Demon Copperhead

by Barbara Kingsolver

“Heck yes you are. I wouldn’t wish foster care on anybody.” “It’s really bad?” “So far, yeah. I hate it pretty much every minute of the day. It’s like a cross between prison and dodgeball. And there’s not enough food.” “Dodgeball, like whenever you play with older kids that want to laugh at you?” “Yeah. Hurt you, and then laugh at you.” She seemed to be thinking about this. I mean really turning it over. She whispered, “Do the kids get abused? I’ve heard that.” “My mom definitely had molester type shit done to her whenever she was little. In a supposedly Christian home. I just basically watch my back, night and day.” She blinked a couple of times. I was surprised how well I could see her in the dark. I knew I shouldn’t shock Emmy, given she was already upset. But she’d asked. Nobody ever did. I told her I was sure there were good fosters out there that are God’s angels, like everybody says. But I had yet to meet them because they didn’t take kids like me. “What do you mean, kids like you?” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”