Read Online Compromised by Heidi Ayarbe - Free Book Online

your dad sign you away is “unfortunate”?
    â€œAnyway,” the man continues, “my name is Donovan, and this is Cherise.”
    â€œCherry.” She blushes. “You can call me Cherry.”
    Donovan nods. “We’re God-fearing folk at our home and expect you to attend services with us. You’ll get baptized right away, of course.”
    I feel my jaw tense. Who are they to tell me who I’ll pray to? I’ll pray to a freaking McDonald’s arch if I want. I open my mouth to protest and look over at Beulah.
    This is an argument I can’t win.
    I have no choices. My family made theirs and left me with none. Nice.
    Donovan goes on and on about devotion and God andprayer. I listen when he starts talking about tithing and duty to church.
    Cherry nods enthusiastically.
    Maybe they’re part of a freak cult and are looking for virgin sacrifices. That’s why they want me. It’s not likely Beulah will buy into my theory.
    For being so God-fearing, Donovan doesn’t seem to worry about staring at my chest. I want to tell him that as much as he stares, they’re not going to grow any bigger. I know. I’ve tried.
    I look at Beulah. She has pasted a grin on her face from her box of expressions. “We wanted to place you, Maya, before…” She pauses and takes out a damp handkerchief. “We just think it’s better to get you into a nice family home as soon as possible to avoid any further, um, incidents.”
    I clench my jaw. So I just sped up the process by standing up for myself. Maybe the wallflower thing would’ve been a better way to go. It always worked for me before. But things are different now.
    â€œIt says here your full name is Amaya Terese Sorenson.” Cherry looks at my file. “What an interesting name.”
    I nod. They stare at me.
    â€œWhat kind of name is that?” Cherry asks.
    â€œIt’s Basque.”
    â€œBasque, huh? What kind of people are those?” Donovan asks suspiciously. He’s probably one of those camouflage-wearing militia guys—you know, the kind who’ll have a ham radio in his garage to report suspicious ethnic activities to his grand wizard. He apparently hasn’t ever eaten lamb stew at Louis’s Basque Corner.
    â€œHoney, you know the Basque people! We saw on Discovery they live in the mountains over in Europe.” Cherry claps. “I never realized Sorenson was a Basque name.”
    God, she makes us sound like cavemen.
    Actually, my last name is Aguirre. But that was about six last names and Social Security cards ago. Another great way for Dad to make a buck. He’d read the obituaries, then kind of reassign Social Security numbers for those who needed them. It was a popular business in New Mexico. Dad always said it was his way of opening up the borders—being a cultural attaché between the United States and Latin America. I always thought of it as recycling lives—administrative reincarnation, so to speak.
    â€œSo it looks like we’re your family now. You can be relieved you’ve been placed in such a loving home. Withrole models that you can look up to.” Donovan leers.
    As much as I hate it, he has a point. Dad’s a federal prisoner who signed me away as if I were a piece of real estate. Knowing Dad, he would’ve liked to auction me on eBay, sell me to the highest bidder. But that’s probably illegal.
    Whatever.
    Dad’d be the one to find the loophole to pull it off.
    No one says anything. The windows bulge from the silence.
    Beulah titters nervously and hands out stale cookies with Hawaiian Punch. “It’ll just take some time to get to know each other.” She turns to me. “The Nicholsons have received countless children into their home. We are so grateful,” she coos. She lowers her voice and turns to me. “You have no family, Maya. And these people want to make you part of theirs.”
    No family.