Hoping For Home

Getting info

Cycling a whole hour is definitely exhausting. I can barely feel my legs and I don't even want to think of how I'm going to return in one piece. The god news is I'm almost there, maybe another 10 minutes by bike.

I've never been to this part of the city, I'm not sure what it's called but it certainly has a lot more people than I'm used to. I finally arrived at this huge building. First of all I'm still shocked I made it here, I thought I was gonna faint. Second, this information center is the biggest I've ever been to. And trust me when I say I've gone to a whole lot of them. Third, well... I just hope I don't get lost.

Of course the most important thing is finding useful information that can help me find my family. I really hope they have what I need. So far I know my name is Maddie Grace and I was found in the streets of Nashville when I was 3 years old. And I only know that because it was a big deal for people living in Nashville. It's obviously shocking that in such a peaceful part of the city a little girl is found in the streets. It was like the news of the century, and let me tell you, it was not nice being know as 'the girl from the streets'.

So, apparently this information center is much more fancier than any other I've been before. Everyone is dressed so formal I kinda feel out of place. Not the first time, I feel out of place a lot. I hope I feel where I belong once I find my family.

This information center has big doors made of glass at the entrance. As I enter, I'm amazed right away. Why haven't I heard from this information center before? It's certainly well known judging by the amount of people in the building. I make my way through the ocean of people getting some weird looks on the way. I'm honestly used to people staring at me by now, but it still makes me feel out of place. Information centers have always been complicated for me, people see me as a joke since I'm only a kid. I hate it when adults don't take kids seriously. Kids like me, without a family, have been through way much more than some adults have, so why do we get shut down? Why are we treated as less? Why do we get looked down on? Only for being minors? Only for not being able to work, or vote? Most foster kids are way more independent than people think. Don't we deserve some respect?

I push my thoughts away and head to reception. I grab a turn from this aperantly modern machine and take a seat on one of the waiting areas sorrounded by adults. I'm always awkward around them for some reason. I decide to drift my attention to something else since my nerves start to kick in. But it's hard. Really hard. What if I don't find them? What if they really are dead? What if all this is for nothing? The most probable thing is my efforts are being thrown away. If I could only have a head start. Or at least my last name, anything would be much helpful than a kid that only messes everything up. I can't even manage finding my family. I wish-

"Number 69!" Oh right, I forgot to mention this system is a little different than other places. You have to grab a number once you walk in, and wait for your turn, everything is so orginazed here. "69!" Says the same voice a little louder this time. I look down on my ticket to be met with the number 96, looks like I've still got time. I hope it's not a long wait. I look around slightly to see if number 69 is near me. "Number 69?" "69 last warning!" Says the strong voice coming from the speakers.

"Hey kid! Your ticket is upside down" says the old man sitting next to me. That's when I realise I have number 69, not 96. I mentally face palm myself and quickly stand up before its too late to claim my turn. I grab my backpack and as I'm running... I mean walking at a normal pace... I yell a small "Thank you!" to the nice man that was sitting next to me not long ago... I mean speak at a normal volume... to the nice man.

"I'm here, number 69. Sorry" I say giving my ticket to the receptionist who eyes me suspiciously before giving a slight nod towards the door of glass next to her.