Genius

Chapter 2

No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did, he would cease to be an artist.

Oscar Wilde

"Heather?" The man asked again, looking at me like I wasn't altogether in the head. I'm not, I mean, no artist is, but I really hoped I didn't look that way on the outside! I smiled at him and opened the door a little more, not quite far enough so he could see inside, but enough that he wouldn't think I'm shutting the door in his face.

"Yea, that's me, anything I can help you with?" I asked hoping to be polite but not inviting. The worst thing I could do right now is have this man invade my home on pie night!!!

"Yes, actually you can. I'm David Lennard, from the International Foster and Adoption Program. May I come in?" He said, taking a step closer. I examined his suit, brief case and tie.
He doesn't seem casual enough to be a Brit, but not so proper to be French. American I thought with distaste.

"Wait, you're from IFAP?" I ask, leaning against the door frame, my hair tangling itself with the evening breeze. The man seemed surprised at my casual reference to the program. He nodded, opening his mouth to explain this or that but I crossed my arms and cut him off.

"They've never sent an American before." I said, twisting my lips to show my thoughts on the program's new ideas.

"Well, you've never been concerned with your American life before. May I come in?" He asked again, now gesturing towards the cracked door. I furrowed my eyebrows and began to tell him to bug off when my mum called.

"Heather?? Who's there?"

"No one, mum." I yelled back.

"Well I know you have your imaginary friends but that doesn't mean I'm hearing things as well. Who's there?" Mum said

I heaved out a puff of air, "Some bloke from IFAP." I replied

"Heather you know I don't like that acronym. Tell the poor man in!" I groaned but opened the door and stomped away. David came in, took off his shoes and coat and closed the door behind him. He proceeded to walk into the kitchen where I was having a silent argument with my parents.

But mum!! I pleaded

Just listen to what he has to say! Mom replied.

But, I... DAD!

I agree with your mother, Heather, just listen to him.

I crossed my arms I don't like it.

You don't like anything that isn't your idea.

"Can we eat now?" Caleb whined, resting his elbow on the table and balancing his chin on his fist, "I'm STARVING."

"You're not STARVING, you are just hungry enough for your internal organs to start battling for survival." I corrected.

"Now Heather, no need to turn this into some young adult dystopian story." Dad teased, though it was too formal to be genuine and you could tell that he was forcing this attitude for the benefit of the intruder. "Now, Mr....?"

"Lennard." David filled, "But you can call me David."

"Well, now that we're all best mates we can yell at each other properly." I turn to David, "Who the bloody hell do you think you are, inviting yourself in and acting like we should respect you?"

"HEATHER!" Mum gasped, horrified at my behavior. "This man is a guest in our home and I expect you to--"

"No, it's fine Mrs Stifers. She's right, it was rude for me to assume that now would be a good time. I could come back another time if that would be better..."

"Yes." I answered

"No" My mum scolded

"Mum!"

"Heather!" My dad joined in on the scolding

"Dad!"

"Food!" Caleb moaned

"CALEB!!!" We chorused

"What?" He asked, acting innocent.

David looked on with amusement at our little family sit-com attitude. “Really, Mr. and Mrs. Stifers, this is information that should probably be given at a time when your daughter isn’t so… hostile.”

That stopped us all in our tracks. Hostile? What could he possibly be here for that I needed to be on Cloud 9 before he could tell me?

“Would this information even be … appropriate for Heather to listen to?” Dad asked tentatively. I know he didn’t mean to use the word ‘appropriate’ as if this information had to do with sex or drugs so I stayed quiet. Mum and Dad told Caleb and I just about everything unless it had to do with their private life or finances, and finances is one area that I could certainly care less about. If Mr. Poking His Nose in on Pie Night wanted to double check that I was getting fed he could certainly come back next week. But… dealing with my American life? What does that even mean?

“Quite appropriate, I assure you.” David stated. Mum and Dad didn’t relax.

(See, in America, ‘quite’ means very or really such as: “This is quite a quaint little house” meaning “I love your home”. In Britain quite means sorta or pretty much such as: “This hot chocolate is quite nice” meaning “This coco is okay.”)

“I see there’s no way I can say this discreetly. We’ve found Heather’s birth father.”

A/N Sorry about being quite literal when I say 'see ya next year'. Anywho, what will happen next? I'm not sure, and neither are you!!! HAHAHA

Sierra xoxo