OCTOBER 2000

Before I showed up at their door, the Brinkleys was already a big, old happy family. Their light blue house was just off of Rhode Island Avenue, and they had three big football-playing teenaged sons—Jamal, Ja’qui, and Jayson. There was another foster child named Danica, too. She had the biggest smile on her face when Ms. Lewis introduced me to everybody and grabbed my hand as soon as I walked inside.

“What’s your name?” she asked, smiling and twirling one of her braids between her fingers. She had chubby cheeks and a belly that poked out a little.

“Camille,” I said as I looked around the living room. Their house was just like The Cosby Show and nothing like mine. Family pictures was hanging on the wall, and there was a big-screen TV in the middle of the floor. A picture of white Jesus sat on a large bookcase with plastic flowers and tons of books. Mr. Brinkley was a tall, big man with shoulders that filled the whole doorway. He had a belly, but not as big as Santa Claus. When he smiled at me, the first thing I noticed was his chipped front tooth. Mrs. Brinkley smiled but turned away before I could smile back. She was tall and had frizzy golden brown hair. Mr. Brinkley took my suitcase, then him and his wife started talking with Ms. Lewis in the kitchen.

“How old are you?” Danica asked.

“Ten.”

“Oh, I’m eleven,” she said, smiling. “You like magazines? I got some in our room upstairs.”

I shrugged my shoulders, not really caring one way or the other. “A little bit,” I mumbled. This was ...