A loud bell sounded throughout the house, signalling dinner. Miles had put the bells in when he got frustrated from yelling up the stairs at the kids, and they often couldn't hear him.
Slowly, kids trickled in.
The first was one of the younger ones, being nine years old. She wore bright pink everything. Shirt, pants, and messy eyeliner. Everything was hot pink.
The next to follow was a boy, much older, being seventeen and almost eighteen, and almost too old for the foster care system. He wore a band t-shirt and ripped jeans, his hair desperately needing a haircut. But he always refused to get one wherever it was brought up.
Then two boys came in, both fifteen years old. They were attached at the hip. Never seen apart. One of them was wearing a white shirt and flannel overtop, ripped loose jeans and sneakers.
The other boy wore something very different.
He wore a red plaid skirt. And above that was a dark green crop top, probably bought from the girls section. He also had his nails painted a daring rainbow of colours.
Last but not least, a little boy, no older than seven, followed behind the two. He was a very closed off kid, especially for someone of his age. He barely ever spoke, and rarely answered personal questions.
They all sat around a large table, bantering and teasing as they waited for two men to bring out dinner. The pink girl and the flamboyant boy had started arm wrestling across the table.
The oldest one there, the one with hair he refused to cut, had started throwing mini paper planes at the seven year old boy, while pretending to be not enjoying it all, despite how much he obviously was. The seven year old boy sat grumpily glaring at everyone, obviously annoyed by the planes. Meanwhile the fifteen year old in flannel had started commentating the arm wrestling match like a sports announcer.
Casey, holding the burgers, was old now. He had aged, and you could tell. He had wrinkles around his eyes where they always scrunched when he smiled, and lots of laugh lines. A few grey hairs were sneaking their way in, no matter how much he had tried to stop them.
Miles, on the other hand, was carrying the buns and ketchup and stuff like that. He was still just as short as before. He hadn't grown an inch since highschool, which he was very mad about, I suggest you don't mention it to him. He had a couple small wrinkles around his mouth and eyes from smiling, and had started growing out his beard.
The two men set down the plates, and everyone dug in.
It was a loud dinner, as it always was.
YOU ARE READING
Angry at Love
Romance"you know, it felt like it took miles just to get to know you, Miles" Nobody wanted to deal with him. Whether it was because they didn't want a gay kid, or they didn't know how to deal with epilepsy, or they didn't like how many fights he got into...
