The nearest Catholic church was small and of a newer design, so was missing the gothic spires and ornate stained glass. It was more squat–ready to be changed out for a different denomination, or formally a different denomination–with bright, cheery abstract stained glass in a handful of the windows.

It was quiet and still with it being a Wednesday mid-morning. Penny pulled open the heavy front door, slipped inside, and headed towards the inner chamber.

The priest was leaning towards the elderly range. His slate gray hair was rough and thin in places. His skin was browned, wrinkled, and leathery. He wore his black shirt and white collar; the standard, generic uniform that gave her no hints to which order he belonged to.

“Welcome,” he greeted. “Are you here for confession?” He looked beyond her. “Is it just you?”

“Yes, Father,” Penny said. “So… where’s the confessional?”

“The congregation prefers a more conversational form, but we can work something out," the priest said. He started to rise, groaning.

“It’s fine,” Penny said quickly. “I can sit behind you. That’ll work.”

She settled in the pew behind him. She inspected the hymnals and missiles in the wooden pocket. They were familiar to her, but so different being paperback and an odd mixture of worn corners but unbroken spines.

“Would you like me to begin traditionally, or would you prefer to just talk,” the priest asked, turning slightly to see her.

“You aren’t supposed to look back!”

“My mistake,” he said, sounding slightly amused and turning to face forward.

Penny dropped the kneeler and stood upon it to peer over the Father’s shoulder. She studied his sleeve cuffs, but saw no signs of embroidery.

“Are you a Marian,” Penny asked.

“Augustinian,” he said. “My, you are quite informed, aren’t you? Not many little girls, or adults for that fact, even know there are different religious orders.”

“I was mostly raised in a group home run by nuns,” Penny said. “My aunt is a nun too.”

“Is she now? Well, that’s quite a connection to your faith.”

“It’s just me and her as far as I know,” Penny said. “My mom gave me up when I was born, and I never got to meet my grandmother.” She sank back into the pew. “I found out she died last summer.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

“Weird. What was hard was being moved out of that group home and all the way down here to West Virginia when my aunt was gone for the funeral. We never got to say goodbye. And worse, I found out a few weeks ago that the home was shut down around the same time I was sent away, so no one would’ve told her what happened to me.” She leaned onto the pew beside the priest’s head. “She’s mostly connected with Marians, so I was hoping you’d be able to figure out how to tell her where I was. Just so she can stop worrying since I know she is.”

“Even without being a Marian, I can still try,” the priest said. “So long as that works with your current living arrangements. I assume you have a foster family and a case worker?”

“My fosters are awful people,” Penny said. She sank back again. “And my foster sisters aren’t great. The other foster kid is just a bully, and the biological daughter mostly ignores me.”

The priest started to turn but hastily faced forward again as Penny gave a small throat clearing. “Is there abuse?”

The question caught her off guard. She had never been hit, although had been afraid of it. She was fed, clothed, and had her own room.

“I don’t think so… They’re just mean. They yell a lot. I think they’re taking the stipends too.”

The priest hummed but did not ask a follow-up. He probably heard nothing but complaints about parents from the kids that went to confession.

“But, really, I’m trying to find my aunt,” Penny pivoted. “My fosters will never agree to it. They call us foster kids ‘cash cows’.”

The priest hummed again. “I could contact the diocese and see what comes of that.”

“Really? Thank you,” Penny said, leaning on the pew. “She goes by Sister Mary Agnes, but her not-nun name is Aisling Fox. Do you know when you’d hear anything?”

“Patience, my child,” the priest said, sounding mildly amused again. “I will ask for two weeks at the least. I don’t want you skipping school repeatedly to come here asking after this.”

Penny blushed guiltily.

“Is there anything else you wish to speak about? While I believe you should return to school soon, I will not turn you away should you need to talk.”

She shifted awkwardly as her mind wandered towards Brooke. She recently shoplifted lip gloss to wear to school. She was keeping her bangs back, and only walked back from school with her twice a week now; she stayed after with Mr. McBride all the other days. She had also changed out her usual longsleeved shirts for shorter ones, showing off the scars she’d been giving herself.

“Maybe next time,” Penny said. “There’s something… but it isn’t about me. It feels weird to talk about something like that.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” He turned and held out his hand. “It was very nice to meet you…?”

“Penny.” She shook his hand. “Hail Marys or Our Fathers?”

He smirked. “How about one of each? Just to set your mind at ease.”

---

The days until the two week timeline crawled painfully by. Not even the buzz of the coming Spring Break could distract Penny from finally getting in contact with Aisling. She would give way to daydreams of Aisling showing up at the school or at the Lamberts, and dragging her away. She would take her to meet her mother, and whatever riff between the sisters would be healed.

She found herself thinking more of her mother. Aaliyah had mentioned more than once that she wasn’t a candidate for adoption–likely she overheard the Lamberts complaining–and it started her wondering why she wasn’t. Her father was not on her birth certificate, so could not claim her. Aisling was her only living relative, and her vows prevented her from taking her. That only left her mother; her mother had planned to come for her despite giving her up at birth.

“Hello, Penny? You still with us?”

Penny jolted from her thoughts. She had a pudgy boy staring at her with a mix of concern and annoyance, indicating he had been trying to talk to her for a while.

“Sorry, Colton…” She looked around at the little table of artistic misfits. “Where’s Brooke?”

“English room,” Colton said, rolling his eyes. “Forget her for now; we’re trying to figure out Spring Break. I thought you’d have some opinion since your fosters are ditching you. Guess I was mistaken.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully but didn’t respond further. The Lamberts had declared they were taking a family trip, just the three of them, to the nearby lake for the week. She and Aaliyah were to be left with one of the neighbors in the cul-de-sac. They had foster kids at one point, so saw no issues with them temporarily becoming their guardians. They left Aaliyah with them whenever they wanted time away.

“There’s a farmers market that’s pretty neat,” Destiny, a small and skinny girl said. “Sometimes you can find pottery and wood burned stuff, not just food.”

“Boring,” Colton groaned. “We need something more adventurous.”

“Adventerous,” snorted tall and wiry Gage. “Like what? Stealing a car? Running off into the woods for the week?”

“I could go for hiking,” Penny said. She craned her neck towards the hall. “Maybe we should go get Brooke? She’s probably got ideas.”

“She’s too busy being ga-ga. Just leave her alone. She’ll snap out of it when she remembers he’s old.” Colton leaned into the group, lowering his voice. “My brother showed me how to drive the ATV. We can do better than hiking. Just once. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”

“So, then we just need to decide if we want to break our legs at the start of break or as break ends,” Gage said jokingly.

“Duh. At the end,” Penny said. “We can miss school.”

“You guys suck,” Colton grumbled, suppressing a smirk.

The loose plan was to go with Destiny and Whitney to the farmers market for one afternoon. As fun as Destiny made it sound, Penny couldn’t fathom going more than once, especially since she had no money. She would definitely take Colton up on the ATV ride on the last day, and she was hoping to do some hiking between the two events.

“You got Aaliyah to worry about,” Gage said. “She won’t have your fosters around to keep her in check.”

“Exactly,” Colton said. “She’s going to be really busy with all that freedom.” 

He raised his eyebrows at Gage knowingly. Gage snickered with his cheeks reddening.

Penny ignored them. She had become increasingly aware that Aaliyah had more than just her reputation as a bully circulating in the halls. Colton having a brother in Aaliyah’s class led him to more first hand knowledge, but Penny decided not to ask for details or see proof.

She waited outside the school for Brooke after the final bell. The others had long gone on their buses, and it was up to her alone to get Brooke’s input on what they’d be doing for Spring Break. 

She went through the pictures on her phone, smiling at the six different will o’ the wisp and the two of the gnome next door. The rest were a mix of nature shots and closeups of plants coming out of winter hibernation.

Mr. McBride headed for his car with Brooke trotting obediently at his heels. He smiled at her and brushed her hair off her shoulder.

“You’re such a pleasure to have in class,” he said. “So mature for your age. It’s refreshing.” He opened the passenger’s door. “Can I give you a lift home?”

“That’d be great,” Penny said, emerging from next to the school. She smiled widely at them both; no smiles were returned. “Thanks, Mr. McBride.” She shut the passenger’s side and opened the backdoor. “Come on, Brooke. I’ll catch you up on what you missed.”

The ride was mercifully short with their street just two blocks from the school. Brooke was quietly fuming next to her in the back, refusing to look her way. Mr. McBride was silent and his stare was fixed ahead more than normal for a drive with a few turns.

“Thanks for the ride, Tony,” Brooke murmured. She glared at Penny and slammed the door after her.

Penny didn't thank Mr. McBride. She shut her door and hurried after Brooke.

“Why’re you mad at me,” Penny snapped. “All I did—.”

“You know exactly what you did,” Brooke said, rounding on her.

Penny crossed her arms tightly. “He's creepy, Brooke. I don’t know why you—.”

“He is not!” Brooke's eyes welled up. She scoffed. “You wouldn't understand. You're still such a little kid, with your pictures and magic talk.”

“You sound like Aaliyah,” Penny said, glaring. “Crushing on some old guy doesn't make you better than me.”

Brooke let out a sob and ran for the Wilcox house. Penny felt a stab in her chest, unsure the exact emotion, and dragged herself into the Lambert home. The snide demands from Mrs. Lambert bounced off her as she went immediately to her room. She watched the Wilcox garden from her window until dinner, but Brooke never appeared.

---

The light filtering through the abstract rosette window created a stream of colors on the tiled aisle. Penny sat in the silence, fiddling with her pocketed phone. She glanced around, sure she was alone, and pulled it out. She opened the camera and aimed it at the patch of light.

“Back so soon?”

Her phone clattered onto the floor. She scrambled for it, tucking it away and flushing red as the priest approached. His eyes went to the spot where her phone had been, and he raised a bushy eyebrow.

“T-the light is pretty,” Penny stammered. “It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with taking photos inside the church,” the priest said. “So long as you aren’t taking pictures of the mass or of parishioners without their permission, I see it as a good way to show the beauty of our church with others.” He settled down in the pew in front of her. “Patience is hard for your age, I understand, but I haven’t heard anything yet. The two weeks isn’t quite up, but I will warn you that you may need to wait longer.”

“It’s not about that… I know you said not to skip school, but I have to go to my foster family’s church on Sundays.”

“What’s on your mind, my child?”

“I got into a fight with my best friend a couple of days ago,” Penny murmured. She took out her phone to give her hands something to do. “I know this is dumb….”

“Friendships are important. There is nothing dumb about the anxiety one feels when they hit snags.”

She relaxed a bit, but still kept her phone in her hands. She started scrolling through the tiles of photos absentmindedly.

“Lately… she’s started thinking she’s better than me,” Penny said. “All because she has a crush on….” She had an odd embarrassed feeling. Brooke would be furious if Mr. McBride got into trouble, and Penny did not have solid proof he was acting inappropriately. “She never believed in magic so long as I've known her, but now she’s teasing me about it with my bully foster sister.”

“Adolences is a difficult time,” the priest said sagely. “You and your friend are just developing and changing interests at different paces. Someday, you too will no longer believe in magic and will start to have crushes on boys. With that said, it is wrong for her to tease you for not meeting her same pace.”

Penny stared at her first picture of the will o’ the wisp. Frustration gripped tight around her chest at the sane, rationale of what the priest was saying. It was sensible advice if this was as sensible and straightforward as puberty hitting at different times.

“Brooke—My friend is wrong,” Penny said. “She’s wrong about the crush. She’s wrong, so wrong, about magic. And,” her green eyes bore into the back of the priest’s head, “you’re wrong too. I won’t outgrow magic. I can’t.”

“It sounds like this is a battle of prides. Stubbornness does not become, Penny. You can show your maturity by accepting that your friend’s crush is a normal, healthy development; just as someday releasing more… storybook notions is normal and—.”

She thrust the picture of the haunt in front of the priest’s face. She allowed him to take her phone as she sank back into her own pew. The screen flickered as he exited to the whole album and clicked to enlarge individual pictures, pausing longest on the two of the gnome.

“I can't,” Penny repeated quietly. “I know magic is real. I've seen it, and I'm always noticing the creatures people think are just stories.”

The priest was no longer going through the photos. He just held the phone open with the single picture of the gnome. Even from her vantage point, Penny could tell he was ashen.

She swallowed roughly, and plucked her phone from his hands. She shoved it back in her pocket and let the silence fall over them.

He cleared his throat, but his tone was a bit higher as he asked, “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“I’m showing proof that I’m not being a baby and that’s all you’re asking,” Penny asked with clear irritation. “Should I show Brooke? Will she listen to me about Mr. McBride if I prove I’m not being a baby?”

“Mr. McBride?”

“The guy she has a crush on!”

The priest straightened and twisted the best he was able to set a firm gaze upon Penny. She shrunk back, biting her lip at her small outburst.

“Penny, have you seen this Mr. McBride behave inappropriately towards Brooke, or is she merely telling you of her affections?”

“I don’t…. He’s her English teacher, and she’s good at English….”

“Penny,” he said, his voice softening a degree. “You are not in trouble. Brooke is not going to get into trouble. Can you tell me a little bit about why you don’t like her having a crush on this teacher?”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Penny blurted out. “This is a straight up confession. It’s confidential. Okay?”

She told him about seeing Mr. McBride touching Brooke’s arms, or hair, or shoulders multiple times, and always when he thought no one was around. She told him about Brooke staying after school with him alone to help him set up for the next day, and about how her insides squirmed when he’d notice she saw them. Or about how he was clearly annoyed when she’d tag along, or take Brooke away, or interrupt them. She told him about the comments he would make; telling Brooke how smart she was, or how mature, but how it sounded strange and foreboding in a way she couldn’t explain. She mentioned how Brooke had a rough time throughout her foster homes—this one with the Wilcox being no different—so Brooke took to cutting her arms, and how Mr. McBride always reassured her that she was still pretty despite it.

Penny was out of breath as if she’d run miles when she finished. A weight lifted from her shoulders, and she found a relieved smile on her face.

“It was good to tell me, Penny,” the priest said. “Anything else?”

“No,” Penny said. “I feel better. Hail Marys or Our Fathers?”

“One Hail Mary for skipping school. Three Our Fathers for impatience.” He struggled up to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it. I have to start on my paperwork for the day.” He gave her an odd, sad smile. “Try to stay in school.”

She gave a nod and settled on her knees. Her mind wandered as she murmured her prayers under her breath. There was Spring Break to look forward to now. There was reconnecting with Aisling soon after that. She would have to ask about her mother. It would’ve been great if Aisling even showed up on the Lamberts’ doorstep with Keena to take her away; the remaining Fox family reunited at long last.

Penny smiled happily, crossed herself to end her prayers, and skipped from the church.

------------------------------------------

I didn't name the priest because unless Penny was more active in the church, she probably wouldn't know his name. We only know our's becuse it's on the bullitin they hand out before mass. I never pinpointed where Penny was living/growing up, but I think it's probably rural NY since she always referes to WV as 'down there' and it was states away. It'd make sense since I have connections to rural NY. I'd probably put St. Brigid's nearer to the Hudson Valley area (Sleepy Hollow! Millbrook!) since I like that area and it's closer to WV.

Small intros for the other "weird" kids. I think I have the list as Colton, Gage, Levi, Destiny, and Whitney. Guess Levi and Whitney are the quiet ones, lol.

And back with the preist. I'm always not sure about the proper thing when you're in the church when it comes to pictures. I typcally just don't do pictures unless it's an event like baptism, a perforamce, or something, since that's personal to whichever kid is going through it. So, when I was in Latvia years ago, I was allowed to go into one of the churches older than the USA when other tourists were yelled at and turned out, because I was dressed more approprately (modest shirt/skirt) and I knew the correct reverence to show when entering since I'm from a Catholic family. I knelt in the back and very sneakily took I think one picture because, wow, then left. I'm betting if I went it with my phone out, or they caught me taking photos, they would've asked me to leave though.

Ms. Beauchamp smiled warmly at her from across the cheap, pressed wood desk. The multiple rings glittered on her chubby fingers while her beaded bangles clattered as she moved her hands to fold contently on her desk.

Penny stared at the lime green cellphone. She turned it over and over in her hands, feeling the number buttons and sliding it open to feel the keyboard.

“It’s really late to be a Christmas present,” Ms. Beauchamp said. “But, look, the keyboard makes texting your friends easier. Isn’t that a neat feature?” She settled more authoritatively in her chair. “Now, with that out of the way, why don’t you tell me about your Christmas vacation?” She glanced at her notebook. “And about this… gnome?”

“This is really mine,” Penny asked, holding up the phone. She inspected it more closely on Ms. Beauchamp’s nod. “They wouldn’t let me go to church.”

“I’ve spoken to them about that. As faithful as they are, I think they didn’t quite understand that a little girl would have such strong faith without an adult leading her on. They can’t promise every Sunday, mind you, not with their own church activities, but they’ll try.”

Penny did not believe that for a second, but gave a little nod. She began exploring the phone, finding it had Ms. Beauchamp listed as a contact along with the Lamberts’ landline. She could feel her case worker staring at her, waiting for more conversation. The gnome had been mentioned and brushed off during their brief meeting shortly before Christmas.

“You do have quite the fantastical imagination,” Ms. Beauchamp said after the pause grew too long. She consulted her notes. “There are records of it popping up at every placing.”

“Is it bad,” Penny asked. “I get bored. I’m trying to entertain myself.”

Ms. Beauchamp smiled again, shaking her head. She reached over and gripped Penny’s hands.

“Imagination is perfectly fine and normal,” she said. “Perhaps… tone it down around your fosters? Adults sometimes just get worried for no good reason.” She shuffled her papers and straightened. “Anything else for this meeting?”

“Since I have a phone of my own now… can I have the number for St. Brigid’s,” Penny asked hesitantly.

The case worker’s bubbly smile instantly faded. She fumbled her notes and cleared her throat.

“Your ride should be here,” she said dismissively.

She was sure to tuck the phone into her pocket before meeting Mr. Lambert out in the hall. They rode back in silence with a few disgruntled looks from him. She eagerly rushed from the car the moment it was parked, running up the stairs to her room.

“Don’t you slam that door,” Mrs. Lambert screamed up the stairs. In a calmer voice to Mr. Lambert, “Did the case worker say anything?”

“I didn’t see her,” he admitted. “I expect we’ll get a call tonight for a debriefing.”

“She better not write off her delusions as imagination. We’re entitled to a bigger stipend if she’s special needs.”

Penny shut the door and flopped onto her bed. She studied her new phone, flipping the keyboard open and shut. She would need to get Brooke’s number. It would be fun texting between classes or when they were trapped with their foster families.

A small camera icon drew her attention. She tapped it and the little screen showed her room. She grinned broadly, clamoured to the window, and pointed the phone at the neighbor’s garden.

Brooke was sitting in a snowbank near what usually was hydrangeas. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and hurried down the stairs, slowing at the annoyed hisses of the Lamberts coming from the living room.

“--add another kid,” Mr. Lambert said. “Or, trade her in, get one that’s really special needs. Maybe a deaf one. That’d be a nice change.”

“The Wilcox had a deaf one for a minute,” Mrs. Lambert mused. “It was a good chuck more, but the thing screamed too much. I don’t know if my nerves can handle that.”

“Just hope she’s reclassified then,” Mr. Lambert said.

“Better that then three of them,” Mrs. Lambert said. “They’re far too broken. I worry enough with that Aaliyah and our Emily getting along as well as they do.”

“Concerning,” Mr. Lambert agreed. “Too bad too. She’s such a cash cow. That drug-addled mother of hers will never get custody.”

The phone rang in the kitchen, breaking the conversation and the spell it had on Penny. She slipped on her rubber boots, and headed outside. She ran to the hedge that separated her yard from Brooke’s.

“Hey, Brooke!” She waved her phone. “Give me your number!”

The excitement over the new phone faded much sooner than Penny was expecting. Brooke put in her number, flipped between keyboard and no keyboard a few times, and then went back to scratching in the snowbank. Her bare fingers were raw and red from the cold.

“You okay,” Penny asked, plopping next to her. “You've been quiet since we got off break.”

“Holidays are hard,” Brooke mumbled.

It was much harder going through Christmas without the familiarity of St. Brigid's. She missed Aisling from sun up to sun down, and having the Lamberts prancing around in fake cheer for the neighbors while being snide to her and Aaliyah inside the house made the pain deeper.

A stifled sob startled her from her sorrowful thoughts. Brooke was wiping her eyes. Penny felt her own sting.

“Did you know, the world is supposed to end this year,” Brooke said.

“What?”

“Mayan calendar,” Brooke said. “It says the world is ending this year. …I don't think I'd care if it did.”

Penny couldn't fathom the world ending. It seemed dumb the world would end just when she hit double digits.

She took pictures of the frozen grasses and their footprints in the snow until she was too cold to sit any longer. She bid Brooke goodbye, and crept back into the house. Her body tensed the moment she walked through the door. The irritated sounds of her foster parents were coming from the living room and kitchen as they yelled conversation at each other.

It sounded as if they had the debriefing call with Ms. Beauchamp, and it sounded like she was not going to classify her as delusional. She hurried up to her room, stopping when she found Aaliyah leaning in her doorway.

“They know you got a phone,” she said. “Just one piece of advice; they aren’t allowed to take it from you.” Her dark eyes studied Penny. “Does it have a camera?”

“Yeah,” Penny said, taking a tiny step towards Aaliyah. “I was just at Brooke’s taking pictures of the garden. It looks cool all—.”

“You are such a baby,” Aaliyah said with an exaggerated eyeroll. “Too bad you ain’t for adoption. You’d’ve been snatched up with the other babies already.”

She winced as Aaliyah shut her door with a firm snap. She looked at her phone, puzzled why taking pictures of a frozen garden was seen as childish, and headed into her room.

---

The halls were covered in pink, red, and white crepe paper chains and hearts. Penny held her phone to a cluster of ugly cupids, clicking a picture, and hurrying to catch up with Brooke.

Brooke had her bangs clipped out of her face with a small, plastic heart barrette. She was reading her English assignment with giddiness.

“Everyone is acting weird,” Penny said, her head swiveling to watch two girls a grade ahead giggle uncontrollably as a boy took books from the locker next to them without so much as a glance.

“Spring is coming,” Brooke said wisely. “Valentine's Day gets everyone excited. Oh, Penny, listen to this final note, ‘shows great promise and improves with every class’.”

“Hard to improve on an A average,” Penny said.

They stopped as a young man Penny quickly recognized as Mr. McBride rounded the corner. He pulled back to stop from colliding with them.

“Oh, Brooke, I almost knocked you and your friend right over,” he said, beaming at her. He held out his hand to Penny. “Hi. You’re not one of mine. Mr. McBride. Or,” he looked at Brooke, “Tony.”

Brooke bubbled up, holding her English assignment to her chest.

Penny curtly shook Mr. McBride’s hand. “Penny. Nice to meet you, Mr. McBride,” she said formally. She pulled her hand away and looked at Brooke. “Ready to head home?”

“I was hoping Brooke would help me set up for tomorrow,” Mr. McBride said.

“What’s there to set up,” Penny asked. “Don’t you teach English?” She recoiled at Brooke’s glare. “Want extra help?”

“It’s just putting papers on desks,” Mr. McBride said flippantly. “You go on home.”

Reluctantly, she headed out of the school alone. She sent Brooke a message saying they should hang out before dinner as she walked, more to have something to do than to wallow over the unease in her stomach. Mr. McBride seemed nice. Brooke liked him; she was happy around him. Penny couldn’t put her finger on why it bothered her seeing them together.

“Maybe I’m jealous,” she muttered to herself. 

Brooke was her friend. She should be happy that she had an adult in her corner after having no one for so long. Her foster family–the Wilcox–were just as bad as the Lamberts, but with no other children in the home to divert their attention.

“Oh! That’s right!”

Penny turned back and ran for the school. She found herself in the nearly defunct computer lab moments later, typing away in the search bar for St. Brigid’s Home. She was directed to a sterile looking page with smiling kids she had never seen before, case workers in business casual that she never saw, and a director she didn’t know. There were no signs of Sister Mary Agnes, Mother Mary Clare, or any of the other nuns.

She put the number into her phone as she heard people outside in the hall, shut down the computer–unsure if she was allowed on unsupervised–and left.

Brooke was outside standing by Mr. McBride’s car. She was shyly waving goodbye, her face flushed and elated as a small box of chalky candy hearts was pressed to her chest. His eyes caught Penny’s as he pulled away and she found her insides squirming. She held back rather than catch up with Brooke, and watched her skip away.

A small, blue-white ball of light bobbed in her peripherals. She headed for the woods, stalking after the haunt with her phone at the ready. She switched her gaze from the ball of light to her phone screen as she tripped over logs and fought through branches, irritation seeping in at her inability to get it perfectly on her screen.

There was a squelch and a lurch down as Penny reached a clearing. She found her feet stuck in muck, and wiggling sunk her to her knees.

“Perfect,” she grumbled. She found the will o’ the wisp hovering in small circles just out of reach. She raised her phone, snapped a picture, and gave a snort. “It’s funny to you, isn’t it?”

She fell backwards, pulled herself back, and got her feet out with a wet suction sound. She flipped onto her stomach and dug her hand into each of the holes as they rapidly shrunk, managing to pull her shoes free.

The walk home grew increasingly uncomfortable as the February air froze the wet muck to her legs and arms. Her feet were frozen and ached, having decided to carry her mud-filled shoes. She snuck inside and inched her way up to the bathroom across from her bedroom, cringing at every small noise she made.

She started washing with a loofah, keeping all her clothes on and trying not to get soaked by the shower. She would need to sneak her muddy clothes into the dirty laundry and simply pray that Mrs. Lambert didn’t notice them.

“Penny,” Aaliyah said, banging open the door. Her eyes flashed at the mud coating the bathroom. “Oooh, you’re in trouble.”

“Please, don’t—.”

“Mrs. Lambert! Mrs. Lambert, you should see what Penny did!”

Penny stumbled from the shower-bath, slipping and falling in a heap on her mucky shoes. She scrambled to the door, slamming it in Aaliyah’s face just as heavy steps sounded in the hall. The door was flung into her, cracking across her forehead.

“What is all this,” Mrs. Lambert shrieked.

She felt herself dragged from the bathroom; she flailed and freed herself, and ran on all fours into her room. She threw the door shut and felt the doorknob instinctually for the lock that should have been there while a small memory floated in the back of her mind of the Lamberts lecturing her shortly after she arrived on how they didn’t allow foster kids the ability to lock the doors.

Mrs. Lambert burst through the door. She screamed and ranted as she dragged Penny back to the bathroom. She ordered her to clean and threw down a musty smelling mop.

Aaliyah gave her a gloating smirk before stalking off to her room.

Penny began wiping the floor with shaking hands. Her ears strained for the slightest sounds; Emily returned home and gave her an exasperated glance on her way to her room, Mr. Lambert returned and angry hisses between him and Mrs. Lambert quickly ensued. She had the floor finished before her nerves settled.

She crept back to her room. She moved her desk chair in front of the door. It wouldn’t stop the Lamberts from coming in, but it would be more of a hassle than just walking through the door. She shed her wet, muddy clothes, and changed into Goodwill sweats. Her phone was clutched in her hands.

She listened hard for a second to make sure all was relatively still outside, then hit the contact number for St. Brigid’s.

“Home of Hope,” a woman answered.

“Oh. …Sorry. I thought this was St. Brigid’s Home….”

“It was. Can I help you with anything, young lady?”

“...Why is the name different,” Penny asked uneasily.

“Homes change names from time to time. It’s nothing to worry about,” the woman said. “Are you looking for help? Can I have your name?”

“I’m looking for Sister Mary Agnes. Can–May I speak with her?” There was a pause. “Aisling Fox? Her non-nun name is Aisling Fox.” Her heart was starting to beat rapidly at the increasing tenseness coming from the other end. “Is Mother Mary Clare there?”

“No…. May I ask again who is calling?”

“P-Penny. My name is Penny Fox.” She gave a hearty sniff. “Penrose. They might have me under Penrose Fox. I-I used to live there. Aisling is my aunt.”

“Oh… I see,” the voice said sympathetically. “I’m afraid I don’t have any contact information for anyone from before the changes. You see, Penny, St. Brigid’s Home was found to be in violation. Too much influence from outside of the state.”

Penny was having trouble catching her breath; it coming in short, rapid bursts. “W-when?”

“Last summer. I believe near the end of July. Start of August. Sometime around then.”

Roughly a week after she was sent to the Lamberts. It made sense why none of her letters went answered. It made sense why contact had completely stopped. Aisling was not her legal guardian in any respect. There was no obligation for anyone to let her know where she’d been sent. She may not have even been allowed back to St. Brigid’s, going from her mother’s funeral arrangements right into being cast aside.

“I’m sorry I can’t give you your aunt’s contact, but is there anything else you want?”

“N-no,” Penny choked out. “I-I-I just wanted t-to know why she stopped writing. Bye.”

She held the phone feeling numb. Aisling was gone with no way to find her. No help was coming in her distress with the Lamberts.

She slowly focused from nothing to her muddy clothes. She opened her phone, and a small, sad smile formed as she stared at the picture she had taken of the ball of light.

------------------------------

I think Penny's been with the Lamberts for around 5 months in the first part and 6 months in the second. I cannot remember the name of Penny's cellphone. I think it was an early Samsung with one of those edgy teen focused names that they used to do when they had stripped down versions of cellphones for kids. The lime green was the most common one that popped up when I typed the name in to an image search. (LG Rumor, I found it in my search history.) Man, they used to just make things with personally as far back at 2012. This phone could take photos but not videos, and I believe there was no internet access (and data plans, calls, minutes used to be such a big thing).

Appalacia/West Virginia has a whole lore with will o' the wisps too, but they're more commonly/locally called haunts/haints. The blue-white ones are not supposed to be malevolent. They apparently come in green, yellowish like a candle, and red too.

Dear Ashling,

Penny stared at the heading, knowing something wasn't right but not sure what. She always tripped up on the heading.

You haven’t written back yet.

It was redundant. Aisling would know she hadn’t written; she would know months have passed since they saw each other. She had written so many unanswered letters at this point that she didn’t know what to put into one. Her complaints about her foster family and foster siblings were exhausted. It no longer felt safe to write about it, and definitely didn’t feel safe to mention the gnomes in the neighbor’s garden or the giant bird she saw during the last storm with lightning on its wings.

The paper was snatched from before her, jerking her from her wandering thoughts. She leapt up and spun around the chair, grabbing fruitlessly at the page as a taller girl with beaded cornrows waved it overhead.

“Give it back, Aaliyah!”

“Ooo, Ashling! Who's that? Aw, she never writes back? Aww.”

“Give it back!”

Aaliyah crumpled the paper and threw it over Penny’s head. Penny dived for it.

“She doesn't write because she doesn't care, stupid. They're paid to pretend. All case workers are.”

Penny smoothed the paper the best she could, mostly to avoid Aaliyah's hard gaze. “She’s my aunt….”

There was a pause before Aaliyah cackled nastily. She put on a show, doubling over and wiping tears from her eyes.

“That’s worse! She's family and ignoring you!” She huffed for breath. “She doesn't want you, Penny. Stop trying. It's sad.”

Aisling couldn't take her without giving up her vows. She wasn’t sure how it would even work if she did give up her vows. Aisling had no money due to the vow of poverty. Her skills were limited to religious service, outside of magic which she hid. There was no telling what her support was like now that her mother had died. Friends had come to fetch her, but as far as Penny was aware, Aisling and Keena were still strained.

Keena gave her up for a reason, and even now had not tried to reconcile with her.

Penny wandered outside to avoid Aaliyah and change scenery. The trees were still green, but the breeze was decidedly chilly to signal fall coming. She crawled into a gap in the hedge that sat on the property line, flopping on her stomach to watch the neighbor’s garden.

“What are you doing?”

She shimmied out of the bushes, popping up before she was clear. The twigs ripped at her hair and left leaves strewn about. She blinked at the girl standing on the other side of the hedge.

This girl was skinny with lank bangs. She wore a baggy short sleeved shirt over a long sleeved one, and held her elbow as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. They seemed to be about the same age.

“I was hiding from Aaliyah,” Penny said, climbing fully to her feet and plucking leaves from her dark brown hair. “She’s my foster sister.”

“I know her. …She’s mean.” She nodded over her shoulder. “I’m a foster too. With them.”

“Really? Huh. That’s kind of weird the neighbors have a foster kid too.”

“This whole cul-de-sac has them. I think they all went into it together for extra support or something. Or….” She stared down at her toes. “I’m Brooke, by the way.”

“Penny.”

“I know,” Brooke said, kicking at the ground. “I’ve been watching you. Not in a creepy way! I… I wanted to make sure you weren’t like Aaliyah before talking to you.”

She studied this shy, semi-awkward girl in front of her. Her clothes were clearly worn hand-me-downs just like hers. She had this forlorn air to her than had Penny giving her a sympathetic smile. She had benefited from having Aisling in her corner, having shelter at St. Brigid’s. Brooke was probably bounced around far more than she was.

“Want to start eating lunch together at school,” Penny asked. “People avoid me. Maybe because I’m still too new. Or because Aaliyah.”

“Sure,” Brooke said. A smile fought onto her gaunt face. “Want to… hang out now?”

---

Gaining a friend her age helped Penny not ruminate over Aisling’s lack of communication. Having one person turned into having a small group; the kids that were seen as weird or outsiders, but all were just creative in some way.

Penny shuffled through the slush with Brooke at her side. They mentioned annoying things that teachers did at school that day. They shared no classes so the teacher stories were always something new while also being the same.

They were almost to their houses when Aaliyah knocked hard into Penny. She skidded and fell into the slush. Brooke shrunk away, offering no help. Penny went to snap at her, but she already stormed off into the house.

“She looked upset,” Brooke said meekly.

“Probably picked on someone she shouldn’t’ve,” Penny growled. She shook slush from her backpack. “I better go change before the Lamberts see. Catch you tomorrow.”

She managed to get upstairs without being spotted. She was just pulling on a pair of large, worn sweats when her door opened with no warning. She yanked her pants up as she stood, heart pounding, facing a middle-aged woman with long, fake nails and an elaborate perm.

“Why are you changing,” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Aali—I fell,” Penny said. “Slipped.”

“And now I have extra laundry to do.” Mrs. Lambert glowered. “Dinner in forty. Be downstairs to set the table in thirty.”

She flinched as the door slammed shut. She took a few breaths before sinking back onto her bed. She pulled out a sheet of paper and pen from her damp back pack.

Dear Aisling,

I learned how to spell your name. My friend Brooke told me. I told you about Brooke in my last letter, just in case you forgot.

She stared at the page. Her eyes stung.

You still haven't written back, so I don’t know if you even know I made a friend. I have a couple. It helps a little. My foster family is

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. She crumpled the paper and left the room.

Dinner was one of the casseroles from a box that Mrs. Lambert resorted to every other night. The biological family—Mr. And Mrs. Lambert and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Emily—all rattled away at each other while Penny and Aaliyah sat in silence, picking at their food.

“Oh, Aaliyah, remind me to lend you that new sweater for the Christmas potluck,” Emily said. “It’ll be cute over that dress.”

“How thoughtful,” Mrs. Lambert said through gritted teeth.

“Is the Catholic church nearby,” Penny asked. She looked away from the others as they met her with various glares and confused looks. “I was thinking… maybe I’d go for Christmas Eve….”

“I’m not a taxi,” Mrs. Lambert said. “You go to our church when under our roof.”

Penny wanted to burst out about how they didn’t like their church; they constantly complained and gossiped about others in the congregation. They made a show of dragging all of them to service on Sunday, elbowing them to sing loudly. They made loud comments of their contributions and charity whenever someone from the congregation was within earshot. That was all it was: show.

She nodded subservantly, eyes fixed on her plate.

“We do the potluck at our church,” Emily said. “It’s our tradition.” She turned to Aaliyah. “It’s crazy to think this is your second one. The fifteenth marks a whole year since you came.”

Aaliyah’s jaw tightened. She gave a small nod and forced food into her mouth to avoid answering Emily’s perplexed stare.

“Oh, before I forget again; that Ms. Beaucourt called my office,” Mr. Lambert said, shooting Penny an accusatory glare.

“Of course she did,” Mrs. Lambert said, rolling her eyes. “She’s been pestering me to get this one–” pointing her fork at Penny “–a phone. I told her I’d look into it, and I’ve been dodging her calls since.”

“I thought they were supposed to have a phone,” Emily said. “Aaliyah has a phone. An iPhone, right?”

“Yep,” Aaliyah mumbled sulkily.

“Aaliyah had hers when she arrived,” Mrs. Lambert said. “And, she’s older than Penny. I just think smaller children with phones is ridiculous.”

“Isn’t it so they can call their case worker whenever they want,” Emily asked.

“The house phone works for that,” Mrs. Lambert said. “Those smartphones are rife with unsavory types trying to take advantage.” She stabbed her food. “Don’t you think it’s enough I worry about you with one?” She quickly added as Emily opened her mouth, “And Aaliyah? No. You girls are older. You have better understanding. And I still worry.”

“Don’t fluster your mother,” Mr. Lambert said. “I’ll talk to Ms. Beaucourt tomorrow. Tell her the fears more firmly.” He scoffed. “Besides, how are we supposed to afford that?”

“They are expensive…,” Emily trailed off.

The stipend the Lamberts received each month would have more than covered it. Penny was already wearing Goodwill clothes, or Emily’s hand-me-downs she was handed from the source herself before Mrs. Lambert could donate them away. All her school supplies had come from Dollar Tree, and Mrs. Lambert spent hardly anything on snacks. Penny wasn’t sure the exact amount a foster parent received each month, but with Aaliyah receiving the same treatment, she suspected there was a great deal of money left each month. She also suspected the new TV was paid for by that stipend.

She readied for bed after dinner, and found herself at her desk with the unfinished letter. She recrumpled it and dropped it in the wire wastebasket. She flopped onto her bed and stared up at the darkening ceiling.

Murmurs from Aaliyah’s room indicated Emily and she were talking. They spoke a bit almost every night, usually peppered with giggles, but this had an extra hushness to it. She heard something about pictures and a boy sharing them, but not enough to put the pieces together.

She wondered if Aisling had any pictures of her family, specifically of her mother. She never thought to ask before, and now with nearly six months of silence it seemed impossible she would get the chance to ask her.

She jumped out of bed, ripped a page from her spiral notebook, and sat at her desk.

Dear Aisling,

I want to see family pictures. I know that’s allowed, so you wouldn’t have thrown them out. I don’t think you would throw them out even if you really, really hated my mom. Does writing any of this matter? You haven’t written back. The Lamberts are mean. You and Mother Mary Clare said I had a home there. Doesn’t seem like it.

Penny, your niece

P.S. The garden next door has a gnome. I forgot what they eat so I just watch it sometimes.

Penny squinted at the letter in the weak light. She dropped it back on the desk and climbed back into bed. It felt like she only just shut her eyes when the daily hammering on her door jerked her upright.

“Breakfast,” Mrs. Lambert yelled through the door.

She was sure to dress before going down or else invoke an extra dose of wrath for not being prepared. Aaliyah was in a better mood, which meant she took more cereal than she could eat to deprive Penny of a full bowl.

School was wired with it being a Friday and a week before the winter holidays. No one had any amount of concentration, and the teachers were a mixed bag of aggravated and apathetic at the fractured attention. Penny stared at the clocks most lessons, with only diverting to staring out the widows in the few classes she sat next to one. Her green eyes tracked a small, blue-white ball of light bobbing near the woods bordering the school grounds.

She waited outside the school for Brooke. The throngs of kids thinned; Aaliyah stalked by with a toss of her beaded braids as a jeer of “ooh la la” followed from a group of boys. Penny leaned to stare down the long, main corridor to check for her friend.

Brooke was hovering by her locker near the end of the hall. She was chatting animatedly, smiling up at a young man she’d previously pointed out as her English teacher. Penny tightened her grips on her backpack straps as she watched his hand clap Brooke’s shoulder, run down her arm, and back up before he departed. She straightened and pretended not to have seen anything, smiling as Brooke joined her outside.

“Sorry,” Brooke said. “Mr. McBride wanted to talk about my poem.”

“Good news,” Penny asked.

“An A with a revision,” Brooke said proudly.

Penny hummed, her eyes now watching the treeline as they passed. There was no sign of the will o’ the wisp. She felt a twinge of disappointment.

“Something up?”

“Not really… Just thinking.” She turned her gaze to her worn, slush-dampened shoes. “This is totally random, but… do you believe in magic?”

“Of course not,” Brooke said with a slightly disgusted snort. She looked at Penny from under her limp bangs. “Wait, do you?” Penny shrugged. “Isn’t that kind of babyish?”

“I guess,” Penny murmured. “Maybe I want to believe…? Like, maybe it’d just be more interesting if will o’ the wisps, or gnomes, or unicorns lived in the woods too. You know?”

“The monsters would have to exist too, and a big no thanks to that,” Brooke said.

“Well, a dragon would be a lot cooler than bad foster parents,” Penny joked. Brooke’s mouth twitched but a smile failed to form. “Nevermind. I was just daydreaming while I was waiting.” She bounced towards her house, stopping and spinning back to Brooke. “One more week and then no school! Catch you tomorrow, Brooke!”

She rushed off with her fake enthusiasm, but didn’t fail to catch that Brooke hung around outside looking forlorn and lank. Penny watched her shuffle off through the wavy glass of the front door.

“You!” Penny jumped as Mrs. Lambert stormed towards her with a crumpled paper in her hand. “Mean! I’m mean! You ungrateful brat! Upstairs. No dinner. Now!”

She dodged around the furious woman, racing up the stairs. She stopped outside her door, spinning to address the stare she felt.

Aaliyah stood in her own doorway, shaking her head and looking at Penny as if she was a particularly stupid creature. Penny narrowed her eyes and slammed her door shut.

-------------------------------

For the other kids' names, I go check what was popular in that area or for that demographic in approximate birth year range. I'm not sure I have much else to add, lol. I've been really tired so my brain isn't functioning right. This one took longer than the others because I was trying to figure out the pacing. Penny's with the Lamberts for a bit, so I was torn on everything in this one and it's just really long, or split in into two or three chapters. Right now, it's the two or three.