Orphan Train

likes—the way it marks her as a rebel, for one thing. Multiple earrings don’t
     have the same punk appeal; every forty-something divorcée on the island has half a
     dozen hoops in her ears. But the ring takes a lot of maintenance; it’s always in danger
     of infection, and she has to be careful with it when she washes her face or puts on
     makeup. It’s kind of a relief to have a metal-free face.
    Flipping slowly through the file, Lori says, “You’ve logged twenty-eight hours so
     far. Good for you. What’s it like?”
    “Not bad. Better than I thought it would be.”
    “How do you mean?”
    Molly’s been surprised to find that she looks forward to it. Ninety-one years is a
     long time to live—there’s a lot of history in those boxes, and you never know what
     you’ll find. The other day, for example, they went through a box of Christmas ornaments
     from the 1930s that Vivian had forgotten she kept. Cardboard stars and snowflakes
     covered in gold and silver glitter; ornate glass balls, red and green and gold. Vivian
     told her stories about decorating the family store for the holidays, putting these
     ornaments on a real pine tree in the window.
    “I like her. She’s kind of cool.”
    “You mean the ‘old lady’?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, good.” Lori gives her a tight smile. A ferrety smile. “You’ve got what, twenty-two
     hours left, right? Try to make the most of this experience. And I hope I don’t need
     to remind you that you’re on probation. If you’re caught drinking or doing drugs or
     otherwise breaking the law, we’re back to square one. You clear on that?”
    Molly is tempted to say, Damn, you mean I have to shut down my meth lab? And I gotta delete those naked pictures
     I posted on Facebook? But instead she smiles steadily at Lori and says, “I’m clear.”
    Pulling Molly’s transcript out of the file, Lori says, “Look at this. Your SATs are
     in the 600s. And you have a 3.8 average this semester. That’s really good.”
    “It’s an easy school.”
    “No, it isn’t.”
    “It’s not that big a deal.”
    “It is a big deal, actually. These are applying-to-college stats. Have you thought
     about that?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    Last year, when she transferred from Bangor High, she was close to failing. In Bangor,
     she’d had no incentive to do homework—her foster parents were partiers, and she’d
     come home from school to find a house full of drunks. In Spruce Harbor, there aren’t
     so many distractions. Dina and Ralph don’t drink or smoke, and they’re strict. Jack
     has a beer now and then, but that’s about it. And Molly discovered that she actually
     likes to study.
    No one has ever talked to her about college except the school guidance counselor who
     halfheartedly recommended nursing school when she got an A last semester in bio. Her
     grades have kind of shot up without anyone noticing.
    “I don’t really think I’m college material,” Molly says.
    “Well, apparently you are,” says Lori. “And since you’re officially on your own when
     you turn eighteen, you might want to start looking into it. There are some decent
     scholarships out there for aged-out foster youth.” She shuts the folder. “Or you can
     apply for a job behind the counter at the Somesville One-Stop. It’s up to you.”
    “S O HOW ’ S THAT COMMUNITY SERVICE WORKING OUT ?” R ALPH asks at dinner, pouring himself a big glass of milk.
    “It’s all right,” Molly says. “The woman is really old. She has a lot of stuff.”
    “Fifty hours’ worth?” Dina asks.
    “I don’t know. But I guess there are other things I can do if I finish cleaning out
     boxes. The house is huge.”
    “Yeah, I’ve done some work over there. Old pipes,” Ralph says. “Have you met Terry?
     The housekeeper?”
    Molly nods. “Actually, she’s Jack’s mother.”
    Dina perks up. “Wait a minute. Terry Gallant? I went to high school with her! I didn’t
     know Jack was her kid.”
    “Yep,” Molly says.
    Waving a chunk of hot dog around on her fork, Dina says, “Oh, how the mighty have
     fallen.”
    Molly gives Ralph a what the fuck? look, but he just gazes placidly back.
    “It’s sad what happens to people, y’know?” Dina says, shaking her head. “Terry Gallant
     used to be Miss Popular. Homecoming Queen and all that. Then she got knocked up by
     some Mexican scrub—and now look at her, she’s a maid.”
    “Actually, he was Dominican,” Molly