Excerpt from Girls In Trouble by Caroline Leavitt, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

She wouldn't let her parents be around her when she called the 800 numbers, though they offered. "We can help you," Abby said. I know just the questions you should ask." But Sara shook her head. If she were going to give something up, if she were going to ruin her life, then she wanted to ruin it all on her own. She sat upstairs, her heart racing, the door firmly closed. She spoke to the women, who cracked bad jokes, who were eager to please, who said her name in every sentence, over and over like an incantation.

And then one day, Sara was having a conversation with a woman in Maine, when the woman blurted, "Do you know who the father is, Sara? Do you realize why it's important to know?" And then Sara heard her sigh. "I'm sorry. I don't really want to denigrate you--" The woman cleared her throat. I mean I don't intend that remark in a bad way."

"In a pejorative way, do you mean?" Sara asked.

"Oh," the woman said. "Whoops."

I know what denigrate means. I'm an honor student."

"Of course you are!" The woman laughed politely.

"And I know who the father is."

"All I wanted to know!" The woman sighed, relieved, but Sara never called her back.

The adoptive couples skirted around her, acting like she was white trash or stupid; their voices fake and bright as tinsel. Chatting, they told her they were having fried chicken or McDonalds that it was Shake 'n Bake night again, even as she heard a male voice in the background whisper, "Where's the creme fraiche?" They lied outright, trying to turn themselves into what they thought she wanted. "Are you religious?" Sara asked. Not that she cared, but she just wanted to know. "We're...spiritual," said one woman.

"They're lying to me," Sara said to the agency, amazed, but Margaret waved her away. "Well, you have to realize, some of these people are yearning so hard for a baby, they let their common sense fly out the window. You can't hold it against them. You let us find out. The truth," Margaret told her. "You concentrate on connecting to someone."

"Please call back anytime," the callers all said, and Sara never did.

"No one yet?" the agency asked Sara.

"When are you going to make a decision?" Abby prodded. She wanted Sara to choose a family who lived in Texas, who had a big dog and who said they'd be happy to send pictures, but just for a few years. "What's wrong with these people?" Jack said, pointing to an album from a family who were moving to Spain.

And then, like an afterthought, the agency had sent over George and Eva's scrapbook. I don't know if this is right for you--" Margaret said. "But it's worth a shot, right?" Abby hadn't liked George and Eva the moment she saw their scrapbook. "They look like aging hippies," she said, pointing to Eva's filmy long dress, George's cowboy boots. She shook her head at the picture of Eva with her preschool class, all of them, especially Eva, covered in poster paints. Abby said they were too old--in their forties, for God's sake. Forty-three! Abby was forty-three and you didn't see her talking about having a baby! Plus, they were too close, just twenty minutes away. "This isn't a good idea," Jack said.

But Sara liked the way they looked. Real. Natural. Like they wouldn't snow her. She liked the letter, which was the only one that didn't start out "Dear birth mother but," but instead just said, "Hello," as if it were going to be the start of a conversation instead of an advertising pitch. She dialed Eva and George's number, and as soon as she said her name, Eva said, "Oh, sweetie," in a voice so rich with feeling, that Sara couldn't have hung up even if she wanted to. Sara spoke to Eva for twenty minutes and the whole time Eva didn't ask her about the doctor, about the father, or about anything other than what movies and books Sara liked, and then Eva had gotten quiet. "This is so hard for both of us, isn't it?" Eva said. "How can either one of us know what the right thing to do is?"

Copyright Caroline Leavitt 2004. All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of the author.