The Teen Years

The Actual Story

“Hello, yourself,” Hannah said. She came and sat down right beside me. Clide stayed put at the door. I squirmed uncomfortably, but didn’t make a move to stop her. She placed a hand under my chin, lifted it up, turned it side to side.  She scrutinised me, her kohl-rimmed eyes staring into, like, my soul or something. Her eyes were this weird shade of grey-blue. It was pretty startling when paired with the eyeliner.

“You need to lighten up,” she said next. “I’ll run you a bath and make you some tea, if you want.”

I couldn’t come up with a reply other than Sorry, what?

“A bath. Hot water, some nice scented oils, lots of bubbles.  It’ll do you some good. You’re very tense.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

Hannah clamped her hands together, delighted. “It’s fine! Aw, you’re polite. Clide, did you hear that? How cute!”

Clide laughed, a deep rumble that came straight from his gut. “We’ve never had a teenager before. Can you tell, Jenna?” Hannah moved towards her husband, wrapping a long arm around his waist and squeezing herself into his side.

“This isn’t your first time fostering?” I asked.

They both shook their heads. “We always got the youngins, and by the time they’re your age, they’re too used to us to be shy.”

Hannah played with the bangles that danced up her wrists. She smiled tenderly at me. “You don’t need to be worried about staying with us, Jenna. We’re good folks. We won’t make you do anything you don’t want; we’re not gonna start braiding dreads into your hair in your sleep or anything.” She cackled at her own joke.

I breathed out unsurely.

“We’ll go run you that bath. You settle in, unpack, get yourself comfortable. Feel free to have a nose around.” Hannah smirked, her eyes gleaming with a look that said I-know-something-you-don’t. “We have a lot of interesting rooms in this house.”

They laughed to themselves, leaving the room with mirth in their movements. I saw the last swish of the skirt, and then the door was closed gently.

My mouth opened and closed.

Clide and Hannah – my new foster parents. That was them, and this was me. And that’s how it was, and how it always will be.

✍

My first day at Celdarwood Secondary was greatly anticipated— for all the wrong reasons. I was bricking it. I normally didn’t mind new schools – when they’re big ones, filled with like two-thousand kids. In schools like that, nobody really cared about the new kid. New kids sort of just appeared, and people didn’t bat an eyelash. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

Whose grand idea was it to enroll me into a secondary school that had less than five-hundred kids in it? Seriously, whose? I stared at the woman sipping herbal tea across from me, her legs splayed casually over her husband’s. “I really don’t see what the big fuss is about,” she said.

I looked at her, my mouth open.

Clide chipped in, “I see what Jenna’s problem is, but she needs to know she doesn’t have to worry.” Hannah and Clide did that a lot, speaking indirectly about people. Even themselves.  I had presumed it came with the whole hippie packaging.

“Jenna really doesn’t feel too good about this,” Jenna said.

(Sorry. Being sarcastic again. I do that sometimes.)

“Viewers, hold still. We are witnessing a teenage girl in the wild. She’s in her prime. Note the slight scowl that appears; hear the snark in her voice.  I wonder if it’s safe to approach. Onto you, Reporter  No. 2.”