“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here, so I’ll get right to it,” she says, as she opens her briefcase and pulls out some papers. “As I said, I work for Aether Corporation. My company has set up a special program with the state of California to help children in foster care transition to adulthood, whether that means going to college or getting a job and finding a place to live.”

“What kind of program?” I’ve been turned down for every transition program I’ve applied to so far, thanks to my record. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I need a break so bad, even if this already sounds way too good to be true. I wait to hear what the catch is.

She lays the papers on the table and folds her hands over them. “We’ve had our eye on you for some time. Your grades are good, especially considering how often you’ve changed schools. Many teachers have remarked on your near-perfect test scores.”

Near perfect. Only because I realized when I was younger that I got too much attention when my answers were perfect. Teachers got suspicious when I did too well on tests. Other kids teased me for being a know-it-all. And foster parents freaked out when I recited facts and details back to them.

“In fact, we had your school run a few basic tests on your entire class so we could confirm our suspicions. Your results stood out.” A slow smile spreads across her lips. “We know you have an exceptional memory.”

My throat tightens. They’ve been watching me? Testing me? How much do they know?

“It’s truly amazing what you can do. Perfect recall is a rare gift.” She leans close, like we’re two friends sharing a secret. “Don’t worry, we haven’t told anyone else about your unique talent, including your foster parents.”

I’m tempted to bolt out of the room like I did at the job interview today. I’ve worked so hard to hide my freaky memory over the years, but they know. Yet Lynne doesn’t look at me like I’m a freak. Instead, she eyes me like I’m a piñata and she’s waiting to see what kind of candy falls out of me. I’m not sure I like that any better.

She waits for me to say something, but when I don’t respond she sits back and continues. “I’m told you tutor some of the younger girls here. Why is that?”

Her question catches me off guard, but I’m glad for the change in topic. “No one else will.”

“I see.” She looks down at the paper in front of her. “Your record shows you’ve been in quite a few fights during your time in foster care, including a bad one two years ago. Want to tell me what happened?”