In My Corner, Chapter 1

          The sound of roller backpacks and dragged luggage was all around me. People were everywhere, making me want to scream. Where is she already? I've been waiting half an hour.

          I watched as people moved about the airport, meeting up to their families, reminding me harshly that I didn't have that luxury. Instead, I'm waiting for my fifth foster mother to come and take me "home". My fingernails dug into my palms and my knuckles turned white. Finally, I let go when I found my palms were bleeding.

          Suddenly, I felt a presence hovering over me. I looked up from watching the blood come off my palms to find a lady staring down at me. Her dark curly hair was complimented on by her green eyes, which seemed to smile at me.

          "Whatda you want?" I growled impatiently.

          "Are you Grey Wilson?" the lady asked.

          I raised my eyebrows at her. "Depends. Are you my foster mother?"

          The lady nodded her head. "Yes, Mrs. Hamilton. It's so great to meet you!"

          "Yeah, it's a blast. Can we go now?"

          Mrs. Hamilton chuckled. "Excited to see your home?"

          "Sure," I mumbled, not wanting to share with this scarily happy woman of my anti-social issue.

          We left the airport, but my back stayed tense, still concious of the people around me. A BMW in a mesmerizing color of deep blue happened to belong to Mrs. Hamilton. Hmm, maybe I'll like this new family... they seem like they're rich. Rich is good.

          "You like it?" Mrs. Hamilton asked excitedly, looking at me gawking at her car.

          I shut my mouth, which was involuntarily hanging open. "It's okay," I lied, trying to keep my voice at a snobbish level.

          Her smile seemed to falter, but she kept it up with effort. Changing the subject as she got in the car, she said, "I hope you'll like your new family. Our daughter, Lindsay, said she would be happy to tell you about your fellow peers." Mrs. Hamilton started the car and pulled away from LAX.

          I cringed. She noticed. "Is something wrong?" she asked, pulling a worried look on her face.

          "No," I replied quickly. "So, ahh, about how many people are at the school?" I asked, trying to make it seem more conversational that paranoid.

          "Well, for sophmores alone, it's about seven hundred.... The whole school is I believe over two thousand."

          With much effort, I restrained from screaming. That was too many people. Surely I would die. "T=two thousand?" I managed to mumble. Clearing my throat, I said louder, "Oh. Sounds like, um, a pretty big school."

          Mrs. Hamilton chuckled. "Oh, I could hardly call that big! Here in Los Angeles, everywhere is crowded!"

          I fidgited uncomfortably in my seat. "Crowded?" I squeaked, rubbing my now-sweaty palms against my faded grey pants.

          "Are you sure you're alright?" Mrs. Hamilton asked, her face clouded in worry.

          "No," I answered truthfully, but making the tone in my voice clear I didn't want to talk about it.

          Ignoring the tone, she asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

          "No," I repeated.

          "Oh." A wave of sadistic happiness passed through me in satisfaction. She was hurt. She knew I was evil and didn't want anything to do with her.

          We drove on in silence, and from the corner of my eye I could tell Mrs. Hamilton was searcing for something to say. After a while, she turned on the radio to a pop station.

          I growled. "I hate this station," I hissed.

          "Do you have any preference?" Mrs. Hamilton asked coolly.

          "No," I said defiantly.

          "Alright," she mumbled, seeming slightly annoyed.

          She changed to another station, which I swiftly rejected, and another... and another... and another. "Maybe we should keep the radio off," Mrs. Hamilton suggested, her voice cracking with stress.

          "But I love the radio," I complained, biting my lip not to start laughing.

          Mrs. Hamilton sighed, then forced herself to talk in an even voice. "What kind of music do you like?" she asked.

          "I hate music."

          Instead of screaming like I'd hoped, she giggled. I was shocked at this random backfire. "That's crazy, Grey!" I cringed at the sound of her saying my name. "You can't love the radio and not enjoy music."

          "I like the AM radio." I said it as if it were obvious.

          "Then why did you make me change the FM stations so many times?" Yes. She was ready to crack.

          "I like the FM radio," I said in the same tone.

          "What kind of music do you like, then?" she asked, speaking the words slowly as if to a baby.

          Tired of messing with her head, I said, "Suicidal."

          "Excuse me?" Mrs. Hamilton asked in disbelief.

          "You heard," I smirked.

          Trying to grasp this, she mumbled nonsense before she finally said in plain English: "Why?"

          "Why not?" I replied, not wanting to spread the wealth of my sob story.

          For a while more, it was quiet. Mrs. Hamilton eventually turned off the radio, mumbling something like they didn't play suicidal music on the radio. I cursed at myself silently. She wasn't suppose to find out about my music preference. Now she knows too much about me.

          "Grey?" her voice came back to me. "We're here."

          I looked up, unaware that my eyes fell down to my shoes, to see a beautiful two-story tan home with burgandy windows. "Are you coming?" Mrs. Hamilton asked, already out the car and waiting by the front door.

          Quietly, I nodded and got out. I stared down at my shoes as I walked, not caring if I hit something. Now, walking on the smoothly paved stone pathway, I noticed just how poor I looked. My black Chuck Taylors looked old and sloppy compared to the beautiful scenery, just as my hair and clothes did.

          My eyes drifted upward, realizing only now that I was inside and everyone was staring at me. There were two unfamiliar faced looking down at me from the middle of the staircase. Feeling self-concious, my face turned a slight shade of pink.

          "Sweetie, this is Grey," Mrs. Hamilton said to a teenage girl I presumed was Lindsay.

          The other face was still looking curiously at me, taking in my rolled-out-of-bed messed up dark brown hair, big blue eyes, my black skull T-shirt, dirty faded grey skinny jeans, untied dirty black converse.

          Lindsay seemed to back away, looking fearful at the very sight of me. I'm not that bad, am I? I thought, chuckling silently to myself that I had already done my job.

          "Grey? Would you like to unpack your belongings?" Mrs. Hamilton asked.

          I looked up, not knowing my eyes had been staring down at my shoes again. As I'd expected, all three were staring at me again.

          For a second, I thought of agreeing, forgetting about my rebellion. "No. I'll do whatever the f**k I want whenever the f**k I want."

          They looked startled, scared. Easy victory. "Oh," Mrs. Hamilton said quietly.

          The other unfamiliar face next to Lindsay, who appeared to be Mr. Hamilton, looked quite hostile, actually. "Listen, there, Grey!" he boomed, sending off a new wave of fear to Lindsay and Mrs. Hamilton, though it had no affect on me as I'd been through this before. "My wife did not go through all this trouble so you could be a pain in the f*****g a*s, ya hear?"

          "Sure," I shrugged, folding my arms lightly on my chest.

          "You have got some nerve, kid," he growled.

          "Kurt," Mrs. Hamilton said, trying to keep her voice at a calm level, "let's not be rude to our new member."

          He almost laughed. "Rude? You're telling me not to be rude? Look at this son of a b***h! He's an angry b*****d! I never agreed to having some f*****g kid come-- I'm happy enough with Lindsay!"

          "Kurt!" Mrs. Hamilton was on the edge of hysteria now. "Come here now, we're taking this elsewhere!"

          They both left in an angry rush. "Kurt" glared at me a moment, then disappeared off with Mrs. Hamilton. Lindsay stayed at the stairs, seeming paralyzed to the spot.

          Hesitantly, I took my bag, which was in my hand the entire time, and slowly walked upstairs into a room I guessed was extra. It was very empty, except for the bed and dresser. Very bland, as well.

          Footsteps sounded behind me, and I figured it must be Lindsay. I turned around and, as predicted, Lindsay was standing there, looking a little shy and unwilling to move.

          "Hi," she half-whispered.

          I gave her a nod, then proceeded into the room. She followed. "You know, my parents aren't usually like this," she spoke, clearly not taking a hint that I didn't want her. "My dad just didn't really want any more kids, but it'd always been my mom's dream to have lots of kids..."

          "Do you mind?" I hissed.

          She backed off, giving me a confused look. "Why are you so... mean?" Lindsay asked.

          "Shut up and go," I spat, giving her one of my nastiest looks.

          With that, she ran off, leaving me to smile in pleasure. It's so surprising how easily ticked off these people get. For Mrs. Hamilton, though, it might be hard to get on her nerves. She's way to happy.

          Ten minutes later, when I had finished packing, I stayed up in my room, in my corner, waiting. Waiting for a new family, a new home, someplace to call my own. I wiped away my tears fiercly, not knowing they were there. God, I'm such a baby. Who cares if I don't have a family? I have myself, and that's all I need.

          "Grey?" I heard Mrs. Hamilton say. "Grey, please come down!"

          My body remained still, crouched down in a corner, hands on my upraised knees. Once more she called before I heard light footsteps coming upstairs. I rolled my eyes. Can't they take a hint?

          "Grey, what are you doing in there?" her voice said from behind the door. Mrs. Hamilton opened the door and searched for me until she found me in the corner I had decided to stay at. "Why are you down there?"

          I shrugged, then turned my head so she wouldn't see that I'd been crying.

          "Listen," she said, her voice soft and melodic. "I know you must be scared, having a new family and all... but that's no reason to be cranky and hide in a corner."

          My head snapped back to face her, eyes wild and fierce. "Who said I'm scared? This is not my family, I am not cranky, and I am not hiding! So listen up, b***h, because you're in for a treat. I'm the biggest b*****d you'll ever meet-- why do you think I've had four families reject me?-- so be prepared to send me off like the others."

          I'm not sure if it was my imagination, but tears seemed to be forming in her eyes. "Goodness, Grey...," she murmured. "Please, don't think I'm going to send you off. This'll be your home, you'll see."

          "Whatever," I hissed, getting up out of my corner and stalking off downstairs.

Author's Note

Don't be too harsh, it's unedited. Feedback and criticism would be lovely.

Reviews

[unspokenguilt]

I really loved it! It's very discreptive...kept me reading. I love that piece in the car...very clever! I've always wanted a older brother, I thought it would be cool (go figure). I even told my mom to adopt one...she wouldn't :( and now it's to late seeing as i'm 18 and any adoptees or whatever term i'm supost to use would only be younger than me...i already have a younger brother (but i wouldn't mind trading, hehehe kidding) i guess i'll just have to continue calling my older sister reginald instead of regina (ahh, wishful thinking...kidding reggies cool)

now i'll stop before i write a story
:) elyssa