They say something is only lost when someone is looking for it. Missing it. Searching for it. Frantically. Desperately.

If that’s the case, I’ll never be found.

No one is missing me.

No one is even looking for me.

I’ve convinced myself and the world that I’m okay with that. In two years, I can get my life back. Two years. Until then, I have to grin and bear it. Keep my head down and stay quiet. I angle my body away from the bright sunlight that’s streaming through the dirty window in the front of the Social Services office and look back down at my book. It’s a young adult paranormal romance that’s cheesy as hell, and I love every single word of it. Though right now, I can’t concentrate. I read the same line over and over, but the words escape me. I close the book and reach into my bag, pulling out my iPod. I put on my headphones and close my eyes, subconsciously tapping my foot in rhythm to Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.” The song is about to end when someone steps into the lobby and calls my name.

“Eleanor Fisher.”

I turn my head up, not expecting the social worker to be young with shoulder-length pink hair. “We’re ready for you,” she says with a gentle smile.

I pull my headphones off and stuff them back into my bag. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. My chest tightens with pain in a way I imagine a heart attack feel. Already broken into a million tiny pieces, my heart is just barely hanging on to begin with.

My fingers shake and I can’t get the stupid zipper up on my bag. I inhale but get no air. My legs weaken, and I fall back into the hard plastic chair. Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember some of my grandmother’s last words. You’re a tough girl, Nora, but when the day comes, it’s still going to be hard. Always remember. You don’t give up. You don’t quit. You keep walking the road no matter how hard it gets. If it’s still hard, you’re not done walking. You can change the world. Just don’t let the world change you.

I let my mind wander, taking me back to the front porch of her house. We’re drinking lemonade and eating chocolate chip cookies, watching the sun sink low in the sky. We did that at least once a week, and I’d tell her about the drama at school, she’d quiz me on whatever book I read from the reading list given to me by my student advisor, or she’d give me juicy details about her celebrity clients. Sometimes we’d just sit there in silence, and on rare occasions, she’d tell me stories about my mom.

Those were my favorite nights.

My grandma’s face flashes before me, blue-gray eyes surrounded by wrinkles, ones she wore proudly as markers of her life. She’d been through a lot and learned even more. She did her best to teach me all she knew in the little time we had.

What do you do when it gets dark? she’d ask from time to time.

Look for the stars, I’d reply and look up, no matter where I was. The heavens are above me, even if I can’t directly see them. Mom is above me.

“Eleanor?” the social worker calls softly. I hear her heels click on the slick tile floor, and her hand lands on my forearm. “Need a minute?” she whispers, and I’m grateful she didn’t feed me the bullshit line ‘it’s going to be okay’ that I’ve heard more times than I can count in the last three days.

I open my eyes and nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“I’m Summer,” the social worker tells me. “I’m handling your case. I believe Jennifer spoke with you before, right?”

I give her another nod, and then push my shoulders back and force myself to take in a deep breath.

“I’m ready,” I tell her, not liking how weak and small my voice is.

“You can take some time,” she assures me.

“No need to prolong the inevitable, right?”

Summer’s brown eyes meet mine, and I see pity reflected back. At least it’s genuine. I suppose she’s young and new enough not to have been burned out by this job yet. Lucky for me, right?

“All right then.” She stands and motions to a door behind the front desk. “This way.”

My heart hammers in my chest and my legs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. I have to physically force myself to move. Summer’s hand lands on the doorknob, and my stomach flip-flops as she twists the metal and pushes open the door.

I have no idea what my foster family looks like. I don’t even know their names. Everything happened so fast. As I was whisked away from Becca’s house, I was told I was lucky.

Fostering a sixteen-year-old isn’t the same as fostering a six-year-old.

“Well,” Summer says and shuts the door behind me. “Let’s get started. What do you want to do, Eleanor?”

I blink and move my eyes from her to the couple sitting on the couch in front of me. The woman leans forward, a kind smile on her face. She looks like she’s in her thirties and has hair so blonde it’s almost white. Her husband is at her side, brown eyes matching his brunette hair. His hand is resting on her thigh and he smiles as well.

“Nora,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Nora. It’s what I like to be called. No one calls me by my full name.”

“Oh, all right. Nora, it is. Let me introduce you. Nora, this is Stephanie and Doug Keller, your new foster parents.”

They are not my parents. Stop pretending to be something you’re not.

It’s the first thought that goes through my head, shocking me with the venom in my words. My hands start shaking again, and a throbbing starts in the middle of my chest, spreading over my whole body. I miss my grandmother. I miss my bedroom. My friends. My fat cat named Thackery Binx.

My life.

“Hello, honey,” Stephanie says softly. “I’m Stephanie. You can call me Steph if you’d prefer. Would you like to sit?”

I don’t want to move, but the manners my grandma was careful to instill in me kick in, and I move on autopilot. I take a seat on the couch across from them, fiddling with the buttons on my plaid shirt.

“I know this isn’t easy,” Stephanie tells me and looks at her husband. “We’ve done this a few times and find it’s best to just jump right in. We’ll start by telling you about ourselves.”

I smile and nod, listening to them talk about their lives and their jobs. About the nice weather here, and about the nature parks in the mountain with miles of trails fit for hiking. They tell me about the town and the school, about the Christmas Festival in the winter, and the new movie theater that just opened.

“If you have any questions, go ahead and stop us,” Doug says.

“I actually do,” I say, speaking for the first time. All eyes fall on me. “What type of extracurricular activities does the school offer?”

Stephanie blinks, caught off guard by my question. I guess most kids she takes in aren’t worried about joining the Spanish Club.

“The usual, I believe. We can get a list from the school on the way home.”

“That’s okay. I can probably find it on their website. I have a computer.” I motion to my backpack. “Do I start school tomorrow?”

“I thought you could take the day off,” Stephanie says. “And then start on Monday. Take the weekend to adjust.”

“Okay,” I simply agree, not sure I’ll ever adjust, and I don’t want to. I refuse to let this be my new normal. Going to school will keep me busy at least. We talk some more, and then it’s time to go. Just like that.

“Want to get something to eat, kiddo?” Doug asks, and I have to work hard not to let his playfulness annoy me. I’m not his kid. I don’t need to be here. I would have been fine back at the house—my house—or with Becca. Her parents were cool with it and liked that Becca basically would have had a live-in tutor for math and chemistry.

My stomach grumbles at the thought of food. I haven’t eaten anything since last night when I got the call saying a family wants to foster me.

“Sure.”

“What do you want? Your pick.”

We walk to the sunny parking lot, and I slow, turning around to find Summer. She’s standing right outside the doors of the office, talking on the phone and looking concerned.

“Nora?” Stephanie asks. “Are you all right, hun?”

“I need my stuff,” I say as Doug gets out his keys and unlocks a blue minivan.

Her eyes go to my backpack, brow furrowing. “You have more than that?”

I blink, wondering what the hell kind of question is that. Of course I have more than this. Then I remember two Christmases ago when I did volunteer work at our church putting together duffle bags for kids in the system. It made me sad back then to hear that the majority of children who are in and out of foster care hardly own anything at all, and often have to put their few possessions in garbage bags when going from place to place.

It hits me then that I’m one of those kids now. My circumstances are different, but I have no family left.

Doug gets my stuff, which has been reduced to what could fit into three cardboard boxes and two suitcases and puts it in the back of the van. I get in the middle and feel my mind start to check out as I pull the seatbelt over my shoulder. Tears form in the corners of my eyes and my bottom lip trembles. Needing a distraction, I grab my iPod and listen to Tom Petty again, trying to zone out to the music.

Then we start driving, and we drive.

And drive.

And drive.

With each mile, I feel the life I used to know slipping away.