Chapter 18: Yellow Brick Road
Fifteen Years Ago...
She hadn't even bothered unpacking this time. With the two tiny cardboard boxes that held her entire life, it was easier to leave them in the corner of the room than take everything out, only to repack in a month or two. They'd started collecting a layer of dust on the worn out tape. One of them even had a corner ripped off. But that's what happened when you overused them. She couldn't count the amount of times she'd packed, unpacked, repacked, untapped, taped shut, day in day out. She was surprised the boxes were still holding together.
She couldn't believe how some kids her age actually got excited about moving. It was nothing but a pain. It meant new city, new school, new house, new friends, new enemies and in her case... a new 'family'. The years were starting to blur together. No matter how hard she tried to remember, she couldn't recall every foster parent. Sometimes she'd move as much as once a month... the instability was a charmer.
Standing up from the old creaky bed, Riley tried to ignore the squealing floorboards as she crossed the room to the calendar that hung on the wall: the only personal item she'd actually had to courage to pull out. She knew today was the anniversary. But deep in her heart she just wanted to see that red circle around the thirteenth of August. It'd been a Friday when the accident happened. Friday the Thirtieth. The irony nearly killed her... but unfortunately... she wasn't the one that was taken away.
Closing her eyes, she had to take the calendar down, because all she could see was that damn red circle. Why she continued to torture herself like this, she didn't know. She'd hoped she'd be moving to a nicer city, a better place: somewhere the grass was green and children played in the streets. But when she found out her new foster home was in Detroit, she knew her dreams were about as far from reality as possible. She wasn't one to judge, but she'd never heard good things about the city.
Collapsing back onto the bed, the metal squealing and groaning from the weight of the mattress, she tried not to think about what school would be like. It was always the same and she never fit in. At first glance she was pretty but once they realized she was a foster kid, it was all over. And it was hard to ignore the fact that she had three sets of clothes, none of which were particular new. She had everything from ripped pockets to missing buttons. And nobody wanted to hang out with a kid who was on the lunch list.
She could hear the commotion downstairs. It was one of the bigger homes she'd stayed in. These foster parents had nine other children. The chances of her being moved were high with such large numbers. And she didn't make friends easily to help secure her position here. Grabbing her tattered backpack, her only notebook and pen in there, and wandered downstairs. The other kids all seemed to be close-knit and unwelcoming. Surprising coming from foster kids. You'd think she wouldn't be the only one who felt like this.
The morning passed by in a blur. It was all the same. Nothing had meaning or purpose anymore. She'd reached the point where she just didn't care anymore. Life wasn't worth the effort or the consideration. Even walking to school in the new neighborhood wasn't worth any excitement. It was damn cold here and she'd just hung back, following the other kids. Fortunately, New Osborn Middle School was only two blocks from her new place.
Her new foster parents had given her a letter with her timetable and locker number so she found her way pretty easy. Luckily she hadn't been given much trouble apart from some awful stares. Riley shoved her tattered bag into the locker, now empty as she clutched onto the worn out notebook. She heard yelling and glanced up over the top of the locked door, almost hiding behind it, she was so small.
Her eyes fell upon three big boys, which looked easily like sophomores, crowded around a boy, which looked her age. He was pale white with a huge brown mop of hair and big ears and teeth. Although he had a scrawny figure, he had a hard stare plastered across his face, like he wasn't taking shit from anyone today.
She watched closely as he lifted his chin, staring unafraid at the three guys. "Fuck off, Bailey."
"My dad showed me this cool move last night. Guess who I'm going to try it on today?" The biggest of them all, who had been addressed as Bailey stepped towards the younger kid with a menacing stride.
Still he didn't look intimidated, "Your mom."
So quickly, Bailey had the kid banged up against the lockers, holding him by his collar. "You piece of white, trailer trash!" His two accomplices were laughing as they opened one of the lockers. Bailey practically threw the younger kid in here, spat on him. The boy tried to kick his way out but Bailey grabbed his legs and tore off what appeared to be new shoes. He then slammed the door shut, trapping him inside. Riley was surprised he even fit.
Horrified, she hid behind her locked door and pretended to mind her own business as they walked past her, laughing and high fiving. As soon as they were out of sight, she quickly shut her locker door and ran over to where the poor kid was still in the locker. He was banging, and it looked like he was about to get out. Cautiously, she opened it from the outside. The door swung open and the scrawny boy, practically fell out.
Standing, he composed himself and stared at her head to toe. She did the same. With his torn up outfit, it looked like the only decent thing he owned was the pair of shoes that'd just been stolen from him. Maybe he was a foster kid too? Either way, he was definitely on the lunch list.
"I haven't seen you here before," He said. It wasn't exactly a thank-you, but she took it as one. He looked silly standing there in just his dirty socks.
Riley shrugged, "New."
He smirked, "Get on the end of the line. Name's Marshall."
"Riley," She clarified, feeling nervous talking to somebody new. "Are you a sophomore? She could only guess the guys that were picking on him were too.
He shook his head, "Nah, freshman."
She was surprised. Although small framed, he looked older than a freshman. The loud bell for first period rang out. Marshall rolled his eyes and stared back at the locker. "Ugh... cheers for that. But you better lay low if you want to survive here."
With that, he turned and started walking down the hall, almost slipping on the floors with his socks.
Marshall couldn't believe his luck. It wasn't even first period and Deangelo had already nicked his fucking brand new Pumas. Those things had cost him a fortune. He was on a new record streak here. The only bright side of the morning was the fact that there was a pair of sneakers his size in lost property that he could use. By the time he'd made it to first period, he was already late. As he walked through the door to his classroom he was angry to see Deangelo in the back row with his two shit for brains on either side.
There was only one seat left and it was right next to... he sighed. That blonde girl who'd let him out of the locker earlier. Riley. Damn... he'd been hoping to avoid her. It'd been embarrassing enough that she'd witnessed him being shoved into a locker but to have to free him what a whole new level of shameful. And she was cute too... Holding back his reaction, he sat down beside her, dumping his tattered notebook beside hers... the funny thing was that hers was in just as bad condition. The difference was that hers was filled with notes and his was mostly rhymes scrawled up and down the sides of the pages in tiny handwriting.
He spent most of the class thinking of new rhymes. It was so hard to pay attention because most of the teachers really didn't give a shit. Riley didn't say anything all lesson. She kept her head down and mouth shut. Smart girl. Most new kids tried their very best to fit in, but she blended in. She was the kind of girl that nobody would remember. It was like she was invisible. He felt like that too... when he wasn't being singled out as everyone's punching bags.
By the time it got to lunch, he was hardly surprised to see that she was on the lunch list too. Her clothes looked just as bad as his did. Smirking, he hated seeing the similarities between them. They ended up sitting together, crammed in the corner of the cafeteria, away from everyone else.
"Where you from?" He asked, pushing around the dry sandwich they'd been given.
Riley shrugged, like she didn't care where she was from or where she was headed to next. "Albuquerque."
Confused, he scrunched up his face. Why would anybody move from New Mexico to Michigan? "Why Detroit?"
She hesitated, face completely blank, like she was hiding all of her emotions. After a moment she let out a sigh. "New foster home."
He looked out across the cafeteria, knowing how she felt right now. Foster homes meant lots of moving. Once you just started to settle they'd rip up your roots and move you again. God, he knew that pain. "Well shit." His could have sworn he saw her smile a little at his reaction. "How many times have you moved this year?"
"Six," She said, softly, still staring at her untouched plate of food. He closed his eyes. It wasn't even June yet. That meant she'd moved over once a month.
"That's ridiculous," He bit. "You should sue."
He saw the corner of her mouth turn upwards again. For some reason, even though it was small, seeing her smile a little made him feel a little warmer inside. She looked so lost and helpless. She looked... just like he felt. And somehow, making her a little happier actually made him feel better two. He couldn't explain it. He'd never met anyone who'd even gotten close to understanding what his life was like. But... she... was going through the same thing.
"You live close?" Marshall asked.
She had to think, meaning she'd probably only move very recently. "Pinewood Street."
He raised a brow. "That's a few streets from me... want to walk home together?" She gave him a surprised look. Shit he'd been too forward. He cleared his throat. "It's not safe for you to walk alone in this town. You'll get jumped."
As he glanced back at her, that tiny smile had spread a bit wider. She nodded, slowly. "That... would be really good."