Maya learned a long time ago that asking for things made people angry.
Not always.
Sometimes they just sighed.
Sometimes they ignored her.
Sometimes they told her she was being ungrateful.
And sometimes they looked at her like she had forgotten her place.
So Maya stopped asking.
She stopped asking if she could have the last slice of pizza.
Stopped asking if she could stay up late.
Stopped asking if someone could drive her somewhere.
Stopped asking for new clothes unless the ones she had were completely falling apart.
And she definitely stopped asking whether she was staying.
That was the question nobody liked.
Am I staying here?
She had learned that one the hard way.
At fifteen, Maya could pack a suitcase in under five minutes.
She knew exactly how to fold clothes so they took up less space. She knew how to fit her toiletries into the side pocket. She knew which things mattered enough to take and which things she would have to leave behind if someone suddenly told her she was moving.
She had three pairs of jeans.
Four shirts she actually liked.
Two hoodies.
One pair of sneakers that were beginning to fall apart.
A small makeup bag.
A notebook.
And headphones that only worked properly if the wire was held at a very specific angle.
Everything else was replaceable.
At least, that's what she'd learned.
Her bedroom door was half open.
Maya sat cross-legged on the floor beside her bed, headphones on, notebook balanced against her knee.
Music played quietly in her ears.
Not one of her own songs.
Backstreet Boys.
She smiled despite herself.
It was an old song she'd listened to so many times that she knew every beat before it happened.
She tapped her pencil against the notebook.
Four counts.
Pause.
Eight counts.
She wrote a line.
Crossed it out.
Wrote another.
Crossed that one out too.
Then she whispered the words under her breath, trying them against the melody in her head.
"No..."
She shook her head.
Too obvious.
She erased it.
Maya wasn't sure why she kept writing.
Nobody was going to hear these songs.
Nobody even knew how many notebooks she had hidden under her mattress.
YOU ARE READING
WITHOUT US- BACKSTREET BOYS FANFIC
FanfictionWITHOUT US Maya is fifteen. She lives in foster care, writes songs nobody hears, and has learned one important rule: Never get too attached. Then she auditions to open for the Backstreet Boys. She never expects to win. She definitely never expects A...
