Introduction

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Excerpt

The New Family

Jamie pulled up in front of a dilapidated house and parked. Eight-year-old Joon held her breath and looked around at her surroundings. Her insides felt weightless. The little girl hunkered down in her seat, determined to stay inside the confines of the metal-and-glass box that stood between her and this other, unknown life.

Joon peeked out the car window with unblinking, wide eyes. So much had changed since her parents had died. She had been ripped away from her friends and teachers, her sense of security torn away. She was reeling from the rapid changes in her life. She fought the urge to scream. Her anguish and loss overwhelmed her as her eyes roved over her new home.

The house was weathered. The small yard was neglected, with patches of overgrown weeds poking out of the dirt where grass refused to grow. Joon’s gaze followed the broken walkway to the porch and the screen door hanging from a single hinge. She looked over at Jamie with apprehension, wishing she were back in the modest but well-maintained home where she’d lived with her parents, where she felt safest.

Hot tears stung her eyes. “Is this it?” Joon squeaked out.

“Yes.” Jamie rested her hand on Joon’s shoulder. “Now don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. Your foster mother, Aron Remmi, is excited for you to live with her. You have two foster brothers too. I think you’ll love it here.”

“But the house looks scary,” Joon said, her bottom lip quivering.

“Well, I’ll admit, it’s a bit run-down on the outside, but Aron keeps her home very clean inside, I made sure of that,” Jamie said proudly. “When I place a child in a clean home, that’s when I know I’m doing my job right. Every child deserves a good family and a clean home. You’ll have both of those things here, so don’t worry.”

Joon’s eyes dropped to her lap, and she rubbed her sweaty palms on her thighs.

Jamie leaned toward the child. “I know this a big change for you, Joon. I’m sure it feels very scary, but I need you to trust me on this. Being in a single-family foster home is better than all the other places you could have been placed. You’re one of the lucky kids. There are a lot of kids just like you that end up in group homes. Here, with Aron and her two sons, you get to have a real family.” Jamie patted Joon’s shoulder. “Now put on your best smile and let’s go meet them.”

As Jamie and Joon walked up the porch steps, Aron pulled the front door open. The woman wore a warm smile, and Joon noticed she had large teeth. They weren’t unattractive, but they stood out against her blotchy, white skin, wide nose, and big ears. Her long, wiry, brown hair hung below her shoulders. She wore a beautiful yellow-and-white sundress and smelled of honeydew and cucumber lotion. The smell reminded Joon of her mother, Gwen, and sadness pressed in on her until she felt weighed down with it. She fought the urge to drop to the ground and cry.

Aron stooped and rested her fingers on Joon’s shoulders. “You must be Joon. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

The tears building in Joon’s eyes spilled over. It didn’t matter how nice Aron was—Joon feared her new home. Until now, she hadn’t known where she would live, but she’d been comfortable at the temporary shelter. The people who worked at the shelter had told her it was temporary housing, but now that she was at her new “home,” the reality, the permanence, of her situation was all too real. In the first days following her parents’ deaths, she’d hoped they were still alive, that it was all a big mistake. As the shelter workers had waited for a foster home to become available for her, Joon had waited for her parents to come and rescue her.

Now, Joon looked at Aron, and her guts knotted. She wanted her mother and father. She didn’t want to live with strangers.

Aron narrowed her eyes. “Are you gonna say hello, honey?”

Although Aron was smiling, Joon noticed the tightness in the woman’s jaw, and her senses went berserk. The woman gave her the willies, and she instinctively stepped toward Jamie for protection.

“Come on, Joon. Say hello to Aron,” Jamie urged. The social worker gently pushed her toward Aron again.

Joon looked up at Jamie, her eyes pleading for her to stop. The caseworker, feeling sorry for the girl, tried to comfort her, forcing a smile on her face again, and nodded in Aron’s direction.

Joon turned to Aron. “Hi,” she said in a small voice.

“Well, I see that you sent me a shy one,” Aron said, her lips in a tight line.

Jamie stepped closer to Aron. “Joon has been through a traumatic experience, losing both parents suddenly. I think she needs some love and care. She’s going to adjust just fine in your capable hands.”

Aron bent, took Joon’s hand, and moved toward the front door. Joon tried to dig her heels into the aged wood of the porch, but Aron steadily pulled her along.

“Let’s go now,” Aron said. “I want you to meet your new brothers.”

For Joon, going inside the house meant closing the door on her old life—the life she’d loved. She had cherished being an only child, as her mother and father had given all of their attention to her. But her life was different now, and knowing she had foster brothers made her more nervous. Joon clenched her teeth, worrying that the boys would be mean to her or even hate her. She wasn’t used to living with other children and all the changes about to happen overwhelmed her.

Aron tugged on Joon’s hand, and her muscles tensed as she guardedly followed her new foster mom into the house. Just inside the door, Aron turned back to Jamie and stared into the other woman’s eyes. “I can take it from here. I think it’ll be easier for my new foster daughter,” she said kindly.

Jamie nodded. “You’re right. Bye, Joon. I’ll be back to check on you in a month or so.”

Joon’s eyes grew double in size, and she clutched at her own neck to contain the bile burning the back of her throat. “Do you promise to come back and see me?”

Jamie nodded. “I’ll see you real soon,” she said, before turning and leaving the house.

Aron shut the door and pulled Joon into the living room. “Boys, this is your new foster sister. Her name is Joon,” she said and cackled. “Such a stupid name. I don’t really like it. In fact, I hate it. I’ll have to think of another name for her. Anyway, this is Deen and that’s Dobi,” Aron said, pointing to one boy, then the other.

Deen, the older of the two, eyed Joon. “Yeah, Joon is a dumb name,” he stated.

“I love my name,” Joon mumbled, wrapping her arms over her chest and pressing her lips together. Her new foster family glared at her, and she felt the world around her darken—she could feel their coldness through their dead stares. She felt trapped, and fear rose from her stomach, pushing harder at the bile in her throat. Her body trembled.

Aron raised an eyebrow at the child. “Looks like we have a girl with no manners. I’ll need to tame that if you’re going fit in here. You need to tell Deen you’re sorry.”

Joon shook her head. She wasn’t sorry. She didn’t want to lie. Besides, he was the one who’d been mean. Shouldn’t he apologize?

“Okay. I’ll show you to your room, and you can sit in there until you’re ready to tell Deen you’re sorry for being rude to him.”

Minutes later, Joon was sitting alone in her dingy bedroom. Aron had instructed her to sit on the edge of her mattress, feet flat on the floor and hands in her lap. So Joon sat still, her heart hammering away in her small chest, fear creeping up her spine and clenching tightly around her heart. Aron scared her. She was nothing like her own mother had been.

As she waited, Joon thought about her name. She had always loved it. She replayed a story her mother had told her often over the years: “Before you were born, your dad and I only had each other. Both of our parents were gone, and being only children, we had no one else…well, we had each other but we wanted a family. The doctor that delivered you laid you on my chest, and my heart filled with a love I had never known before, and I started to cry. Your father and I looked at each other, and he said, ‘We finally have a family.’ We were so excited to have you in our lives. The nurse gently touched the top of your head and asked what your name was. Your father and I felt silly because we hadn’t decided on your name yet; we wanted to wait until we saw you. The nurse smiled at us and said, ‘What about Joon? Joon means ‘life.’ That was it for us. The name settled into our hearts, and we knew we’d love you forever—our Joon, our life.”

Joon’s parents, Gwen and Rich, had met at a bowling alley when they were in their early twenties. They moved in together the following year and married six months later. They had a solid marriage and great love for each other. And they were good to Joon. Rich was a third-grade teacher and Gwen had quit her job as a secretary for an insurance company to stay home and raise Joon. Even though they had little money, they had an endless amount of love for their daughter. They always made certain she had decent clothes and plenty of food.

Joon’s favorite memory was of Christmas morning when she was six-years-old, when her parents had given her a new bicycle. It was pink and purple, with a white basket on the front. For Joon, the bicycle represented fun and freedom. Over the summer, she had seen the other girls riding their bikes up and down the street. They had all looked so happy, riding along with their hair blowing in the wind as they raced to an invisible finish line. Now, Joon could zip through the streets too. Rich had taught Joon how to ride it as Gwen stood on the sidewalk and cheered her on. When she’d fallen off, her mother had taken her inside, made her a cup of hot cocoa, and told her to try again. After, Joon had rushed outside and climbed back on her bike. That night at dinner, Rich and Gwen told Joon how proud they were of her.

“Remember,” Gwen had said, taking the child’s hand, “you can do anything you want in life as long as you don’t give up.”

Chapter One

Joon’s teeth were clenched and her lower lip trembled as she sat on the floor waiting for the pain to follow. She would have welcomed death, but instead, all she could do was cram herself farther into the corner of the kitchen, between the cold plaster wall and the wooden door that led to the dreaded basement. She wanted the hurt to stop. It had been three months since she’d been placed with her new foster family—three long months of terror and torture for anyone, let alone an eight-year-old.

“You rotten, ungrateful, little bitch. What did I tell you about stealing food?” Aron yelled. The woman pulled back her leg and kicked. The pointy toe of her shoe landed on Joon’s thigh.

Joon let out a muffled yelp and scurried from the corner like a spider being chased by a broom. She scuttled under the kitchen table, hoping to find shelter beneath the pressed wood.

“I’m sorry. I’m hungry, Aron,” Joon cried weakly.

“You don’t know what hungry is, girl.” Aron crouched, clamped her hand around Joon’s ankle, and pulled the child out from under the table with one forceful yank.

Exposed in the middle of the kitchen floor, Joon curled up, knees and elbows pressed together, hands clasped behind her head, trying to protect herself from the fury brewing in Aron.

Aron opened the door to the dark, dank basement. “Get. Down. There.”

Joon, willing to accept isolation in the darkness over another beating, quickly rose to her feet and stepped through the opened door. As she moved toward the first step, reaching for the railing, Aron elbowed her in the back. Joon tumbled down the wooden stairs and hit the bottom with a thud.

“You can stay down there and think about what you did. Ain’t nobody gonna steal from me. I told you before—you get to eat when I say you can eat.”

As the basement door banged closed, the cold blackness rushed in on Joon. She had sharp pain in her back. On her hands and knees, she dragged her aching body to the closest wall. She closed her eyes against the pain and the fear of being alone in the basement. Things moved around in the dark down there. There were rats and bugs. After moving in, she’d learned swiftly that Aron enjoyed punishing her. It made her foster mother feel important, powerful. Joon had also learned there would always be another punishment, no matter how much she tried to please Aron.

During the long hours of the night, Joon focused on her breathing to calm her frazzled nerves.

She must have eventually drifted off, because the sound of a toilet flushing above her brought Joon back into the moment. Tears dribbled from her chin at the fading memory of her parents. She sat in silence, hoping that someone would come and take her away from the hell she called home.

Chapter Two - Three Years Later

In the early hours of the morning, the pain of Joon’s cracked rib and sprained ankle gave way to a numbing disillusionment. Aron had pushed her down the basement steps again the night before. Joon was injured, but she no longer feared the dark space, the wet dirt floor of the basement, where the bugs and rodents crawled around her. In fact, the creepy-crawlies reminded her she was still alive. They made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

Joon had slipped in and out of sleep all night. When the basement door was flung open later that morning, the light from the kitchen startled her. She squinted up at the shadow at the top of the steps until her eyes adjusted. Her thirteen-year-old foster brother Deen was staring down at her with a sickening smile. Deen was almost as mean as Aron—the boy thrived on the power his mother gave him over Joon.

“Mom said you gotta get up here now, maggot,” Deen said, taunting her.

Joon got to her hands and knees, and used the old, wooden railing to hoist herself up. She limped up the stairs slowly.

Deen sneered as he watched her painful climb to the top. As Joon walked past, he whacked her on the side of the head with his open hand. “Mom said to get this kitchen cleaned up. She said it better be spotless.”

Joon remained silent. She only spoke when given permission, a rule Aron established in the first few days after her arrival. The only time Joon broke this rule was when her hunger overpowered her fear.

With her body aching, Joon hurried to clear the dirty breakfast dishes from the kitchen table and put them on the counter next to the sink, then filled the sink with water and soap.

“The water needs to be hotter, scumbag,” Deen growled. “Are you trying to get us sick?”

Joon turned the hot water higher and Deen shut off the cold water. The kitchen faucet spewed steamy water into the basin. When it was half-filled, Deen turned the water off.

“Get washin’,” he demanded.

Joon studied the steam coming from the sink. She knew there was only one thing to do. The girl shoved her hands into the scalding water and washed the dishes. Her feet danced in place; her hands felt like they were on fire. Satisfied that Joon was being tortured properly, Deen spit on her and left the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, Joon turned on the cold water and let it run over her hands, instantly relieving the throbbing burn. She hurried to finish cleaning the kitchen before Aron came in to inspect her work. Joon had just put the last dish away when Aron waltzed into the room followed by Deen and her twelve-year-old son, Dobi.

“Well, lookie here, boys. Pathetic, scruffy Joon looks a little hungry this morning,” Aron said. “Should we give this animal something to eat?”

Joon’s eyes grew bigger. The very thought of food, any food, made her hopes soar.

“Nah,” Deen said. “I think she needs at least another day before she can eat.”

Aron turned to her younger son. “How about you, Dobi? What do you think?”

Dobi squirmed. He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I think she looks real hungry, Ma. We should give her something now.”

“Okay, Dobi, we’ll do that then,” Aron said, opening the cabinet under the sink.

She pulled out a bag of dry dog food and poured it into a bowl. Then she opened another cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Tabasco sauce. She drizzled it over the food before pulling the refrigerator open and grabbing a bottle of fish sauce she used to make seafood soup. The amber contents splashed onto the dog food. The smell made Deen and Dobi take a few steps back from the concoction. Aron mixed the three ingredients together and placed it on the kitchen table.

“You’re hungry?” Aron sang, leaning into Joon. “Now you got food. I’m giving you two minutes to eat, starting now.”

Joon stood over the bowl and looked at Aron.

Aron gave her a grave look, and Joon stared back, her eyes pleading for mercy. “Stop eyeballing me. You’re hungry, and you wanted to eat, so eat. Who knows the next time you’ll get food. Sooo, you better get to eating.”

Joon looked down at the bowl, pinched her nose closed with her left hand, and grabbed a glob of the food with her fingers. She shoved it into her mouth and chewed. The Tabasco pierced her tongue and gums with fiery heat. She flung her mouth open and fanned at the garbage splayed over her tongue and lodged between her teeth.

“You got another minute left. You better hurry and eat up,” Aron said, laughing.

Joon’s eyes were watering. The heat was unbearable. The smell and taste of the fish sauce was strumming her gag reflex. Joon stepped away from the bowl and fell to the floor.

“Please,” Joon pleaded, “I need water.”

Aron put her hands on her hips and stared right through the child. She took a few steps and, with her foot, pushed the dog’s water bowl over to the girl.

Joon cupped her hands and slurped the water. She was in too much pain to care about the food particles and thick, stringy saliva left by the dog that were floating in the bowl.

Aron stooped, so she could put her face close to Joon’s. “You’re a disgusting pig. Those mother fucking people that sent you here to live with me should be paying me way more money to keep you.” She straightened up and turned to her two sons. “This here is what you call white trash. You remember what it looks like because you better never bring a little slut like this home as your girlfriend.”

Deen snickered, grabbed a scoop of the rotten mixture from the bowl, and threw it onto the side of Joon’s face. Most of it was in her hair, but a bit landed on her eyelid, and when Joon pushed it off her face, a small piece lodged in her eye. The Tabasco sauce scorched her eye, and as she rubbed it, the heat spread. Joon rolled around on the floor crying from the blazing agony.

Aron turned and left the kitchen. “Let’s go, boys. Leave this piece of shit here for now. I’ll deal with her later.”

Joon flailed around, rubbing her face, but when Deen and Dobi obediently followed their mother, Joon got to her feet, grabbed a dish towel, soaked it with cold water, and pressed it against her eye. She dropped to her knees and trembled on the floor. Her heart felt like a lump of useless clay inside her chest, like it would continue to get heavier and heavier and, eventually, just stop beating. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1.Does Never Be Alone give you a different view of homeless people?

2. If you could have given Joon one piece of advice after she left her foster home what would it be?

3. Of all the places Joon went to which place did you feel was the safest?

4. Was Ragtop a friend or foe? Selfish or selfless?

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