Chapter 20

I was annoyed. And yet something was different.

This time there was something in his smile that was daring me, something more childish, as if he was issuing a fun challenge rather than the aggressive, domineering commands I'd seen in the past few days.

I thought back to high school. He wasn't the only person to be wrong judging outward appearances during that time. I'd obviously been wrong too.

He'd thought I was a doormat and I thought he was perfect. Turns out neither of us had been correct.

This version of him, however, was a little less horrible, a little more like someone I could deal with. That, combined with the way he was smiling at me with his blue eyes, made me smile back.

"You're on. If Sally rejects my idea, I'll have dinner with you for the month."

"At 8:30."

"Yes, yes, fine. At 8:30. Why so specific?"

He shrugged. "I have a schedule, and a guy gets hungry."

The orphanage's front was an imposing facade of brick and windows. It was stark and quiet, without any planters or decoration adorning the front.

It was difficult to find, as there was no obvious signage. A small plaque on a pillar next to the door that said "Lustrum City Orphanage" was the only indication of what lay inside.

I rang the doorbell, hearing the sound echo deep inside the building, holding a gift basket full of cookies.

I had needed to come up with a plausible reason to be there. Places that housed and protected children didn't just let strangers in the doors.

Saying I was from Social Scene would have been pointless. The name alone would cause them to slam the door in my face.

If I said I was a potential donor, I'd only be shown certain aspects of the institution.

After a moment, the door opened and a stern woman in a clean white apron answered the door.

"Yes?"

"Hi, my name is Elena Laurentia. I'm here as part of the University of Lustrum doctoral program in child psychology. The head of my dissertation committee suggested I come visit you to hang out with the kids a little. Who would I talk to about getting approval for that?"

Within ten minutes I was with the children. I was shocked. The lack of process was unheard-of, and, honestly, frightening.

My memory of my childhood isn't often clear, but I do remember it took a long time for anyone to get in to see us. Fingerprints, background checks, all of this was the minimum standard when visiting a school or childcare institution.

This place took none of these precautions and I was appalled at how quickly I was invited to a free-play session in their inner courtyard. I could have been anyone, someone with insidious motives toward the children, and the institution didn't bother to find out.

I made a mental note to myself about it, already having enough to file a story, and then turned my attention to the children.

The nurse who had let me in didn't even check the cookies I had before saying I could hand them out and yelling "Cookies!" to the playground.

A crowd of children instantly surrounded me, all with grubby faces and hands from having been playing outside. I laughed at their squeals of excitement and had to calm them down as they tried to grab.

"Slow down! Patience! Everyone will get one." The nurse had disappeared, so I instituted order, making them line up so I could distribute them.

"Thank you!" "Thank you very much, lady." "Thanks!"

Most smiled and spoke but a few shyly raised shining eyes and said nothing. I understood. I nodded back to them, and they smiled at me while taking a first bite.

A few, however, didn't approach, but instead hung back by the swing set or the doorways, not trusting a stranger. I made eye contact with each and put a cookie a small distance away from me on a napkin and nodded at them.

They would dart forward, grab the cookie, and scurry off to eat in private.

Emboldened by the treats, a few came to sit by me.

"What's your name?" one asked.

"Elena."

"That's pretty."

"Thank you. What's yours?"

"Charlotte."

"Also a pretty name!"

"Thank you."

Another child noted, "Elena, you don't smell."

All eyes turned toward me and I smiled. "You're right. People either think I have no smell or it's like air."

One of the children lifted her little nose and inhaled. "Yeah, I smell that!"

They all started to sniff around me, making me laugh.

"Wow," a little boy looked at me with wide eyes. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah," said another one. "I bet you can get out of check-in time because the sniffer-adult doesn't know you're there."

"It's so unique," said the particularly precocious Charlotte.

I couldn't help it, my eyes teared up a little. "Thank you for saying that. Did you know I grew in an orphanage, too?"

"Really?"

This seemed to impress them, that I had been a child just like them and now was a grownup who could go outside whenever she wanted, who had a scent that allowed me to "be a spy" as another little boy put it.

It didn't take long before I was pushing them on the swings, taking turns so everyone got a chance. I was enjoying myself, trying to pay attention to the quality of their clothing and how clean they were overall.

A woman in a crisp maroon suit came out the door I'd been brought in and smiled as she came toward me. She had short, dark hair and a stern, determined look despite her smile.

I knew who she was instantly. There'd been two just like her during my time at the orphanage. She was the headmistress, and even all these years later I was still intimidated.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was an adult now. Plus, mine had all been kind. Strict, yes, but kind.

As she came across the yard, however, I noticed a change. The kids didn't necessarily stop what they were doing, but they all had their eyes on her, noticing.

Any that was in line with her walking quickly scurried elsewhere.

Interesting, I thought.

"Hello, Ms. Laurentis. I'm Mrs. Addiston." She held out a strong hand and we shook. "You're interested in research with our children?"

"Yes, but nothing in depth. I spent most of my life growing up in a place much like this and wanted to verify my memories."

"I'm pleased to see that you look like you're thriving."

She stepped next to me and went to push the child on the swing next to mine. The child cringed subtly from her touch, as if they expected some other form of contact.

I tried to play it off, to make like I didn't notice or understand the signs of potential physical abuse. The children had, I noticed, gotten much quieter.

We chatted for a while about logistics of keeping all the kids cleaned and clothed and the constant fight for funding. When she asked if I would consider donating, I said I was between jobs so didn't think I could swing it that day.

Mrs. Addison tried to keep her smile, but I could tell she realized I wasn't worth as much of her time.

I said goodbye to the children, and when they asked if I'd be back, I looked at Mrs. Addison who nodded reluctantly.

I hurried back to the office, trying to formulate my pitch for Sally. The problem was that I had nothing concrete, and to accuse the orphanage of abuse would be to guarantee I wouldn't be welcome ever again.

I needed more time, but I also needed to get approval for the story. Both my pride and freedom to have dinner with whomever I wanted depended on it.

In the conference room, I sat next to Sheila who pitched a story about a famous film director being caught with his latest leading lady in a tropical resort.

When Sally finally came to me, I was flushed with nerves and excitement. "No problem, Elena, if you want to sit this one out."

"I've actually got a story! And if my hunch is correct, it's going to be major."

I took a breath and plunged in.

"The headline could be, 'Suspected child abuse happening under the city government's nose'. We follow with a subheading of, Local city-run orphanage neglects safety protocols..."

"Sorry, Elena. Not this week. Stan? What have you got for us?"

I sat, my mouth still open from my unfinished sentence. As Stan proceeded to pitch a story about steroid use in sports stars, Sheila leaned toward me and whispered.

"Don't worry. Half our pitches get rejected every week. And I've never seen anyone new get their first one approved.

"Okay, that's all folks," Sally said. "Thank you and see you next week."

Everyone got up to go and in record time the office had cleared.

I sat alone at the conference table, still confused and wondering what had gone wrong.

More than that, I was dreading the look on Charles' face when I had to tell him I'd be dining with him twice a day for the rest of the month.