Broken Pieces

Tobin Torrie Tyler III

I have been stuck in this dump for years. Out of all the orphans, I 've been here the longest. I'm Tobin Torrie Tyler III. My parents dumped me on this doorstep when I was 9. I'll be honest with you, I have grown stronger here, with all my buddies. They've grounded me, and they've taught me that no dream is too big. They've taught me how to live a life where I can authentically be me.

Starting with me, I'm the leader of this group (I hate the stereotypes of the word clans/gangs, so I don't like using them.).If you've read the "Outsiders" by, S.E. Hinton, you could call us "Greasers", but I don't like words that can assume all of our reputations. We like to call ourselves "Forwards", because as a group, our one goal is to become one and move FORWARD together into lives of happiness. I am the worst definition of trouble that you've ever read. I dress like a "dude". I'm not ashamed of it, it's just who I am. I've snuck out a couple of times to a tattoo shop, and gotten inked. I climb, I scale, I do anything I can do in my power to be a rebel. I also have two goals in life. 1. Help all of us (orphans) get adopted so they can live lives of happiness, and joy. 2. Play for the USWNT. (United States Women's National Team) (SOCCER) Soccer has been my life. I'm not just a rebel, I'm a soccer player, and a pretty damn good one at that (ask my buddies). My goals are high, but no goal is ever too high. Keep moving forward, and you will eventually reach your destination.

"Tobin, man?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just bored. I'm also waiting for "You-Know-Who".

I don't have a great reputation with Mrs. B.L.A. She always seems to be a little harsher with me, because she knows that I sneak out and do all of these illegal things that normal 14-year-old tomboys do. I sneak out to bars and buy beer and LOTS of it. A lot of the dudes ask where I get the money, and I tell them that I saved all my life (It's actually true). My parents; don't get me started. They ruined it for me. They brought me here to this dump and made me live here. Although, I have grown from this experience. Physically and mentally. When I have all of these "men" to look after, it sorta keeps me busy, and working out is always something you need to do to stay healthy.

Mrs. B.L.A walked in, and she started shouting orders.

"We have boxes of towels and laundry that needs to be taken from downstairs to a higher level. They also needed to be folded. Each bed needs to be kept, and tidy. The bathrooms need to be taken care of. You know what to do."

We all replied with a "Yes, ma'am", and work proceeds.

"TOBIN TORRI" (When she uses my middle name that can only mean one thing; trouble.)

"Yes Mrs. Anders", I respond with a little annoyance in my voice.

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT TONE YOUNG LADY"

"Yes ma'am, Mrs. Anders"

"When did you get that?" She pointed at my bicep. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt, and I had recently snuck out and gotten a new tattoo. It was barbed wire around my bicep. It looked good there, and I liked to show of my tattoos.

"That's always been there, ma'am"

"DON'T LIE TO ME, TOBIN TORRIE" I was in for it this time. Mrs. B.L.A notices changes faster than you can even think.

"I'm not lying!!!" I tell her. She grimaces at me and tells me to start working. I start working, and I see all my buddies groaning, and carrying heavy boxes from the downstairs to the higher levels. One of them is named Hunter. He's a stick but has a great heart. I see him stumble, and one of the supervisors snatch him from the stairs, and pull him into what we call "Room of Hell". This is a room where you get punished if you're not working hard enough, or you're not doing the job right, crisp, fast, or you're just being a PITA. (Pain in the ass.) I always go in there for being a PITA.

Nothing good happens in that room. You pay for your slip-ups. I'm in there almost every five hours. It hurts. They whip you. They make you run and do pushups. They do anything to hurt you.

Hunter is always the first one to go into the room. He's just so small, with a small build. I make eye contact with him, and he gives me a frown. He's strong, and will always fight. He will never give up on me, on us on our one goal in life.

I've always been built with lots of muscle. It's in my genes. My mom was a soccer player, so was my dad. It was only right for my genes to be strong and to be for soccer.

I take an overview of all the boys at work, and I see Mrs. B.L.A looking at me. She knows I'm the leader of the group. She knows that I can make them work, although that is not what I do. I give them courage. I look at them and they give me a nod of reassurance. They trust me with their life, and I do too. All of them. My army of good-hearted, strong, and joyous reputations.

We finished the day up, and soon Mrs. B.L.A yelled that dinner is downstairs on the table for us. I am always last to the dinner table because I want to show the other kids that I don't rule over them. I lead them. I give to them. I'm as much as a servant to them as they are to me. We are equal and that's what makes us "Forwards".