Chapter 2: Saving Callie—One Home Visit at a Time

Next up: fixing the girl’s home situation. While the kids were in class, I snuck over to where she lived. The script said she grew up in the projects. After asking around, I ended up at the entrance to a side street, feeling a little out of place. It was one of those neighborhoods most people pretended didn’t exist.

All the neon and nightlife…

It was hard to describe. The place was both lively and lonely, where hope and despair lived side by side.

I asked an old lady for directions. She pointed me the way, but gave me a knowing look that made me blush. After all, the girl’s mom was a sex worker. I tried to keep my face neutral, but I probably failed.

I got to their door and knocked. No answer. I pushed gently—the door creaked open. The air inside smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap perfume.

Not even locked? I made a mental note to get them a better lock.

It was a two-story, run-down duplex, with a tiny yard in the middle full of odds and ends. Plastic flamingos, broken bikes, a sagging porch swing—every cliché in the book.

"Hello, is Callie’s mom home?" I called softly, walking in. "I’m her teacher, and today…"

"Mmm, you rascal, slow down."

An ambiguous voice floated down from upstairs. I froze, realizing I’d just walked in at the worst possible moment.

I crouched and clamped my mouth shut immediately. Great. I considered making a run for it, but decided to just wait it out.

I took a walk, then came back. This time the man was gone, and the girl’s mom was sitting in a rocking chair on the first floor, swaying lazily. I checked the time—not even twenty minutes. Pretty quick. She looked tired but unbothered, like this was just another Tuesday.

"Are you Callie’s mom?"

I stepped in, set down the milk I’d brought, and greeted her, trying to look as nonjudgmental as possible.

She looked a lot like her daughter, especially around the eyes—gentle, Southern beauty. Both of them had that delicate, harmless look. But there was a tired kindness in her gaze.

She waved her fan and glanced at me, chuckling. "What’s a little girl like you doing here? I don’t host women."

I blushed, waving my hands. "No, no, Callie just transferred schools. I’m her homeroom teacher. I wanted to ask you a few things." I tried to sound professional.

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Homeroom teacher?"

"You want to make Callie a star student?" She looked at me, skeptical. "That girl’s grades aren’t great and she’s always causing trouble. I had to pull strings just to get her transferred. How is she a star student?"

"Uh…" I hesitated. "In that class, she’s actually one of the best." I wasn’t exactly lying. It was all relative.

She gave me a pitying look, then double-checked, "Are you sure you’ll take responsibility for her?" Her tone dared me to say yes.

Absolutely. I nodded, dead serious. If it meant giving Callie a shot, I’d take on the world.

She looked at me, a little conflicted, then straightened her skirt and stood up. "Alright, take her." Her voice was softer now, almost hopeful.

I stood up quickly, bowing out of habit. She stiffened, but didn’t say anything. Oops—old habits die hard.

As I was about to leave, she added, "Take the milk with you, I don’t drink that stuff." Her tone was dismissive, but there was a flicker of gratitude in her eyes.

I looked back—she was already heading inside. I picked up the milk, feeling a little awkward, and left quietly.

I brought the girl home with me, bought her some new clothes, too. She stood at my door, hesitant to come in, like a stray kitten—lost, but bristling with defenses against the world. Her shoes were scuffed, her backpack threadbare.

"What’s wrong? Come on in."

I reached out and gently pulled her inside. My apartment was small but cozy, mismatched furniture and the faint smell of coffee. I wanted her to feel safe.

"Ms. Carter, I feel like I’m dreaming," she said, voice trembling. Her eyes were wide, shining with something like hope.

I just hugged her tight. She slowly hugged me back, squeezing harder and harder. I could feel her shaking, like she was holding herself together by sheer willpower.