They couldn’t make her go somewhere, could they? Brittany Asher had been in foster care, and she’d told horror stories around the lunch table about gross foster fathers sneaking into her room in the middle of the night. Or foster mothers whose tempers would rival Quinn’s mom’s.

Quinn stopped in front of the door to the office.

She couldn’t breathe. Her eyes blurred.

She had to run. She could hide.

“Quinn?”

Quinn swiped a sleeve over her eyes. Becca’s mother stood there, signing in for a visit to the office. Quinn almost didn’t recognize her in street clothes—the woman practically lived in nursing scrubs.

And Quinn was standing here with a running nose and heaving shoulders.

Mrs. Chandler abandoned the sign-in book and put her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, rubbing gently. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

Quinn shook her head. “I don’t—I don’t—they’re going to take me—”

Then she couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she was crying on Mrs. Chandler’s shoulder, clutching at her sturdy form. This was what a mother was supposed to be like: all soft curves and gentle hands and quiet support.

“Please don’t let them take me somewhere,” Quinn said, clinging to any possibility that an adult could fix this. She knew she wasn’t making sense, but she couldn’t stop begging. “I want to go home. Will you tell them it’s okay? Tell them to let me go home. Please—”

“You can’t go home,” Mrs. Chandler said gently. “Not now, Quinn.”

Quinn cried harder. She couldn’t stop shaking. “Please. Please help me.”

“Oh, I’m going to do that. Calm down now.” She stroked Quinn’s back. “Let’s go inside and talk about it. We’re supposed to be doing this with your guidance counselor.”

Quinn lifted her head. “What?”

Mrs. Chandler pulled tissues out of her pocket. “I called to set up the meeting. I just found out about your mother, and your brothers, and what’s been going on in that house of yours.”

Quinn sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “But I didn’t—Becca doesn’t know—”

“Well, she will soon. If I get my way in here, you and your younger brother are going to stay with me until your mother can get into a treatment program.”

“But—but—”

“But nothing, Quinn.” Her voice was gentle, but stern. “I’ve always told you that my door is open to you. We’ve never had any secrets between us. I wish you’d told me what you were going through.”

“I’m sorry.” Fresh tears welled. “It got—it got out of control so fast—”

“I know. I know. Come on, let’s go inside and see if we can work something out.”

Quinn nodded and wiped at her eyes again, scared to let herself feel something like hope.