Chapter 1 (POV: Claire)
Claire stared outside her barred window, sitting on her sour-smelling mattress in St. Angie's Orphanage for Girls. It was starting to rain. The dark, thunderous clouds had already rolled in, looking scary and intimidating. A cold gust of wind shook the pane and the few scraggly trees surrounding St. Angie's waved wildly.
Bad things always happened whenever it rained. First, her father had abandonded her. And now, just a few minutes ago, her best and only friend, Rachel, had been adopted.
Sure, Claire knew that was good and all, and was really happy for her. But now, she couldn't help but feel a little bit resentful and alone. She had no one to talk to. Claire continued to sit on her cot and stare out in silence in her tattered white nightgown.
A high pitched sound pierced the air.
Sighing, Claire got up, for she knew that was the dinner bell. She slowly trampled down the dirty staircase, clinging onto the rusty handrail as they were instructed to do so everytime they went down to eat a meal.
She then lined up obiediently behind a bunch of other girls in the restroom, all waiting to wash their hands with the scraps of soap left. Her bare feet dug into the sea green tiles with unknown substances crammed in between. Claire turned the algae covered handle and scrubbed her hands viciously with the icy cold water.
Same old routine, Claire thought to herself depressingly.
After washing up, she headed down the hallway to the kitchens. There, Claire retrieved a dull brown tray, an empty brown bowl, and old silverwear that had long ago lost their shine.
She then led her tray down the old counter, with the lunch ladies piling brown glop of God-know's-what into her bowl.
Same old food. Same old lunch ladies. She missed Rachel terribly.
Sighing once more, Claire picked up her tray and sat down on the far corner of the cafeteria. No one else ever sat there. One table leg was broken, leaving the table at a slant, and there was always chewing gum on the bottom of the table. The wooden chairs had no backing, and the wood itself was peeling.
It was the loser's table.
Which was exactly what her peers treated her as. She was a loser, a freak, something no one wanted. Not to mention, she had been here the longest out of all the girls.
But Claire didn't blame anyone. She wasn't smart, with her average B grades at school. She wasn't prettier either, with her dirty blonde hair and large brown eyes. Freckles and acne constantly attacked her skin. She was also shy and closed in. Claire wouldn't let anyone in, especially after what her "loving" father had done. And don't even mention her mother. She had died at birth. The only person she had talked to was Rachel, and that was after seven years of knowing her. And now, she was gone too. It seemed as if everyone had abandoned her.
Tomorrow would be her birthday. On the day of, the birthday girl could choose one of her friends to go to any cheap place they wanted for a day. In the past, Claire and Rachel had went bowling, to the movies, and the ice cream parlor. This time though, Claire had no friends to bring, so she assumed that she would go to her mother's grave in solitude.
While chewing on the tough brown glop though, Claire noticed something unusual.
Esme hadn't bullied her yet.
Esme was the bitchiest girl at St. Angie's, and a year older than Claire. She was tall for her age, (5'6), and everyday, attempted to make Claire's life a living hell. Esme also had wavy brown hair and large, pretty dark brown eyes. She was also one of the most popular girls at St. Angie's.
She had no clue why Esme hated her so much. The moment Esme had arrived, she pounced on Claire with her group.
Perhaps she's waiting to take my birthday dessert, thought Claire misreably.
On the morning of anyone's birthday, the birthday girl also ususally recieved a tiny piece of taffy, no bigger than a pinky finger, on her pillow. It was always a treat. Claire still dreamily recalled that last year, hers was peppermint. Minty, fresh, and sweet. It was buttery bliss that melted right in her mouth.
When Claire had finished her dinner, she got up and hauled the tray back to the back of the kitchen. The white covered walls had bits of grime, and the metal sink had food clinging on the side. She pulled out a pair of bright yellow elastic gloves and began scrubbing the finished dishes. Claire had kitchen duty tonight for forgetting to fold her bed the day before. It was the worst chore, besides scrubbing the floors of St. Ages. Rachel was supposed to have it too, but, now that she had found a new home, it would just be Claire.
Sighing once more, she began scrubbing. And scrubbing. And scrubbing.
~*~*~*~*~*
At eleven, Claire finished washing up everyone's dinner. Her fingers were raw and red, as she had scoured every single plate violently, trying to get it over with.
She crept upstairs, not wanting anyone to hear, as it was three hours past curfew. She tip-toed through the darkness and quickly slipped on her nightgown.
She then sat on her bed and stared out the window, whispering these words:
Dear God,
For my birthday tomorrow, I wish for my Daddy to return. Maybe we can live happily ever after, and leave this sad orphanage. I'll forgive him for leaving me. Just let him return.
Amen.
Just as Claire finished, a bright flash ran through the sky. Claire smiled, as it was a shooting star. Perhaps it was a message from God.
With high hopes, Claire went to bed, eager for the next day.
