Puppetbooks, and more. She lives in Nevada with her cat and has three incredible sons.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 Virginia Castleman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover art by Theodocia Swecker.

Archway Publishing books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1-(888)-242-5904

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0526-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-0527-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901258

Archway Publishing rev. date: 2/12/2014

Contents

acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Three Loud Knocks

Chapter 2

Escape

Chapter 3

The Forgotten

Chapter 4

Daddy’s Song

Chapter 5

Secrets to Keep

Chapter 6

Hands to Hammer With

Chapter 7

The Keeper of Secrets

Chapter 8

The Magic Stick

Chapter 9

Accidents Happen

Chapter 10

Pick Me!

Chapter 11

Quick! Hide the Sheets!

Chapter 12

Guilt Is a Mirror

Chapter 13

Something Is Very, Very Wrong

Chapter 14

Oh No! Police Sirens!

Chapter 15

Caught in the Middle

Chapter 16

The Magic Journey of the Nine-Story Cat

Chapter 17

Run, Anna, Run!

Chapter 18

Only One Thing Missing

Chapter 19

Tugs That Hurt

Chapter 20

Kawinkeedinks

Chapter 21

Poof

Chapter 22

Witch on a Cloud Broom

Chapter 23

Catastrophe

Chapter 24

Sara’s Secret Is Out!

Chapter 25

The Unexpected Phone Call

Chapter 26

Paws for a Cause

Chapter 27

Five Magic Words

Chapter 28

The Surpriset

Chapter 29

That’s What Friends Are For

Chapter 30

Judgment Day

Chapter 31

Good-Byes and Hello

About the Author

An inspirational story about one plucky girl’s journey through the foster care system and her remarkable quest to find a place called home. Told with honesty, gusto and humor, Virginia Castleman’s fast-paced tale is an eye-opener for anyone who has ever wondered what it’s like to look for a permanent family. An entertaining and informative read for children and adults alike.

Lawrence Morton

www.AmericaAdopts.com

www.Facebook.com/AmericaAdopts

This book is powerful and moving. A beautiful story about love, loss, and the process of healing through helping the four-legged members of our community. A must read for all animal lovers and for anyone who has ever felt like a stray. It was a real pleasure to read, well written and captivating.

Michelle Perez

www.NevadaHumaneSociety.org

"Strays is a compelling story of two young lives living on the precarious edge and their relationship to the environmental and emotional forces which they must daily grapple with in order to survive. Told through the voice of a precocious and protective younger sister, this story reveals the essence of parental abandonment, escape from the agencies designed to protect young children, the trials of foster homes, and sorting out at a tender age the mechanics of the world at large in order to move forward. Our protagonist, wise beyond years and with self-effacing motivation, tries with all her energy to find degrees of stability and protection for her sibling who struggles with mental health issues beyond the handling capability of one so tender in years."

Neil Siegel

Director

Elizabeth Sturm Library

Truckee Meadows Community College, Reno, NV

"Castleman’s Strays is a touching story about foster adoption, a subject rarely addressed in adolescent literature, that provides readers with a realistic and complex portrayal of how love and family have more to do with care and connection than blood and heritage. This novel is a heartfelt testament to the healing power of kindness and acceptance in the pre-teenagers’ sometimes confusing world of rejection and alienation. Above all, this story is about acceptance and appreciation for the good and sometimes the bad of foster families as well as sympathy for the biological parents who are unable or ill-equipped to raise their children. Well-crafted, high interest, and sometimes downright funny, Castleman’s novel will engage readers (and all parents), for it has us all appreciating a broader definition of family. Newberry Award winning material here."

Laura Malcolm

High School English Teacher

Sebastopol, CA

"Strays is a heart-wrenching, insightful story of survival. You’ll not only root for the two amazing heroines, but also fall in love with Ben and Rachel Silverman who provide the girls with a temporary home and the greatest gift of all—hope."

Steve Olsher

New York Times bestselling author of What Is Your WHAT? Discover The ONE Amazing Thing You Were Born To Do

"From the first page I was hooked...a page turner. Strays by Virginia Castleman is a must read for all young people. The book captures the essence of pain and betrayals but with acts of kindness and trust there is light. Being a pre-teen today is confusing, but add in parents that are not capable of caring for their children and the foster family system and this book is an eye opener. The dialogue is real with heart aching truths, yet it is sprinkled with hope and yes, healing."

Donna Hartley

Speaker and Author

Fire Up Your Life! series

www.donnahartley.com

"Tragedy, suspense, compassion, hope . . .

As an adoptee, I could relate. It brought memories and tears.

What a great read for healing."

Eileen Flores

Author of To All A Good Knight

Strays is a compelling and intimate portrait of the fear and uncertainty so many young children face when families become unraveled. Based on the true story of two young girls left without their biological parents, it is also a tribute to the love and support that new families can offer. This book will be an important addition to literature for young adults by promoting a better understanding of the emotional challenges of homeless children and the hope alternative families can offer.

Kim Malcolm

Director, CleanPowerSF and adoptive parent of Gabe

Books by Virginia Castleman

Strays, Archway Publishing

Mommi Watta, Spirit of the River (Flatland Tales Publishing)

Erosion, Perfection Learning

Sky High, HearthSong and Pile of Pups, HearthSong

The Essential Children’s Writer’s Tool Kit: An Adult Guidebook to Writing for Children

Other Publications by Virginia Castleman

Rabbit and Tiger, A Vietnamese Tale, Highlights for Children magazine

The Talebearer’s Lesson, Highlights for Children magazine

Plus articles in The Children’s Writer’s Guide and other publications

Upcoming Publications by Virginia Castleman

A Day Shaped Like a Stop Sign

The Reluctant Rebel

D.O.A. (Dear Owen Arthur)

Anna’s Story

To the hundreds of thousands of children in foster care in the United States, and to the foster parents and adoptive parents who raise and care for them.

acknowledgments

My deepest gratitude goes first and foremost to G-d and my faithful guardian angels, who have always been there for me; to my incredible sons, Michael, Adam, and Jon; to my adoptive parents and brother, Ken, who bravely took on a feisty six-year-old so many years ago; and to my courageous siblings, Glenda, Harv, and Eileen, whose paths were anything but smooth. Heartfelt gratitude also goes to my first editor, Deke Castleman, who patiently worked through each paragraph, smoothing the bumps and nurturing the bruises; to Steve Mooser and Lin Oliver for giving writers and illustrators the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), a sanctuary of support, connection, learning, and opportunity; to the Institute of Children’s Literature, where I cut my teeth in editing and instruction; and to Tom, Vicki, Judy, Sharon, Brooks, Gina, Gwyn, Kathy, Richard, Pat, Neil, Jay, and all my friends and colleagues who have been so supportive and encouraging.

With every beat of my heart, I thank you.

Chapter 1

Three Loud Knocks

S ometimes a tug-of-war happens inside of me. My head says one thing. My stomach says another. Like yesterday, when I stole a roll of paper towels from the 7-Eleven around the corner. My head said, Don’t. My stomach said, Do.

So I did.

I stole.

And yeah, paper towels might seem like a strange thing to steal. I mean, I could have stolen some candy, or maybe crackers or something. But paper towels last longer than food. A roll of paper towels can feed me and my sister, Anna, for a whole week—sometimes more.

Now, as sure as I know my name is Sara Rose Olson, I know I should feel bad for stealing. But I don’t. Last night, waiting for Daddy to come home, I ripped off pieces of paper towel, wadded them up, chewed the paper balls soft and slow, and swallowed. I felt better. I gave some to Anna. She sat cross-legged on the floor next to me. We didn’t have to talk about it. We just ate. I pictured myself biting into a hot, juicy hamburger. I know Anna was picturing her favorite—hot dogs—and after eating one towel each, we both felt better.

Eating paper towels is the secret way I trick my stomach into thinking it’s been fed. It works, too. By the time Anna and I’d eaten only half a square of paper towel, our stomachs quit making those whiny noises.

*     *     *

But tonight I’m not awake because I am hungry. I got a stomach full of paper towel. What’s keeping me awake is the wind whipping lonely and sad, like it’s lost and needs to get somewhere fast.

I look around. Spidery shadows dance on the walls to a tune only they can hear. A skit, skit, skittering across the floorboards draws my eyes to the dark hallway. At first I think the sound is rain pattering down instead of little rat claws skittering, but when their tiny feet hit the paper on the floor, the sound changes from skittering to a muffled scuffle. Rain doesn’t sound like that.

Then a different noise makes me listen even harder. It’s a clawing sound, like someone scratching against the window. My whole body turns as cold as my feet. I lie frozen to the bed, too scared to look, but then I slowly sit up, squeeze my eyes shut, open them, and squint against the darkness. The window slowly starts looking like a window, instead of a big, dark hole in the wall.

I look through the dark window, heart pounding. No prowler. Just the low branches of a tree scraping against the glass. I lie back on the mattress real slow. It’s got some small rips, and hard springs press against my back. I try to get my breath to slow down.

I’ve been jumpy like this ever since last year, when I turned nine. A couple of days after my birthday, Mama took off, leaving a hole in me so big she might just as well have died. Daddy, Anna, and I weren’t the only things she left behind. She left a letter, too, and a picture. I hid them from Daddy, afraid he’d tear them up or throw them away like everything else of Mama’s that he tossed out after she left us. The letter and picture are almost the only things of Mama that Anna and I have left. Just thinking about Daddy finding them sends a heat through me that warms me up good. He’ll be so mad I hid them if he ever finds out.

But then I think of what Mama once said to me, and the heat from thinking about Daddy finding the letter and picture of Mama turns all cold again. Every time I look at you, I see him.

I know the him Mama was talking about was Daddy. I can’t help thinking that if only I looked different, Mama wouldn’t have run away. Now Daddy’s gone, too.

Not gone-gone, like Mama.

Just gone.

He disappears every once in a while, but he always comes back. It’s been longer this time, though, and Anna and I are more scared than mice in a forest of cats.

Daddy’s a singer and drummer in a band called Stix and Stonz. Stones is the last name of two other guys in the band. They call Daddy Stix because he’s skinny, and because he plays the drums. Sometimes at night I would lie awake and hear him drumming in his room. Tat-tat-tat, like rain on a tin roof. I listen hard to hear the sound in my thoughts. Normally, it brings Daddy closer, but tonight my thoughts are too troubled by those other noises to work right.

The scratching noises don’t scare me anymore, but I’m still cold. I roll onto my side and peek at Anna, whose face, for once, doesn’t look all twisted. It’s good to see her sleeping so hard and not waking up because of horrible nightmares, the noisy wind, scratchy trees, or skittering rats.

A couple of nights ago, Anna and I buried one we found in the alley. Even though it was deader than a stick, its bright little beady eyes glowed in the moonlight. The rat couldn’t have been dead long. Its fur was still soft, yet it lay there like a clump of loosened dirt.

We lined a box with mud-soft leaves. The coffin was a shoebox we’d saved full of treasures, including the picture of Mama, which I took out and put in a drawer. Then we gave the rat a name. No one should die without a name. I wanted to name it Sid because I thought that was a great name for a rat, but Anna gave it another name.

Hope it’s not dead.

It is, I said.

Hope we can fix it.

We can’t.

Bury Hope, she murmured.

And we did. We buried Hope with all the love we could muster.

The ceremony was a short one. Anna scooped dirt over the box while I sang a good-bye song I made up right on the spot. When the last scoop of dirt was patted down, we made a ring of small rocks around the lumpy mound. Then we marched back to the house, sad for Hope but happy that we could send the rat on its new journey in a nice box with two somebodies missing it.

Like me, lying here, missing Mama so bad. I climb out of bed, telling myself with each step that everything’s going to be okay. The wooden floor is colder than I am and sends tiny shivers up my legs. I walk faster. I try to pull the window all the way shut, but it won’t budge. A chilly breeze swirls around my nightshirt.

A movement on the glass makes me jump. My heart beats hard, like Daddy’s drums. Is someone outside peeking in after all?

When I look again, I see that it’s only me in the glass and feel silly at being scared of myself. In the dark, windows look like mirrors, and seeing my face in the glass makes me feel better—like someone else is awake and keeping me company.

Sometimes reflections look like they’re supposed to—color and all. Other times, or at other angles, I can only make out shadows. I lean close to the cold glass for a better look. In the shadows, my hair looks inky black. I look different with such dark hair. My hair is brown as toast. In the reflection, my eyes are round, black circles, like holes in a skull, instead of sky blue. I remember Daddy saying that when God made me, He put a piece of that blue sky in my eyes so I would see great things.

I lean against the dusty sill, hugging my arms around me. I like how nighttime tiptoes into my room every night to tuck me in. Sometimes the dark feels warm and safe, other times cold and scary. Still, one thing is always true about the dark: I can always count on it to be there. I just wish Anna and I didn’t have to be alone in it