“No, nothing like that. I’ve completed an investigation of the family. They have four other foster daughters, all perfectly fine. The mother blamed that boyfriend…”

Nova cocked her head to one side. What boyfriend? Who had a boyfriend? Nova certainly did not have a boyfriend.

“You think he was a bad influence?” asked Billy.

“How did Bridget meet him?” asked Francine.

Oh, Bridget, remembered Nova. That’s right, Bridget had a boyfriend. The boy who drove the car, dressed like a vampire, and held her hand at the movies. That boyfriend.

“Through friends. After a while, she was failing two of her classes, which should have been a red flag.”

“Because…?”

“Because despite everything that happened after their father was killed in Vietnam, even with their mother’s issues and eventual death, despite moving around from family to family and changing schools multiple times, and even with…even with having Nova around like her shadow, Bridget was always an honor roll student.”

Nova was suddenly presented with the mental image of Bridget as Peter Pan, trying to stick Nova, her shadow, back on with soap, the way it happened in the story. She liked that thought, that they would always be attached to each other, and didn’t understand why Mrs. Steele said “shadow” like it was bad. Peter Pan loved his shadow. Who didn’t love their shadow?

“Their previous foster parents told me during a wellness check a few months ago that they weren’t happy about Bridget’s grades and behavior, but with more pressing things to worry about…”

“You’re telling us she fell through the cracks?” asked Francine, her voice rising. Nova sat on the carpeted stairs and pressed NASA Bear’s furry belly against her face, inhaling his scent, a mix of musk and laundry detergent.

“I hate to say ‘fell through the cracks…’ ”

“But she did! Like her mother, and Nova too. As my husband said, she’s far more capable than she’s given credit for. If only she’d had proper special education from the beginning, if she’d had consistency, if she’d stayed in one place long enough to—”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Mrs. Steele, sounding not-sorry, “but we have a lot of kids in terrible situations.” She huffed indignantly. “I regret what happened with Bridget, but considering all the kids on my caseload, I couldn’t devote a lot of extra resources toward a girl whose primary offenses were talking back, slipping grades, and coming home late for dinner—in other words, a typical teen!”

“But she—” Billy started. Mrs. Steele cut him off.