Besides, these things I carry are not loved—a ship does not love the barnacles clinging to its hull. Still, even on this August day, I could not bear to let them go. I held the bag of worthless loot and agonized until Zola, the small girl who’d slept in the bunk beneath mine for the last few months, came in.

“Here,” she said, and put a small metal thing in my hand. An Allen wrench.

“In case you get lonely,” she said. “Okay?”

I nodded. “How was swim class?” I asked. “You put your head under yet?”

“Didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged.

“Oh, Zola.” I sat on the bed. “You have to remind her.” This foster mom liked to think she was well intended, a white lady who, instead of providing kindness and understanding, had a penchant for calling the police for minor offenses. And she was forgetful as hell. Especially, it seemed, with Zola’s very few activities.

“Will you come see me ever?” she asked. “Can I write you?”

I rolled the wrench around in my palm. “Not sure writing is allowed,” I lied. “But you never know when you’ll see someone again.”

Zola’s face fell. My eyes stung.

I didn’t want to keep Joellen waiting, and besides, if she had her way, this was maybe the last of packing, unpacking, packing, unpacking, so I dropped the Allen wrench into the pillowcase, removed one of the things and slipped it into my pocket, retied the knot, and carried it all in my perfect suitcase to her waiting car. To one more—one last—foster house.

“You want to come out?”

Zola nodded and trudged beside me.

Joellen was in her usual spot at the curb to give the foster mom time to say goodbye to me because she always thinks parents will miss me, which is not entirely true; it’s just the older I get, the more help I am around the house, and that is what they will miss. I don’t blame them. Most foster parents are overworked and exhausted, and I am not only not a burden but often useful. Sometimes I feel bad for leaving, like I’m ditching a job knowing there’s no new employee to take on my duties.

This foster mom hugged me, said she wished I didn’t have to go. “Maybe you’ll be back, though.” She sniffed. “A bad penny always turns up.”

I ran back into the house and fetched a wad of toilet paper from the bathroom because she was crying a little and the house tissue box was empty. On my way out, I added Kleenex to the magnetic shopping list on the fridge and Zola Swim Class 8:00 a.m. to every Tuesday square in August on the paper calendar tacked to the wall.