She hoists her backpack on her shoulder and scans the room.  Is anything left in a drawer?  Beside the bed?  Did she leave her toothbrush in the bathroom?   It is barely morning, her brain hasn’t quite shaken the fog of restless sleep, but she can’t forget anything.  She doesn’t know if she’ll be coming back.

Elisa gets into the gray sedan parked in the driveway, the headlights making ghosts in the shadows of the early morning drizzle.  It is cold.  There are slick spots of ice hiding beneath the puddles. The hem of her pants soaks up the water and clings to her calf.

She tosses her duffel bag and backpack in the back and takes her place in the passenger seat.  Hot air blasts her face, a suffocating sensation.  The chipper woman in the driver’s seat smiles.  “How did you sleep?”  Elisa shrugs.  “Okay.”  It wasn’t really okay.  She had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and couldn’t remember where to find it.  She didn’t want to make the dog bark or wake everyone up, so she held it until morning.  She didn’t want to wet the bed, so she couldn’t let herself drift off too much.

Elisa slouches into her coat.  The heat is driving her insane.  “Can I turn this off?” she asks, gesturing to the vents.  Her tone is sharper than she means it to be.

“Oh, is it too much?  I’m always cold,” the social worker apologizes, tapping a button quickly.

Elisa wears a thick sweatshirt over a long sleeve shirt.  Her pants are big and baggy.  She wanted to wear a lighter top, but she couldn’t fit everything in her bag, so if she didn’t wear it, it wouldn’t go with her.

They ride through quiet streets, along the highway of commuters, and from red light to red light down busy main roads with shopping centers and coffee shops.  It is almost an hour ride to her school.  The line of cars extends and they slow, creeping along as they approach the drop off point. 

“Where am I going tonight?” she asks, breaking the silence.

“Um, I’m not sure.  I don’t think we know yet…I’m not sure who is picking you up, but they will meet you in the office.”

Elisa sighs.  It has been weeks of this, bouncing home to home.  Sometimes she gets a few nights in one place, sometimes just one.  “Hotline” they call it- short term homes who can only commit to caring for kids every so often.  They are nice, they’ve been fine, but she can’t settle.  Nothing is hers.  Every bed is different, every pillow fits different, every house smells different.  Sometimes she has to share a room with another kid, which is always awkward. 

She wishes one would keep her, would let her stay.  She's asked her social worker.  No one wants teenagers, they tell her.  Until they find a permanent home, she will be tossed into home after home, no promises of where she will be next.  It could be five minutes away from school, it could be fifty miles away. 

“I’ll text you if I find out the plan…Have a good day!” the social worker says brightly, an apologetic smile on her face. 

Elisa vaguely nods.  She gathers her belongings, checking to be sure nothing fell to the floor.  She slams the door, harder than she meant to, and heads off to the brick building yawning in front of her.  Exhaustion weighs down her bones and loneliness presses on her chest.  She just wants a place to belong.

Every day, scores of children and teenagers are shuttled from house to school to DCF offices and back to houses.  Until foster homes are able to open their doors to them permanently, they are “Hotline” kids, no place to call their own.  If you can open your heart and home to a youth in foster care, please contact us.  Please give a young person a place to belong.