Lies

Finding Out the Past

Who'd have known? It started out as a normal Tuesday morning, July 1, me sitting on my bed twirling around my favorite silver pen. The start to a seemingly normal, boring day at St.Brigid's Foster Care for Children and Teens in Scotland. You know, I should introduce myself.

My name is Hayley. Just Hayley. Well, up until that day. Anyway, I have white-blonde hair, and it's pretty damn straight. As if I walked around with my hair in a straightening iron. I hate it. I can't even curl it enough that it gets wavy! Oh well. I have grey-blue eyes. My skin is pretty pale, unfortunately, but it wasn't death-white, fortunately. It has loads of freckles on it. I hate my freckles, seriously.

My only friend in this hellhole says when he looks into my eyes it's as if he's looking into deep, beautiful pools of understanding and wisdom. As if. I'm kinda underweight, but my friend, Blake Gaynor says "underweight" is an "understatement", no matter how many times I tell him otherwise. He says he doesn't blame me for being so, since I wouldn't want to end up like Mrs. Daphne Phatlog, which is pronounced fat-log. Can't believe she was married, I bet her husband ran away from her. Anyway, her last name speaks for itself, if you know what I mean. Oh, I'm ten. I'll be turning 11 on July 31.

So I was just sitting on my bed, first kid up in the whole of Scotland as usual, and Mrs. Phatlog calls me down to the main lobby, and she sounds a wee bit happy, if that's possible. Mrs. Phatlog is the head of the orphanage, but she doesn't exactly like me. OK, now THAT'S an understatement. She flat out hates me. I had a feeling she figured out that I was responsible for the recent prank pulled against her, or as she likes to call it, 'atrocious, punishable, irresponsible, boyish, crime', which involved a big wad of hair in soup and a couple of rats on the day the inspector came. I thought it was hilarious since Mrs. Phatlog fancies the inspector that comes to the orphange, and now he thinks she's an absolute pig. Which isn't far from the truth.

Anywho, she called me down, and down I went, since she can get really nasty when kept waiting, even if the inspector is around! When I got down there, Mrs. Phatlog was batting her eyelashes at yet another weird old guy! He had this crazy long white beard that was probably past his ass, some demented rainbow witch-y hat, and Merlin robes. He looked like Gandalf and Merlin smooshed into one mentally challenged, it seemed, person.

"Dear, this handsome young man would like to speak with you." She was furiously batting her eyelashes, but she managed to sound vehement while speaking forcedly through her teeth at me. Told you I was her favourite kid.

"Ah, thank you for the compliment, Mrs.Phatlog," he seemed a bit disbelieving at the Mrs., but who can blame him? "Handsome, to some, possibly, but young! I've lived for far too many years, I'm afraid. But thank you, nevertheless." No shit. This guy had more wrinkles than an elephant.

"Oh, please. You've got quite a couple more years-"

"Mrs.Phatlog! Terribly sorry to interrupt," she glared at me,"but I would really like to get back up to my room before Christmas.''

"Mm-hmm. Yes well this lovely man," insert gross eyelid seizures here,"would like to have a word with you."

"Thank you for bringing me Hayley, Mrs.Phatlog. Pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, I'm hardly a Mrs. My husband died oh so long ago! And the pleasure's all mine." Well, you know what she did next.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry about his death. I'll be right back. Thank you again."

"Oh, no need for sympathy. He was a crackpot old f-"

By then Merlin had shoved me into the nearest vacant classroom quite hastily. Don't blame the poor guy. Gotta admit though, he impressed me. Most guys don't survive that long if Mrs. Phatlog was flirting with them.