Conflict of Interest: A Naturals Fanfiction

HORSE

I was right. I knew I was right. I had seen I was right. If nothing else, I felt I was right.

But then why did it feel so wrong?

I knew I gave the boy with the brown hair and blue eyes the right answer. Even though he hadn't said so, his actions spoke volumes. And good game? Why would he say that and walk out if I had been wrong? He would of been the kind of guy who would have laughed.

Or been disappointed.

I shrugged off the feeling. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind, focusing on the text of my book. But my mind wouldn't stop wandering.

Where was the boy, and what was the point of his game?

***

Silence.

Not a hello. How's your day? How was work? How are you?

Pointless questions that I absolutely hate.

In and out of foster homes. Surprisingly, I've been with the Gibsons for over a year. Long enough for me to actually get a job and make money for when I can actually leave this care system.

Only one and a half years until I'm eighteen.

I can make it.

I'm not someone who loves small talk. It's basically meaningless chit chat.  Don't get me wrong, it's not hard, just boring, annoying, and frankly, a waste of breath.

That's why they call it small talk.

I make my way upstairs and into my room in complete silence, not once hearing another noise in the house.

I instantly think back to my third foster care family.  They had me for about two weeks before they up and left while I was at school.  I had come home and the house was completely empty.  That was Mississippi.  Then after, there was Montana, California, Connecticut, and now Washington.  So, seven homes.

Six families that didn't want me.

I'd like to say I really don't care, but honestly, I hate it.  You have no idea how much not being wanted can wreck a person's self esteem. Mine's okay though.

I think.

I took off my sandals right as I entered my bedroom and plugged in my phone, turning it off of silent mode.  I replaced my jeans and gray t-shirt with black Nike shorts and a teal sleeveless crop-top before slipping out of my room and down the hall to the bathroom, washing my face from the layers of makeup I wear to distance me from the world.

I quickly exited the bathroom, nearly running into Jameson.

Jameson, also known as my oldest step sibling, was also my favorite, although I'm not supposed to have one.  He had a younger brother Nick and a little sister Kiara, both of whom were sweet at times but a heck of a lot annoying much more often.

Jameson was the only one I actually talked to.  Not small talk, but more important things.  He's the only one who really cared about me as a person, not as someone who could help cook or clean or babysit.  Lucky for me, I learned all those skills when I was younger.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hi," I whispered back. "Why's it so silent?"

"Kiara and Nick are both in bed because they were grounded, and mom and dad went out for a coffee date," he filled me in.  "Want to play basketball or wrestle? Maybe pool?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.