Orelia Foster never thought that she would escape.
She never thought that one day, someone would come and take her away from the man who's had her most of her life.
Who only cares about the money he can make off of her.
That's how most foster par...
I've been at Waylanna High for a few weeks now and not once have I eaten in the lunchroom.
I've done everything in my power to avoid that very thing. Sitting outside the building with Vera most of the time, smoking as we told each other every random thing that popped into our heads.
When she got detention, which was very often, I came to the auditorium. Which is where I am now.
I sit on the stage, my legs dangling over the ledge. I scan the many rows of dark red seats and the double doors standing tall all the way in the back.
The silence is really eerie here. Quiet. It reminds me of the forest surrounding Leon's house.
I've thanked God that the theater kids are never in here during the lunch period for whatever reason.
One time, one of them caught me in here, doing what I do now (which was quite literally nothing) and the look they gave me would make even the devil cower, I swear.
He looked as if he would go run and tell a teacher when I flipped him off so I hightailed it out of here. I think my math teacher was beyond happy how early I was to class that day because most of the time I don't show up until ten minutes after the bell has rung.
I swing my leg back and forth, the wooden stage making a hollowed out sound whenever the back of my heel touched it.
After a while of just staring, I get bored, so I plant my hands on the stage and haul myself up, nearly loosing my balance and tumbling right off.
Maybe I should choose a different hobby that doesn't require the act of keeping your balance.
Speaking of...
I haven't danced in awhile. Maybe it's because I've been a little preoccupied...
I shake my head, trying not to think of him right now.
The only way to clear my head is by dancing.
And no one's here...
I place one foot in front of the other, the stage making a light sound with each careful step.
I do a few pirouettes, liking the way my hair flows around me. Liking the way I feel whenever I do just this simple move.
I turn my pirouette into fouettés, keeping my eyes trained on one spot, thinking and thinking and thinking.
There is no way out, in my eyes. Out of this hell I call life. But dancing made it seem sort of kind of possible.
