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On Friday, Hailey was packing for their ﬁrst weekend visit with the Marcottes. She had already checked and rechecked to make sure Dylan’s medicine was packed; he had another ear infection. She tossed her own inhalers into the duffel bag as she thought about the weekend ahead. Even though she hated having a social worker, the reality was that she needed Anna to help her and her brother find their forever family. If she couldn't have her own family back, the Marcottes seemed like they could be that forever family. It was still hard for her, though, to accept that her parents were gone. Sometimes she liked to pretend they were simply on an extended vacation and would be back any day to pick her and Dylan up. But, she had readily agreed to a weekend visit with the Marcottes when Anna had asked her; she had been surprised and relieved the Marcottes still wanted to have them over for the weekend after their disastrous meeting.

She needed a plan. Plans of action always helped her to feel better—they gave her something to do instead of just feeling nervous. She paced the room as she thought. What if she just relaxed and didn’t worry so much about making a good impression? Then, if the Marcottes still chose to adopt her in spite of her lessthan-perfect behaviour, everything would work out. Yeah, that sounds good! Hailey smiled. It would show her if the Marcottes would stick with her through thick and thin.

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To Steph, my best friend, who eagerly read and critiqued all the drafts I sent her to her new home on the other side of the world, New Zealand. She tactfully pointed out errors or plot inconsistencies I had overlooked. I knew I could count on her, though, to temper her critique with generous amounts of sincere praise. Thank you, Steph! I owe my swelled head to you.

H ailey Williams sat back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked around the table at her current foster family. They had just finished singing Happy Birthday to her. Hailey grimaced. They wouldn’t win any awards for that performance! Turning eleven is no big deal, she thought as she flipped some of the bright pink ribbons that covered her birthday chair away from her T-shirt. Turning seven, now that had been a big deal. Her parents had still been alive then and not been in the car accident that had killed them instantly. Hailey had been in Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop’s foster home for three months; however, Mrs. Dunlop’s arthritis and Mr. Dunlop’s heart problems were making it impossible for the Dunlops to continue fostering children for much longer. Two weeks ago, the Dunlops had explained to all the kids they would be looking for new homes for the foster children they now had. Hailey just hoped a permanent home would be found for her and her brother instead of another foster home.

“Blow out the candles, Hailey,” begged her brother, Dylan, as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Dylan was six years old and he could always make her laugh with his goofy faces and smile.

“Yeah, today would be nice,” drawled twelve-year-old Keisha. She often had a sarcastic comment ready for her younger foster siblings.

Hailey rolled her eyes, leaned over the chocolate cake, and prepared to blow out the candles.

At that moment, Dylan sneezed all over his paper plate. Hailey jumped out of her chair, grabbed a Kleenex, and quickly wiped off Dylan’s nose and felt his forehead. He didn’t feel too warm, but she knew just how quickly a fever could come on. If Dylan's temperature spiked, it would bring on a seizure. She took a deep breath, made her wish, and blew out the candles.

“Cake, cake, we want cake!” hollered Dustin, Trevor, Taylor, and Keisha as they pounded their hands on the table.

Mrs. Dunlop looked on and gave a huge sigh. Hailey knew Mrs. Dunlop would run her fingers through her hair at any moment and moan about her foster children giving her yet another grey one. Hailey could feel her face go tight as she fought back tears. She didn't want to be in this foster home, and it made her sad Mrs. Dunlop seemed to see the foster kids, including Hailey, as nothing more than nuisances to be endured. Hailey grabbed the cake knife, waved it dramatically in the air and brought it down with a plunk onto the cake. The knife landed right in the neon blue icing that spelled “Best Wishes.”

“Hey, what did you do that for?” whined eight-year-old Trevor. “Now you wrecked the cake.”

“Yeah, we have to eat that thing too,” chimed in nine-year-old Dustin.

Keisha tucked her curly brown hair behind her ear. “You messed up the icing. How do you expect me to eat that now?”

Hailey didn’t care; the thought of getting older was making her lose her appetite. She was sure nobody would want to adopt an older child, let alone one who came with a younger brother. Everybody wanted babies. People were willing to wait years to adopt a cute, cuddly baby.

Mr. Dunlop smoothed back the five hairs he still had left on his head. “Troops, you need to settle down––no one has to eat cake if they don’t want to.”

Mrs. Dunlop picked up the knife Hailey had dropped on the table and served everyone a piece of cake.

Hailey picked at her cake. The other children, even Keisha, dove into their cake with enthusiasm. As she watched everyone eat, Hailey eyed the small stack of presents on the table. She really could use some new jeans or a new sweater, but the pile of presents looked too small to have any clothes in them. She looked down at her favourite jeans, now faded and with holes in the knees, and sighed. She could feel the metal button cutting into her waist. At least her blue T-shirt felt roomy and still looked relatively new.

“Open your presents now,” demanded Taylor. Hailey looked over at Keisha and rolled her eyes. She was glad that, although Keisha might be rude sometimes, she had a friend at this foster home.

“Were we this impatient when we were in grade one?” Hailey asked Keisha.

Keisha nodded. “Oh yeah. I would have ripped all my presents open before even touching the cake.”

“I’ve got better things to do with my time than sit here watching you take a century to unwrap some lousy gifts,” said Dustin with a huge yawn as he ran his fingers over his newly spiked hair for the hundredth time that day.

“Yeah, me too,” agreed Trevor as he slowly scraped the last of the icing off his plate with his finger. He seemed oblivious to the fact he could have scraped a pound of icing out of his short, black hair.

Hailey grabbed a present from the table and thought, at least Dylan actually cares about celebrating my birthday. She hated Dustin’s and Trevor’s lousy attitudes, and often worried Dylan would pick it up if he was in foster care long enough. She tore the wrapping off the first present: a plaid pencil case from Dustin. Just what I need, she thought, a reminder school’s starting in a couple of weeks.

Hailey turned to Dustin. “Thanks for the pencil case.” She choked back the sarcastic remark about him spending hours at the vending machine choosing her gift; she definitely did not want to behave like him in front of Dylan.

Keisha handed Hailey another present from the pile.

“Don’t rip it!” yelled Taylor, as Hailey began tearing at the gift. “It’s from Dylan and me.”

As Hailey carefully pulled away the blue tissue paper, she could see why Taylor had yelled: the gift was two pictures drawn in crayon.

Taylor jumped down from the telephone book she sat on at the table, being careful to smooth down the yellow princess dress she always wore. She took the pictures out of Hailey’s hand. “I’m going to explain them to you. Mine is a picture of the time Dylan and me were climbing the tree in the back, and Dylan fell down ’cause he was rolling his eyes.”

Hailey remembered that day well. Dylan’s seizure had lasted only a minute, but it had seemed like forever.

Taylor pushed her long, blond hair out of her eyes as she poked at the other picture. “This picture is from Dylan,” she continued. “He can’t draw too good because all he did was scribble.” Taylor looked at Hailey and giggled. “You’re touching dried-up snot. Dylan sneezed chunks all over the paper.”

Mrs. Dunlop sighed and readjusted the paleblue, silk scarf around her neck. “That wasn’t very nice, Taylor. Remember now, children, if you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all.”

Hailey groaned. That line was one they all heard daily. She looked over at her brother. He had just coughed and was wiping his nose on his favourite orange T-shirt again. She wished for the thousandth time he could be just like any other six-year-old, without any developmental delays or health issues at all. She and Dylan had been in five different foster homes. It seemed as if they moved every time Dylan had seizures. They just had to get adopted into a permanent home! Maybe this year her wish would come true.

Hailey unwrapped Trevor’s gift next; it was Katy Perry’s latest CD. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ve wanted this for a while.”

She began unwrapping the second-last gift from the pile. She could see from the label that it was from the Dunlops. She turned the gift around in her hands: it was a hardcover book with blank pages.

“If you don’t feel comfortable talking about your feelings, maybe you can write them down instead,” explained Mrs. Dunlop.

Hailey exhaled loudly. “Thanks a lot––I’m sure this journal will make a nice paperweight.” She knew she was being rude, but what did it matter? Why should the Dunlops care if she got in touch with her feelings? Sooner or later, she and Dylan would be transferred from this home. It was less painful to feel angry than depressed.

Hailey took the last present off the table. It was from Keisha. She wasted no time tearing the wrapping off the gift. “All right!” she shrieked as she held the glossy, hardcover book on snowboarding in front of her.

“I found it at a garage sale a few weeks ago,” said Keisha. “If you can’t go snowboarding right now, at least you can look at the pictures and dream.”

Hailey nodded. It would be totally amazing if she could learn to snowboard. She wanted to soar like a bird down the hills, the wind blowing all around her. She imagined snowboarding would feel like flying. The closest she had ever gotten to a snowboard, however, was when she had watched the Canadian snowboarder win the gold in the Winter Olympics.

Later that evening, after all the kids were in bed for the night, Hailey tossed and turned. It was another hot, August evening and her throat was very tight. It felt like there was hardly any room for air to get in and out of her lungs. Every breath was an effort. Hailey’s asthma was as important as Dylan’s seizures, but everyone seemed to forget that. She got out of bed to scrounge around in her bag for her blue inhaler; she needed a puff. She had been using inhalers since she was four and a half years old. One day, in the winter before she turned five, she had been running around her backyard, building snowmen, and having fun. Suddenly, she felt as if she couldn't breathe. She had never felt as terrified in her life as she did that day, trying to pull air into her lungs. She had gone to the hospital, where they gave her the medication she now needed to take every day. It helped her breathe normally almost immediately. Last year, as part of an independent study project, she had learned what asthma was. When her chest started to feel tight and she couldn't breathe well, it meant the breathing tubes in her lungs had gotten very narrow, not letting much air through. It was sort of like trying to breathe through a very thin straw. She also knew, from her own experience, cold air, running, and laughing could trigger an asthma attack. Her blue inhaler provided instant relief and Hailey made sure she always knew where it was.

As she rummaged, she became aware of Mr. Dunlop’s deep voice. She could hear him well through the thin walls of the small house.

“How soon can the Marcottes visit Hailey and Dylan?” she heard Mr. Dunlop asking.

Hailey’s heart stopped at his next statement. “Next week would be great. Mrs. Dunlop and I don’t know how much longer we can care for them here.”

Hailey didn’t wait to hear more. She shoved her bag under her bed, took a quick puff of her inhaler, and hurried into the kitchen to ask Mr. Dunlop what was going on.

“Who were you talking to?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly.

“I was talking to Anna. She has been in contact with a very nice family that would like to adopt you and Dylan.”

“Why are you talking to our social worker so late?” demanded Hailey. “What’s the big secret?”

Mr. Dunlop cleared his throat. “We didn’t want to tell you about the Marcottes until we were absolutely sure they wanted to have a personal visit with just you. We didn’t want you to get nervous or have any false hopes. David and Alexandra want to spend an afternoon with you next week.”

“Wait, do you mean the David and Alexandra who are here, like, every other Sunday? I thought they were just your friends.”

“They are, and they are also interested in adopting you.”

Hailey had so many thoughts swirling around in her head that she couldn’t respond for a minute. She had just about given up on the idea of being adopted. This seemed almost too good to be true. But why did the Marcottes want to adopt a moody, asthmatic eleven-year-old and a six-year-old who suffered frequent seizures and had developmental delays?

Hailey looked over at Mrs. Dunlop. She had just plugged the kettle in for a cup of tea. “Why would I get nervous? Dylan’s seizures scared off the last family that wanted to adopt us. These people won’t be any different.”

“Oh no, dear, that’s not the case at all,” protested Mrs. Dunlop.

Hailey was just about to make it clear to Mrs. Dunlop that she did not want to be called “dear” when Dylan walked into the kitchen and wrapped himself around her leg. “I don’t feel good,” he moaned.

Hailey could feel how hot his little body was, draped around her bare leg. She disentangled herself from him. She could feel the sweat trickling down the back of her neck as she walked over to the sink, threw open the drawer beside it, and grabbed a cloth. Dylan had a fever and needed a cold cloth on his head immediately.

It was too late. Hailey turned from the sink just in time to catch Dylan as he slumped onto the kitchen floor. His eyes rolled back in his head and his body was twitching uncontrollably.

Hailey looked over at the Dunlops. Mrs. Dunlop was standing by the sink, wringing her hands. Mr. Dunlop headed toward the phone. This was Dylan’s second seizure in this foster home and they still didn’t know what to do.

“Run some cool water over the cloth and bring it to me,” Hailey commanded. “I’ll also need some medicine to give him after the seizure for his fever.” Hailey carefully rolled Dylan onto his side so if he threw up he would not choke. She took the cloth from Mrs. Dunlop’s shaking hand and put it on her brother’s forehead.

“Emergency services are on the way,” said Mr. Dunlop.

“A pillow would be nice!” Hailey barked. She hoped the Marcottes were better in a crisis than the Dunlops were.

Hailey used the pillow Mr. Dunlop handed her to cushion Dylan’s head from the hard tile floor. “Maybe now you’ll find time to renew your first aid,” she snapped. On the day the Dunlops were going to renew their first aid certificates, Dustin had fallen off the climber in the backyard and needed stitches. The certificates had been forgotten in the excitement.