Sapphy was never quite sure how to feel about Morgana. She was, unquestionably, the best social worker she’d ever had, and one of the coolest adults she knew. Morgana didn’t seem to mind that Sapphy didn’t want to go to school and didn’t try to force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She talked rather than shouted and actually showed an interest in Sapphy’s life. However, there was a weird blurring of boundaries from the occasions when Saph had lived with her. It was impossible to be a child of The System and not question why, when someone who took care of you seemed decent and got along with you, they kept trying to find you a home with other people. Even when it never worked out. Ever.

In lieu of a handshake, Sapphy slapped Morgana’s hand and hunched her shoulders forward. “Oh yeah, man,” she answered relatively cheerfully, “I been, like, way busy, ya know.”

Another weird blurring of boundaries in their relationship. Whenever Sapphy lived with Morgana, they chatted every day about this or that. When Sapphy was sent off to go and live with other people, she only saw Morgana now and again, and Morgana was more inclined to ask the kind of questions social workers usually asked. How are you doing. How are they treating you. Are you still interested in [insert hobby given up years ago here].

Usually Sapphy felt comfortable enough to chat away, but today she kept her response vague. As cool as Morgana was, she probably wasn’t going to be very understanding of a teenage pregnancy and a shotgun marriage to a guy Saph had only met twice.

There was someone else that Sapphy wanted to talk to about that, though. Badly.

“Listen, man, it’s like, no big deal to you but it’s gonna mean a lot to me, yeah.” She slapped her hand on Morgana’s upper arm. “Like, I just want you to know that, like, before I ask.”

She took a breath.

“So listen, you know your dad who’s like, an immigrant, but he’s still totally cool, yeah?” She didn’t give her much of an opportunity to respond before pushing on. “The god one with the magic phone, yeah?” As if Morgana had stacks of dads lined up at home and needed help identifying the right one. “So, like, I wanna talk to my mum. Like, my real mum.” Short pause. “Could you, like, get your dad to lend me his magic phone so I can call her? Or,” her muddy-green eyes brightened as the thought struck, “or like, he could get me my own magic phone so I could call her whenever and then we don’t need to be botherin’ him and all. That’s like, a well better plan, ya get me?”