Chapter 1: Becky Checks In

If you had come up to me during my freshman year of college and said “Megan, you’ll earn your Master’s Degree by 1980 and work at a home for troubled children,” I would have called you a liar. If you went on to tell me that I would love working at a home for troubled children, I would have called you a crazy liar. But it was true. I graduated early, and five years later I was working as the Head Girls’ Counselor at Lake Peace, and loving it. I was making a difference for kids who needed it, and I met and married the man of my dreams. Sean was a Boys’ Counselor, and he was a great lover and a total hunk.

The first couple of years at Lake Peace were hard. We got the worst 10-14 year-old kids from across six states, and tween girls can be especially nasty even when they’re not from troubled backgrounds. But eventually I hit my stride. I could size kids up in seconds, and even the toughest girls would open up to me in a matter of days. I felt like I could turn any wayward young girl into a positive, well-behaved young woman. At least, that’s how I felt until I met Becky Finklestein.

We were getting a new batch of residents on Monday, and I was going over their files with Rosita and LaToya, the Girls’ Senior Counselors. Most states don’t give us complete police records or court transcripts on our residents, but we get pretty detailed summaries from the juvenile system. “Wow,” I said when I opened Becky Finklestein’s file. “You guys better let me take this one.”

“That file is as thick as a dictionary,” LaToya said. “Let me see that.”

I laid Becky’s file on the table. “Oh she looks like bad news,” Rosita said.

The Polaroid clipped to Becky’s file showed a freckled girl with thick-framed glasses, and frizzy orange hair pulled up in pigtails. She had the most contemptuous scowl that I had ever seen, and her green eyes burned with an anger I could feel through the photograph.

“Eleven years, four feet tall and 180 pounds,” LaToya read. “The little fat ones are the worst.”

I nodded in agreement as I flipped through Becky’s records. It was hard to be an overweight young girl, and sometimes they externalized a lot of the bullying they suffered. I had seen girls like that before, but I had never seen a file like Becky’s. “There are over three dozen instances of assault in here,” I said. “Formal police reports filed when she was 7 and 8. Seven separate police reports filed in the last year ... One of them involving a SWAT team? Really? A SWAT team for a 10 year old girl?”

“A genius IQ?” Rosita said, pointing to Becky’s academic file. “The smart ones are the worst.”

“Does that say ‘murder’?” LaToya gasped, pointing to a report from Becky’s juvenile officer.

It did. Becky was being sent to us because she was an accessory to a murder at 10 years old. I had seen all I needed to see from the file, so I flipped over the Polaroid from the juvenile system, where the social workers sometimes leave notes. There was only one note on the back of Becky’s photograph. It read ‘VERY strong’ with the word ‘very’ capitalized and underlined three times. “She is going to be a challenge,” I said aloud as I closed her folder.

I had no idea.

That weekend Sean and I went out for one last wild weekend in town, before the new residents showed up for the summer. We kissed in my Corvette convertible, savoring each other’s lips before we got out and went our separate ways, and I ran my hands over Sean’s arms. I always had a thing for big muscles, and Sean used to be competitive bodybuilder, so I could barely keep my hands off him. There were three offices in the girls’ administrative building, and since girls got dropped off throughout the day, the other counselors and I could check the girls in and get to know them without a big crowd building up.

I had checked in two girls when I returned to the girls’ administrative office and saw Becky Finklestein scowling at the television with her arms folded. She was wearing a baggy pink “Guess?” sweatsuit and smacking on gum. In another chair sat one of the 14 year old girls, a gang member according to her file, curled up and crying with a black eye. “Oh dear, what happened?” I asked her.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking. “It happened this morning. Before I got here. I swear.”

Becky smirked. Girls like her wanted to get into trouble for fighting. So I decided to let Dr. Li worry about the black eye. “Hi Becky, my name is Megan. Would you like to come back to my office so we can get you checked in?” I asked, being careful to speak to her like an adult, and not patronize her.

Becky silently hopped out of her seat and followed me to my office. “Sit anywhere that you would like,” I said, motioning to the couch and chairs.

Becky immediately went to my desk and sat in my chair. The worst kids always did that, and that’s what I expected her to do. Without missing a beat I sat down on the couch. “Is this the part where you tell me that you wemember what it’s like to be my age?” she asked sourly.

I quickly marked an ‘SI’ on Becky’s file, for ‘speech impediment’. A lot of kids Becky’s age had troubles with ‘l’ and ‘r’ words but I’m sure she got teased for it, seeing as how she was short for her age, overweight and wore glasses. It was also plain to see, despite her baggy sweatshirt, that Becky’s bustline was overdeveloped for a girl her age. I was the first girl in my school to get boobs, and the boys were constantly staring at them or trying to grab them. I could still remember how bad that felt.

Becky had every reason in the world to be picked on, and no reason at all to open up to me. So I decided to be frank. “No Becky,” I said. “I’m not going to say that, or how wellness is a journey not a destination, or any of that bullshit.”

That got her attention. I held my hands out, using open body language. “I won’t do any of that because I know that you’re very smart, smart enough to know clichés and sales pitches when you hear them, and I don’t want to shut me out before I get a chance to prove myself to you.”

Becky shifted uneasily. It was a small victory but it was an early victory, and I tried not to smile. “How are you going to pwove yourself to me?” she asked.

“I’m not going to presume to tell you that,” I said. “You tell me what I have to do.”

“Well, to start off don’t be mean to me,” Becky said. “And don’t make fun of me.”

“I will never be mean to you or pick on you,” I said. “I promise.”

“Yes you will,” Becky grumbled. “Ladies with big boobs are always mean to me, like my mom.”

It was no surprise that a girl Becky’s age was pre-occupied with breasts, or that a girl as troubled as Becky had problems at home. I filed those items away in my head, as a profile of Becky began to take shape. “Becky you’re way too intelligent to think that body types determine personalities,” I said.

Becky blinked a few times. I was starting to get through her defenses. “Well ... look” she said. “All I really want is to be left alone so I can think. So just leave me alone, I guess.”

I decided to go all in. “I think that’s a fair request,” I said, standing up. “I’ll show you to your room, give you a quick tour of the camp.”