Adopted by the Avengers

Adopted

Sitting at the breakfast table, I pull at the loose strings on my plaid whilst mulling over yesterday's events. What will I do if I get adopted? Are they good people? Are they drug lords? Maybe that's why He-Man was so interested in the fish. I shake my head to clear my thoughts as Mrs. Tyson sets a plate of slightly burnt toast on the table. "Charlotte, can I talk to you for a minute?" She mumbles only for me to hear and walks back into the kitchen.

I nod and push my chair in, following her to the sink and feeling nervous about the privacy. "Did I do something wrong?"

She shakes her head with a laugh. "No, not at all, sweetheart. I just wanted to say that," she cut herself off with another stifled chuckle, "you need to start packing your bags."

My eyes widen in excitement. "You mean they're adopting me?"

Mrs. Tyson doesn't give me an actual answer, instead she gives me the look a mother who can't keep a secret would give their child when they guess the right answer to something they're not supposed to know; the look of a 'yes'. The bubble of happiness inside me can't be contained and I hug Mrs. Tyson in appreciation. She rubs my back and the reality actually settles in. "Oh God, I've got to pack! Thank you so much, Mrs. Tyson." I pull away and walk hurriedly towards the kitchen entrance.

"Oi! Don't use the Lord's name in vain, remember?" She calls.

"R-Right, I mean, oh man!" My foot steps out of the kitchen and I hear her calling again.

"And Charlotte?"

I sigh and dramatically I swivel around to face her. "Yes, Mrs. Tyson?"

"For once can we get rid of the plaid? Look spiffy!" She says as she looks me up and down.

I snap my fingers and point at her using finger guns. "You got it."

-

It only takes me ten minutes to pack my few possessions into the same suitcase I used when I first came to the orphanage. I came with a few and I'm going with a few. My heart sinks as I think about leaving Mrs. Tyson, the only mother figure I've had for the last six years, but then I remember that with one kid gone, it's room for another unlucky kid to get the same help I got. The suitcase makes a thumping sound with each stair I drag it down, and almost comically, as soon as I reach the bottom of the staircase the doorbell echos through the house.

A few little kids sprint towards the door and open it before yelling for Mrs. Tyson. Within a matter of seconds she appears from around the corner with her hair looking noticeably tidier than normal. "Come in, come in! Lovely to see all of you again!" The group of misfits pile through the entrance and Mr. Rogers shakes Mrs. Tyson's hand warmly. I swear it made her blush.

The red haired lady looks over in my direction and smiles when we make eye contact. I smile back at her and watch as she nudges the guy with the most normal appearance and gestures towards me. Like yesterday, he still seems as though he'd rather be anywhere else but here and the thought of him being reluctant to adopt me gives me an anxious feeling. Maybe the majority of them wanted me and he wanted someone else, but they overruled him in the decision. He sends a bored glance my way and huffs before whispering something back to the lady.

"This way please, if you don't mind. I've already set up the paperwork if you still want to go through with it." Mrs. Tyson begins to make her way to her office with the guests following politely behind her. Mr. Rogers hasn't stopped making small talk with her since he got here and I overhear him asking about when the house was built when they pass me through the hall. "After the war, you say?"

"Oh yes. It was built by an old army general, but he died only twenty years after moving in. T'was a shame, but my late husband and I happened to be house hunting when this gem popped up. After he died I thought, well what else should I do with a-" Mrs. Tyson's life story is interrupted by a loud smash coming from behind. The noise makes me jump and I clench my jaw and dig my nails into my hands to try to keep them from shaking as I turn around to see the damage. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, I repeat to myself.