The Run~Volume 3 ©2016 Sydney Wray

-2-

                                                                               -6 years before-

I watched a beautiful girl step out of a small car, followed by a social worker holding a binder with a rather bored expression enveloping her face.

My position at the window didn't spark the other's interest. They all went about their business, but I peeked at our new arrival.

I studied her face- headstrong, perhaps. Maybe a bit nervous, so I took it upon my ten year-old self to make the promise that changed my life. 

That girl would be my best friend, I vowed to myself. 

Something about her..I wasn't so sure what it was. But she caught my attention, which was something that was hard to do. Miss, the name our foster mother swore us to call her by, made her way to the door with a hop in her step.  I watched, frozen and memorized as the young girl stepped through the door. Her hair hung in loose strands, but her round, olive-skin tone accented the bright green eyes that didn't seem to match the rest of her. 

I don't know how long I watched the entire scene of conversation between the adults eventually wrapped it up. I watched the social worker pat the girl's shoulder, throwing a grim smile in Miss's direction and letting herself out the wooden door. 

The girl didn't seem very happy, (who would with Miss towering over them), but I savored the moment of inspecting. My chance of introducing myself disappeared as Miss guided her upstairs. I sighed. Damn. 

Yeah, my vocabulary was a bit mature for a ten year old. But that's me, I guess. My name was Caleb. I was put into the crap system when I was seven, so yes, I've had a bit of time for stewing and fuming and thinking. I've had time for lots of things, like Miss for instance. I've been with her since the beginning, and she loves me. 

Okay, that's a lie. Now that we're getting to know each other, that's one thing you'll start to understand about me. I'm a troublemaker. I'll admit it. But I like making trouble, doing things simply for a laugh. 

Miss threatens me after every prank I do, but come on... who could kick out my pretty little face? 

No one. I had the persuasion skills of a trained criminal, if I had to say so myself.  

No one liked Miss.  It's not like she was mean or anything. Well, scratch that. She was mean, but only when someone would push her buttons. That's when I came in. So in return of being unable to control my rowdy self, something stupid called, 'yellow cards,' came up. For example, I took the cooking flour from the cabinet one day and sprinkled it in Miss's bed sheets one Sunday morning.

Funniest thing I'd ever witnessed. 

So, getting back on track, I was angrily handed a yellow printed index card by the woman herself. She crossed her arms with a grim smile like she had finally beaten me, as if proud of herself for coming up with something obviously so brilliant.

Wrong. 

At the end of every week, we were all asked to present our yellow cards. The amount of cards we had resulted in chores or some form of cruel torture like homework hours. Although, as time progressed and my behavior got, well, funnier-three cards meant removal. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. 

I would hide the cards in my pillow case, playing the dumb and confused and persuasive act. 

"Cards?" I would ask, a look of pure question in my eyes. "I'm not so sure I've gotten anything this week, Miss." 

The other kids would snicker, seeing right through me. All of them liked me in the house because who wouldn't? They looked up to me, I liked to think. 

The world, as I thought, was interesting. There was no reason to be angry or mad or hold bad spirits. Go through life with a smile and laugh, and things would always turn out right in the end. I figure we were put on the planet to have fun and enjoy life, so that's exactly what I try to accomplish. Yeah, I might cause some discomfort for the, ahem, older crowd; but it was fun! 

I pulled myself up from my seated position, straightening my back. Time to meet my new partner in crime. 

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