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encouragement,” I muttered. “Miss Good News.”
    â€œYou could get married,” Raven said. “That’s what I’m going to do as soon as I find someone rich enough.”
    â€œWhy should he marry you?” I asked.
    â€œBecause I’m the prettiest girl he’ll know,” she replied, turning her shoulder and fluttering those long, black eyelashes. “And I’m the next Selena who will make one hit song after another, that’s why.” Butterfly laughed and Raven hugged her. “Someone loves me,” she said. “Butterfly will be a famous dancer too, Crystal, so put that into your stupid statistics.”
    â€œI hate to disappoint or discourage you, but it’s pretty hard to make it in the entertainment industry,” Crystal joked back. “And look what happened to Selena!”
    Raven stuck out her tongue as she turned to takeButterfly’s hand. “C’mon Butterfly, let’s get our food and let Crystal be grumpy by herself. She just doesn’t know how to believe. We can be anything, as long as we believe.” Raven’s words sounded brave, but I knew that they were mostly for Butterfly’s benefit; she was still shaking from this morning’s episode.
    As we waited in line for our food we surveyed the dining room.
    Along the walls were the old photographs of the Lakewood House’s bygone days, group pictures of guests gathered at the lake or around the lawn chairs. In most of the pictures, the people were dressed formally, men in jackets and ties, women in ankle-length dresses with high collars and frilly sleeves, all with pale faces, and all looking years and years older than they really were. There were many photos of families because the Lakewood House catered to families. The foster children now living here looked at these pictures closely, usually with soft, dreamy smiles on their faces, imagining themselves as part of one of those families, hugging their mother, holding their father’s hand, standing close to their brothers and sisters, having a name.
    It did look like the Lakewood House was a pretty, happy place once, full of laughter and music. According to Grandma Kelly, the guests sat on the big wraparound porch and talked into the wee hours while the crickets chirped and the owls peered through the moonlit night, curious about the murmur of voices, the sound of screen doors, the cry of a child. Sometimes, although I would never say it, even to one of the Orphanteers, I thought I heard the ghostly laughter and even the quick steps of happy children running through the house, out the screen door and down the steps to play on the carpeted green lawns, safe, happy and full of hope.
    Maybe someday we would run out of this house to a place full of safety, happiness and hope.
    The din of conversation, clanking dishes and silverware, laughter and screeching that greeted us this morning was a hundred decibels louder than on weekdays. School-age children knew they had two days off and except for the final afternoon hours of Sunday, could put school work aside. On nice days, we could play softball or go down to the dilapidated, cracked and crumbling tennis court and volley or play doubles after our chores. Raven and I were the house champions and I was always the captain of the softball team. Louise permitted the older kids to have a picnic lunch if they took a few of the younger ones with them and watched over them. She trusted the four of us with more children than any of the other older children.
    Often Gordon would find work for us, however. We painted the house, cut grass, collected leaves or washed windows. Inside, we washed floors, helped with dishes, dusted and vacuumed. We were told this was our home so we had to take care of it ourselves.
    â€œYou’ll appreciate our home more,” Louise explained to soften the blow of Gordon’s assignments.
    â€œYou don’t have to justify anything I tell them to do.