|Image from www.sharedhope.org|
"Front door opening," announced the electronic voice as I entered the kitchen where *Shayla was busily preparing Valentine's candy for an upcoming banquet. I walked past the cubbies where girls hang their coats and studied her face for a moment.
"Do you like school?" I asked.
What else do you ask a sixteen-year-old who's spent most of her existence earning her keep from a pimp's bed?