Bad Reputation||Brooklyn Winston

Chapter 2

The police station was crazy busy. People were running around and shouting things at each other. Apparently when there was a fire the cops were called in too.

I was bouncing my fists off my knees. Police stations made me nervous. Since I was too young to stay home alone at the time, my dad had always brought me when he picked up my brother from jail.

Dad. He was gone. He had to be. They had people searching the rubble of the building, but the police said not to get our hopes up.

"Ma'am?"

I looked up. There was a cop standing in front of me. "Sorry. What?"

"Do you have someone you can call? Someone over eighteen?"

No.

"What if I don't?" I asked carefully.

"Well, you'll most likely be placed in a girls home."

"You mean foster care?"

He nodded.

I thought for a moment. There was one possibility, but it was a long shot. "May I use your phone?" I asked.

I sighed shakily as I dialed the phone. I was pretty sure I had the number memorized. I was going to be in huge trouble if this didn't work.

I listened to the phone ring as a thousand thoughts raced through my mind.

Someone with a southern accent answered the phone. "Hello?"

It wasn't my brother. Shoot.

"Who's this?" I asked after a second.

"This is Darrel Curtis."

I paused before asking, "Is Dallas there?"

"Who's calling?"

"His sister. Brooklyn."

"Sister?"

I sighed. "Look, is he there or not? It's kind of important."

"Yeah, he's here. Hold on."

It was quiet for a moment before I heard my brother's voice. "Hello?"

"Hi Dallas."

"Brooklyn, what's wrong?"

I tried not to cry as I said, "Dad's dead. There was a fire and he was trapped inside the building. He's dead and I don't know what to do. They're going to put me in a girl's home."

"That sucks."

Really? That's it?

I rolled my eyes as I asked, "So can you help me?"

"How am I supposed to help?"

"I need you to come get me. You need to adopt me."

"I'm seventeen, how am I supposed to adopt you?"

That's right. His birthday wasn't until November.

"You have a fake I.D. don't you?" I asked.

"What makes you think that?"

"Dallas, I know you. Are you going to help me?"

"I don't know. I want to, but if we get caught I could get in a lot of trouble."

I started crying as I said, "Please. I need your help. I don't want to go into foster care. No one's going to adopt a teenager. And I've heard bad things about foster care. People are creeps. Come on, Dallas. Please."

He sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll come get you."

"Thank you so much!" I cried.

"Yeah, whatever. Where are you staying?"

I told him the address of the shelter I was staying at.

"Alright. I'll see you in a few days."

"Days? Are you driving?"

"Of course. I can't afford a plane ticket. I'll see you in a few days."

I hung up the phone. This plan better work.