JACKSON
"Look," the social worker was chomping on a piece of gum, "the regulations are very clear. You must be twenty-one to apply to be a kinship caregiver to your sister."
I stared at her morosely. She didn't look like a social worker. She was wearing red stiletto heels that matched her fire-engine red lipstick. With her platinum blond hair and too-tight dress, she looked more like an aging call-girl. The woman shuffled the paperwork around on her desk.
"So, Katie is just going to have to rot in the system until I turn twenty-one?" I asked in bitter disbelief.
"Nobody wants that to happen. Is there any other family? Even family friends?"
I knew my mom had some cousins or something that lived out of state. We hadn't heard from them since my father died. The only "family friend" I cou
