FOSTER CHILD | PETER PARKER

x.

FOSTER CHILD | ACT ONE
scene nine: anger and advice

DINNER WAS AWKWARD, no like—painfully awkward.

Hank had ordered his usual Chinese for dinner much for Isla and Scott's dismay. The two had both wanted to get fried rice and sesame seed chicken—Isla quickly changed her request, not wanting to seem too similar to Scott—but Hank insisted on getting his usual order of wonton soup and chicken chow mien to avoid any sort of suspicion, which Isla thought was a rather extreme precaution but then again she didn't know the mission let alone the stakes of it.

To make matters worse, Hank had left the two to share the meal amongst themselves, not even grabbing a plate for himself as he claimed 'he wasn't hungry.' Isla instantly called him out on his bullshit, mad that he was going to leave her alone with Scott. He wanted the two to bond to each other, that much was obvious as the two hadn't spoken a single word to each other in the past twenty-four hours, but Isla was stubborn and wouldn't mind continuing her lifelong grudge.

The room was without a single sound. One, not even the ants could endure as they left the room to go about their business, most likely listening to Uptown Funk again instead of the ear-wrenching sound of utensils scratching the plates.

"Do you go to a private school?" Scott asked of the blue.

"Homeschooled."

"Is it fun?"

"Nope got severely punished for setting the kitchen on fire."

Scott stopped eating, giving Isla a wary look before clearing his throat. "So... uh how's your mother? Haven't heard from her in a while."

"She's dead."

"Oh. Sorry for your loss."

Scott started talking again. "She used to do the cutest things y'know. Whenever she was shocked her eyebrows would look as if they jumped off her face or when she was angry her lips would like squeeze together, her face and height didn't make her look intimidating but her way with words proved otherwise and—"

Isla shot up from her seat, her plate in hand. "I'll be in my room."

Isla stormed out of the room, stomping as she climbed up the stairs. She slammed the door and threw her plate onto the bed. Pacing around the room, She ran her fingers through her hair.

She rummaged around the room, stuffing her thrown pieces of clothing into her bag. She needed to get out, she needed to leave. She didn't want to be there with him, couldn't be there with him.

He wasn't there for her birth, for her first steps, her first words, her first birthday. He wasn't there for her, so why should she be there with him right now? He should've but her first but instead he put her second, making his main priority being a criminal. Maybe if he hadn't left things wouldn't be the way they were.

"Isla..."  Isla heard Scott say, she paused taking a deep breath to control her anger, " look I'm sorry.."

Isla continued rummaging around the room, refusing to look at Scott. "Tell Hank I'm leaving because—"

"Isla––"

"—I can't be around you like I physically can't be near you without wanting to hurt you—"

"Isla—"

"What!" She snapped, looking up at Scott, fuelled with anger.

"Isla..." Scott said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry for bringing up your mom, with her dying so recently and all."