Romeo, Your So Overrated!

"WHAT?!" I exploded after I had sat still for, oh, I don't know, a million minutes? "You can't do this to me!" I cried wildly, waving my arms around stupidly. "An adoption center? You're kidding right? Are you sure I don't have like some cousin second removed living in New Mexico or something like that?"

I wanted to pull my stupid blonde hair out of my head. Yes, I had blonde hair. And my blonde hair isn't even like, gold-blonde. It's yellow. Like the color of infected piss. Oh and while I'm at it, my eyes are gray. Yes, like the stupid walls. Sometimes they look bluer, and sometimes they're green. But trust me; I was definitely no princess either.

"No, we checked everything," the officer said, shaking his head sadly. "Only child, one mother, one father. Deceased grandfather from maternal side, deceased grandmother from paternal side, and no other living relatives or legal guardians mentioned."

"Friends?" I begged.

"It's illegal," the officer spoke up. "I'm very sorry, Miss. Chevalier. You'll be staying at St. Thomas Aquinas Foster Care and Adoption Center from now on."

__________

I felt like an animal here. Young couples, old couples, barren couples, gay couples, etc. all came to look for suitable children to adopt or to care of. Except I was like the rabid animal that everyone passed over. Nobody in their right mind would want to adopt a full-grown, pubescent, sixteen year old sophomore who had piss colored hair that was probably a rat's nest right now. Nope, everyone prefers to raise those abandoned babies.

I never really had any close friends back at school. They completely ignored me now that I was at stupid St. Thomas Aquinas. I didn't really care. I didn't go to my old school anymore. Instead, I attend this even smaller local school near St. Thomas Aquinas. Other than attending the stupid school, I do nothing except sit on my bunk and write what's considered emo-poems. The first two months I was here, I refused to eat, refusing to accept the fact that my parents were now gone.

I remembered Mom would always make me and Dad her special fried chicken and mashed potatoes every single Sunday dinner, ending a tiring week and beginning a new one.

I remembered how I would always watch Sunday football with my Dad, even though I never understood football no matter how much my dad tried to teach me.

I had probably lost about fifteen pounds in the two months. Not that I was excessively fat or anything, but I always had that unwanted baby fat on my cheeks and stomach. I guess I was skinner now, but to be honest, the last time I checked the mirror was about...three weeks ago.

I drew my knees up to my chest and grabbed my blanket closer.

"Well, she's in here," I heard Dorian, our caretaker or manager person or whatever say. The door to my shared room opened. "Aurelie? You have visitors," Dorian said, stepping back outside.

I looked up, wary. A couple walked in. The man was probably in his mid-thirties, and he was very well dressed in a crisp three-piece suit. His dark hair was combed neatly, and his shoes were too shiny. The woman at his side looked a lot younger. Early to mid twenties. Either that or it was botox. She had on expensive looking heels, a nice summer dress, perfect make-up, and some expensive bling. I swear, 24-carat ring on her hand cost ten grand, hands down. It was sparkling more than the man's shoes. I didn't recognize them. And boy, did they look uncomfortable.

The man cleared his throat. "Aurelie? Hi, I'm David. David McAllister." He extended a hand stiffly. He pulled it back awkwardly after I glared at it pointedly. "This is my wife, Rachel."

She nodded stiffly, her expertly coiffed hair catching the light.

"Hi," I finally said after a minute's silence. "What are you here for?"