Be Brave or Collapse

Chapter 1

The most horrible day in my life.

Just the day that I'll remember forever.

The white-coated man with stubble on his chin and wide cheeks. The sentence he delivered. He did the most horrible thing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. and Miss Winsler," he said in a sappy, sorry tone. "But Mrs. Winsler has died of the illness. Despite our best efforts, we could not save her."

Then at home.

My adoptive dad getting drunk and smoking again. I was against him doing that and scolded him. I regretted that as he took a piece of metal, twisted it, and used it to hit me.

With all the money I had(twenty silver and fifty bronze), a pair of camouflage pants, and a crisp windbreaker over a decent shirt, I fled out the window. There was no point in trying to live with this life, with my adoptive mom gone and my adoptive dad almost gone. Maybe gone in a few years. Maybe he'll get infected with lung disease.

I will live on the streets until they break me.

I believe I can survive.

I believe I can be brave.

That is what I tell myself as I sit on an especially uncomfortable curb, leaning my head on my knees as I recount the things that happened earlier. A pigeon comes to sit on the lamppost on top of me, looking down at me curiously.

I tug at my short strands of hair. Before I left, I had trimmed my hair short, to the nape of my neck. I had always been a tomboy. I never liked the color pink or minded about applying lipstick or anything of the like. I've never been obsessed with gossip and rumors about love either. I'm more interested in how a fistfight between the strongest boy and the fastest boy will turn out.

I shudder at my name.

Elizabeth.

What an awful, girly name.

The best that my classmates called me was Eliza or Beth.

Such is the life of a fourteen-year-old girl that hangs around the crowd of boys.

I study my fragmented reflection in the puddles of water from last hour's rain. Sad, sorry gray eyes staring back at me.

What do I plan to do?

I have an agenda. I'm going to the adoption center and finding out my origins. Because I need to know why I'm not of Winsler blood but raised in a Winsler family.

I scold myself for not bringing a whole pack of food with me. With my pitiful twenty dollars, I will have to buy it myself. Or join the street people league.

I get up, scaring the pigeon away. People eye me sharply as they pass. I look back at my image again. I have soaked, short hair. Nobody will recognize me as Elizabeth, the girl who took interest in boys than her own gender.

I find a close alley and decide to nestle there for the night. The sky's dark already. I just need to settle in.

"Are you new?"

I nearly jump at the sound of the voice, which comes from the garbage can I'm sitting against. The lid lifts and I'm staring into a dark face. She repeats herself. "Are you new?" Her voice is soft with a hint of rebellion. She sturdily hops out from the dirty can and joins me.

"Yeah. I guess. I'm just staying here for the night." I pat the can.

The girl grins. In the darkness I make out almond-shaped flashing brown eyes that don't look straight into my eyes, slender arms and legs, and smooth, creamy brown skin that's gorgeous with her build. "I'm Kate. And you?" She wraps her arms against her jacket, which is torn and ripped.

"I'm Eliz--" I stop myself.

Kate grasps my arm. Her cool fingers touch it gently. "Reconsider. You're living a new life now, on the streets. I was named Katherine, but I changed it to Kate. You don't get a second chance."

I smile. I know the exact name that I want to be called. "That's awesome. In that case, my name is Lizzie."