There is small room when I enter, full of slots for children's shoes as well as coat racks. I am let through it and brought inside where the floor creaks under my foot. There's a room to my right with a couch and TV and a dinning room/kitchen to my right. Then a door past that room and a staircase just before me. The lady leads me up the stairs where there's a hallway, four doors and another flight of stairs.
"We have seventeen children here and most share a room with two other people." She tells me, leading me up another flight. "The recreation room and the room that Elena shares with another girl her age is on this floor." We make it to the top of the stairs. "They both spend the fewest nights here so they have the smallest room." To my right is a room with a table covered in textbooks and notebooks, a bookshelf, a radio, CD's, and board games. On the wall is a desk woth two computers that look slightly old. There's a bathroom and then Elena's room, the door slightly cracked open.
She lightly knock's twice before opening the door. There's a bed on each side of the room and a small table between, a chair on each side. A window is next to the desk and textbooks and pens are neatly place on one side, art supplies on the other side, near but not quiet as organized. The art side has a green bedspread and a painting on the wall. Slippers are next to the bed and the closet door open. She has CD's all around her space and sketchbooks.
On the other side there is a blue bed spread that reminds me a little of a hospital, an old alarm clock/radio, a dull pillow, and a closed door to what I am assuming is as small as the other closet but has less stuff.
"Did I miss her in the recreation room?" She asks, more so to herself than to me before slipping back into the hall. I use this opportunity to take a look inside her closet. I quietly open the door, glancing inside to see a carryon suitcase, a pair on sneakers, a box, a small stack of clothing in a box in piles, and a scares amount if clothing hanging.
"She must be downstairs." I let go of the door and turn around. From this angle, I see a shelf with library books, a hairbrush, and an old doll laying on it. "So you're curious, aren't you?"
"What?"
"You were looking through her room."
"Well, I just-"
"Wanted to know more about her."
"How much she owned." I say, slightly defensively and not a lie. I did. But also what she said.
"You'll know when she gathers her things to leave. It shouldn't be too difficult for her to move. As you can see it's not much." I nod, agreeing.
"I'm going to check the sign out sheet. If she's not here, I'll give her a call."
"Should I wait here?"
"That sounds fine." She tells me before disappearing down the hall. I pick up one of her library books and sit down on her bed, diving in.
Ten minutes into the story, I hear someone talking to someone down the hall and then light footsteps and creaking floorboards until there is a young girl standing in the door. She has on a blue button up coat that goes halfway down her thigh and leggings underneath. She has on the same shoes that she uses for school and a book in her hand.
"Hey." She says, less confusion than expected but coming to a full stop, her weigh shifting back onto her back leg before she pulls the other one back. A slight movement but one that tells me that she's confused. She continues into the room taking out her keys from her pocket and putting her them on the table, which I'd imagine are to a bike or the place that she fixed the kids skateboard in or somethings. Little did I know that day how deep her wounds are. Little do I know even now.
She takes out her flip phone and puts it down and then places the book down next to. Then she takes off her jacket, putting it on the chair and leaving her in a black long sleeve shirt/ sweater.
"So?" She asks, looking at me and becoming a little impatient.
"I'm here to collect you and your things. You're my foster kid." She turns back to her book. "What's wrong?"
"Just leave."
"Um, no. I thought you'd be happy. Are you still mad? Why are you-"
"You don't want me."
"What?"
"I'm awful."
"Awfully smart and kind. Just try it out. If you still thinks that I can't handle whatever it is that you think I can't, you can come back. Okay?" She glances out the window, her eyes reflecting the light from it, shakily. "Don't cry."
"Okay." She concludes. Does she really think that she's too much for me?
