Page 1 of Up in Smoke

PROLOGUE

TRIPP, 9 YEARS OLD

“The child is quitepale and thin,” the lady with narrowed eyes and lowered glasses points out.

She’s kinda old. There’s a clipboard in her hand, and she scribbles on it with a pencil that’s too short for her long, wrinkly fingers. Maybe she’s a special agent sent here to help me find my real family.

Probably not. I don’t think special agents wear baggy brown sweaters.

I wiggle back and forth in my chair on the other side of the room. The cold metal backing digs into my shoulder blades, and I eventually slump forward to brace my elbows on my knees. I wince when I prop my chin on my sore fists.

Miss Jackie says I’m not supposed to be trick roping, but the guy on YouTube made it clear that practicing every day is important. Getting in trouble and having angry, red fingers can’t stop me.

Jackie is my emergency caregiver, as I’ve heard her been called. Whatever that means. I’ve had to live with her and two other kids for the last month. It’s been fine, I guess. I don’t set my expectations too high anymore.

She purses her lips and shoots me a warning look. Probably wants me to remain still and quiet. I scrunch my nose. I’ll move and make as much noise as I want so long as they keep talking about me like I’m not even here.

“Well, it’s winter, so he doesn’t get out much. And he’s always been a little scrawny,” Miss Jackie finally says with a weird smile I’ve never seen her wear before.

“I see. And this is the third placement attempt?”

“The fourth, ma’am.”

“Normally, I’d say another move would be disruptive, but it might be beneficial in this case. I know of a group home with an opening that he’s old enough to go to. That will be my official recommendation.”

The lady in glasses writes something down and then asks Miss Jackie more questions without looking up from her paper.

Having to sit here and listen to their conversation is not my idea of a good afternoon. Despite the cloudy sky, I wish I were outside instead.

“Any living relatives found since his last case evaluation?”

Jackie clears her throat. “No.”

“Have you considered taking away the toy guns?”

I grit my teeth and sit up straight. Double dog dare her to try and take them.

“We tried that, yes,” Miss Jackie replies.

The lady looks me over, pausing on the spurs attached to my boots. They’re getting to be too small to fit around my heels, but they’re my favorite. Her gaze travels up slowly, and I puff my chest out so that she knows cowboys are tough and I won’t be handing over my stuff.

“The chaps and vest should be fine,” she says. “But it’s not appropriate to wear the holsters with plastic pistols in them or the large hat anymore. The group home has strict rules, and he must follow them if he expects to stay.”

I don’t like the sound of that. I’ll have to think of a good way to convince them otherwise. What’s it matter to them what I wear? Miss Jackie’s butt looks like an undiscovered planet in those awful tights she always wears, but you don’t see me saying that out loud.

The last place I lived had a trunk full of ropes and cowboy clothes in the attic. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I found them and put them on for the first time. They fit, and I looked just like the guy from the black-and-white TV shows—the one with the badge who saves the day. No one cared when I took them before leaving for the next house.

They may not see it in me yet. I’ve never lived anywhere but the city, after all. But I’ve watched enough Westerns to know it’s notwhereyou grow up or the type of person peopleexpectyou to be—Cowboy is a state of mind.

And this is what my mom would have wanted. I think it would make her happy.

Sure, I’ve got a ways to go. I don’t know what a moral code is, for one. But I wrote it down in my notebook because the best cowboys mention that a lot. It must be important.

Getting the girl and drinking sarsaparilla, whatever that is, are on my radar, too. I’ll get to those eventually.

“Of course,” Miss Jackie agrees. “The boy is struggling with this phase of overly imaginative pretend play. It has gotten out of hand, but I can assure you, it will be addressed before he arrives at the new home.”

“Theboyis in the room, in case you forgot,” I mumble.

---