"Are you listening?"
A crackly series of jolts from the other end of the line indicated that yes, she was. "I don't think you should do this."
"So can you help me?"
She sighed. Never a good sign when someone sighs at you. "No, I can't help you... Just wait for a better opportunity to come along. Look, it's late, stop being an idiot and go home."
"I can't go home!" I hissed, through gritted yet shaking teeth. I was trembling from the cold, huddled into the corner of the phone box clutching the phone with my right hand. The rain was hitting the glass hard and viciously, trying to break in. "Please. You're my friend. You have to understand."
"Frankly, I don't understand at all. So what if your home life sucks? So does everyone else's. We all just deal with it," she replied matter-of-factly.
I couldn't even comprehend how mean that sounded, even if she didn't intend it to be. "You don't know what it's like, Ari! Okay, fine, you don't have to waste your time on me. Maybe I was asking too much. I'll just hold my own," I spat, and slammed the phone back into the reciever, before slumping against the window in defeat. As I slowly slid down onto the cold concrete, I contemplated my options.
I know I sound like a brat. If I were on the outside looking in, I would think I'm a brat. But this is entirely out of context, I swear. Before anyone judges me too harshly, allow me to introduce myself.
I'm Ruby. I don't have parents anymore. I like saying that better than "I'm an orphan," which is just a very depressing word, and sounds a bit like the word "aphid," which are undesirable bugs to have in your garden and are considered plant lice. I know, poor little old me in an orphanage and nobody loves me, your average cliche story. It isn't like that. Actually, now that I think about it, it kind of is, but with some variables.
Our "aunt and uncle" were okay for a while, before they let their true personalities show. The other kids and I - there's about 24 of us - live on limited rations of food and heat. We do all of the chores. Well, I wouldn't call it chores. It's not your mediocre daily dishes routine. It's almost exploitation, child labour. We do all of their work, raking leaves, dusting, polishing, clipping trees and bushes, and then we're hired out to other families around the neighborhood to do their work. And do we gain any profit? No. The money goes directly to our beloved Aunt and Uncle, whose names I can't bear to say. Us kids never earn a dime. Ever. But that isn't the biggest problem. Not for me, anyway.
The rest of the kids really hate me. As far as I know, I didn't do anything to deserve it. People just love to hate, I guess. I am Rainwood Foster Home's personal emotional punching bag. I'm not sure what quite started it. Maybe when I got in the way of resident cool-girl Alice's way on the staircase in the first few days of my re-accommodation and this somehow progressed into a full-blown catfight. Alice grew up and left, but my tarnished reputation only rusted further. Kids just got used to blaming stuff on me all the time. And I got used to taking the blame.
Hot tears welled beneath my eyelids and I fiercely wiped them away. It's no time to be feeling sorry for myself. I've got to think. But as hard as I try, these morbid and unfortunately truthful thoughts keep worming themselves inside my brain. I've got nobody in the world, even though I thought I had Ariana, my friend at school. It's obvious she doesn't care as much as I thought she did. Another delightful surprise.
"Ruby! What the heck are you doing out here?!" Uh oh. I recognize that voice. A flashlight wavered over the glass of the booth. I shakily got to my feet, using the condensation soaked window to support me as I stumbled out of the phone booth. Aunt furiously waved her torch at me, about to go on a rant. "Why on Earth are you out here at this hour? Making me, a little old woman, walk around town at this time of night with all the hoodlums, looking for you. I work very hard, you know, but you just don't appreciate it. Have to make life harder for me and yourself. I swear you're Satan's spawn, you are. No priest could save you, not even the Pope himself." She huffed as she prodded me along with the tip of her umbrella. "Well, at least we've got a use for you. No need to fret, every child in my care will be beneficial to society in one way or another," she promised, raising her eyes up to the sky and curling her upper lip. So if you didn't get the hint she's a bit religious. "For Pete's sake, get out of the rain!" she shrieked.
I obediently followed her to two blocks to our "home". No orphan that I can recall has ever managed to run away from here. It's like we've got a tracking chip lodged in our brains, or Aunt and Uncle have a personal GPS system attached to all of us.
When we got to the house Aunt snapped her umbrella closed and shook off the raindrops with unnecessary vigour to demonstrate how angry she was. She slammed the door open and marched inside, me meekly following after.
"You're to have extra chores this week. Samantha! Welcome to a week full of absolutely no chores. Ruby here'll do them for you." Aunt looks pointedly at Sam, laying back on the couch casually. She's one of the girls my age who gets the privilege of late night T.V. Although, with nothing but a blank static screen and fuzzy voiceover, there isn't much to get excited about. Sam barely acknowledges this statement and just nods in understanding. Aunt turned back to me. "Go to bed," she demanded, urging me up the stairs. "Uncle's gonna have a lot to say about this in the morning," she threatens.
Aunt frequently has a shawl wrapped around her head and brittle frame, curly greying hair peeking out from under the old fabric. She has wire rimmed glasses and red lipstick, always wearing a gypsy skirt right down to her worn sandals. She sneered at me bitterly as I stagger up the stairs, wary from the rain. There's a few flights of stairs until I reach my bedroom, along with three others. Luckily we have a bathroom on our floor, and I immediately rush to brush my teeth and splash hot water on my face.
I turn the ancient brass knob and lean against the wood panelled door for a few seconds, breathing hard, before going in. I close the door behind me, wash my face, brush my teeth and hair, and look in the mirror.
I cut my hair by myself, a few months ago. Uncle was furious, Aunt was distraught. She said I'd made myself look like a boy. I cut myself a fringe and made my brown hair come slightly below my shoulderblades. It still hangs the same way now, flicking around my ears and traveling down the small of my back. My eyes are brown too. That's it. Boring, plain brown. Maybe a slight tint of hazel to them, but only if you look really close. I've got a small snub nose and no freckles to speak of. I always stayed out of the sun as a child.
I rubbed my eyes ferociously and then peeked out of my entwined fingertips to see if my reflection had changed. Nope. Still the same Ruby.
"Who's in there? Hurry up!" Angel's voice yells through the door. Angel is 15, like me, but a lot bigger. She's one of the only kids in the orphange that are respected at school, because she started a paper round two years ago and could afford nicer clothes. But this doesn't make her personality any nicer. She even coined her own stupid name as soon as she started getting popular. Her real name is Mary.
I glare at the jiggling door knob angrily, wishing there was a lock on it. Angel comes in, and sniggers at my drenched hair and clothes, looking like a drowned cat.
"Back from your escapade?"
"Unfortunately. Get out."
"No, you," she says, bossily pushing past me to fix her blonde hair in the mirror.
"Hey! I was here first! I've got extra chores for the rest of the week. Just let me have a break!"
"In trouble again? What a surprise. I'm sorry, but this is officially my bathroom right now so you'll have to get out of my face," she stated, her voice acidic. I just rolled my eyes and reached for the toothpaste again. I hated the taste of morning breath, and would do anything to prevent it.
"Out," Angel said monotonously as if she had better things to do, then promptly barged into me.
I shrieked like a child having a tantrum, See, this is what I meant earlier. Take anything I do out of context and I'll seem like a brat. "Leave me alone!"
She ignored my pleas and shoved me out the door.
"Bye!" she said cheerfully, and then slammed the door in my face. Another girl, Melanie, stood out in the hall watching. She giggled at me and flipped her, again, blonde hair over her shoulder. But it's dyed. She's only trying to copy Angel.
"Loser," she stated, raising her eyebrows as she pushed past me and down the carpeted stairs.
"Wow, real original," I called after her. She only responded with another peal of laughter.
I stood, the tips of my hair dripping wet, clothes disheveled in the hallway, wishing I could burst the bathroom door open and push Angel out of the window. I hated this place. I hated Aunt and Uncle. I hated those who hated me for no good reason. I clenched my fists and walked back to my room, muttering to myself as I flicked the switch on in order to light up my room, walls painted a dreary faded yellow, only to find my lightbulb was broken. As I stripped off my soaking coat and jeans and got into my even colder bed, I swore one day I would get out of here. I would run away, go anywhere but here, and find someone who cared for me. I'll show Angel. I'll show Melanie and Ariana and everyone else who ever teased me. I'll show Aunt and Uncle. I'll show all of the kids at this stupid orphanage.
One day.