Rebel Child of Crown City

A New Start: Part 1

A/N: All media belongs to their rightful owners, thank you.

Sup? The name's Maryanne Ivory-Clay, named so because my parents were not married upon my birth & never would have been for two reasons. Reason one, the sperm donor & the Ivory part of my name is a sleazy, no-good, white-collar, one-pump-chump of a CEO who, & I quote, "didn't have the time or temperament to raise the spawn of a blue-collared wretch". Said 'blue-collared wretch' died birthing me & made me half Clay. Reason two, I would have shoved him off his high horse too much. She left me with all the money she got to keep in between taxes & bills, a few hundred some odd dollars to feed me that I recently inherited today on my 'sweet' sixteen along with a letter explaining that I was to take up residence with my Great Uncle Denny in his junkyard & help him out until I'm eighteen, then I'm on my own unless I or Denny say otherwise. Great. I hate how the system is set. The welfare agent's black SUV rolled up to a rocket-shaped gate made of scrap & junk as I feel her worried side-eye glances in the side of my head.

"Vesta, I can feel you staring at me. Again. What's up?" I asked tiredly without taking my eyes from the far cleaner scene compared to the downtown areas I grew up in. Agent Darlene Vesta, the third-best welfare agent in Crown City & my only friendly figure. When I got caught up in some bad stuff in my childhood, she swooped in & got me out. Though, at the time, I wanted to stay & use the bit of brawn I had instead of the little bit of brain I had with the bunch of literal backstabbers. Funny how life works out for some, huh?

"My boss spoke with me today." Shit. The six words that are the kindling for my Molotov Cocktail with her boss's stupid name etched all over it.

"Yeah? What did Henry VIII (the 8th) have to say this time? He needs another floozy or something?" She tries to subdue an amused chuckle at the obvious nod to my signs of actually paying attention to my history studies as she clears her throat.

"No, he wants to get something across you-"

"I'm not wife number seven am I?" Her lips purse in another halting attempt on her hints of amusement as I look at her. A grown woman, top of her field, divorced twice with three kids & one on the way in about four months, & came from similar circumstances to me. What a warrior woman! She seemed tense & I thought staying quiet was the best option to cheer her up. Silly me.

"Again, Maryanne, no. He wants you to know that if this whole great uncle thing doesn't work out, then you've left him with no other options but to boot you the moment you turn eighteen. No Adult Transitional Care, no college, nothing. I have no room to talk but I'll make room for this: please don't do anything you'll regret!" Sixteen years too late, ma'am. We pull up to a full stop at the fashioned gate to see a sign hanging on it. Our shared look bounced between each other & the gate.

"I got it. You stay here." I say as she fights with her seat belt. My reading glasses slide from my leather-lined denim vest's inner pocket & onto my face as I read the sign that looked like it was slapped together last second. It told of my Uncle being gone doing something important & that he wouldn't be back for a few hours. That's it. I felt there was something more there, thus reached my willowy hand through the 'rocket window' to pat something wrapped in plastic. A smile slithers onto my face as it usually does with moments like these.

I tug the sandwich bag wrapped note & extra wrapped items that came with it from their fastened place then make my way back to the SUV but I don't get back in. Instead, I set the items on the hood & begin to sort through them. A handwritten note, a twin set of keys for a vehicle of some kind, another set for a door or gate or something like that, & a small flip phone. Once I'm sure that nothing poses a threat to the expecting lady in the car, I gather everything back into the bags & signal to Vesta just as she defeated her seatbelt, hoping out just as she did so. While she's getting onto me about safety & adult supervision, I unfold the note.