Adopted by Mean Girls

Running Away from Everything

Trigger Warning: Mentions of abuse but nothing too graphic.

**Comet's POV**

Okay, so, here's the thing. My name isn't actually 'Comet'. It's 'Caroline', but I prefer Comet.

"CAROLINE! GET DOWN HERE!" I heard my dad call from the base of the stairs.

Part of why I hate the name "Caroline" so much is because he calls me that. Dad was a great person before, then Mom left for some rich dude in Santa Fe. Now, he's an alcoholic and he's rude and he's abusive. No, I'm not an idiot. I get straight As in school and I know that going to the police would get me taken out of Dad's care, but I also know that some foster homes might be worse. At least Dad provides me the materials to clean myself up after he beats me, plus he doesn't do anything too, too bad. Maybe a couple of hits and punches here and there.

"CAROLINE! I AM NOT PLAYING! DON'T MAKE ME COME GET YOU!"

I jumped off my bed and ran downstairs. Dad greeted me with a slap across the face.

"I told you to get the dishes done!"

"The dishwasher is running. I, I can't do any more until that load is done."

"Find. A. Way," Dad growled at me.

"Yes, sir," I stammered, nodding quickly, and Dad released my shirt.

I ended up hand washing the majority of the dishes. Once I'd finished, Dad made me pack my things and drove me to a tall building twenty minutes away, a stack of papers clutched in his fist. As soon as Dad parked the car and I saw the cop cars outside the large building and the sign over the door, I knew where we were and why. Dad had gotten one too many DUIs and he'd decided in one of his sober moments to turn me over to an orphanage instead of letting the social workers take me away. The cops were here to take him to jail, most likely after he'd dropped me off. The papers in Dad's fist were him signing away all parental rights.

The gates of New York City Orphanage closed and I watched through the bars as Dad was put into a police cruiser and driven away.

"Caroline," the man who ran the orphanage, Mr. Jack Simpson, came up beside me, "Come on, let's go inside."

I did the first thing I could think of - I ran. I climbed up over the fence and sprinted from my past and my future. That takes talent. I hated living with Dad, but it was home. I have mixed feelings about what's to come.

First, I feel slightly relieved and glad that I'm no longer my dad's. It was kind of scary living there.

Second, I'm not excited to be a ward of the state because I'm terrified about what could happen with Mr. Jack.

Third, I'm an eleven-year-old girl who's seen her mother remarry and her father arrested. I'm almost as broken as a kid can get. I don't have a whole lot of hope about the future.

I found a spot in an alley beside a restaurant and sat down to cry. Honestly, it felt good. I remember telling someone my name and that the orphanage was where I was living. I also remember hearing someone sing to me. I don't remember a lot, only snip-its, but Mr. Jack was there to fill in my missing pieces when I woke up the next morning back at the orphanage.

"You were found outside Junior's Restaurant on Broadway and you told the woman that you were found by that you lived here and what your name was. She gave us a call and I came to get you. It was incredibly nice of her. Most people probably would've just left you..." Mr. Jack looked toward the door, then back at me, "Come on, I have something to show you, Caroline."

"Comet," I corrected before I could stop myself.

"Parden?"

"I prefer Comet and I'd like you to call me Comet."

"Okay," Mr. Jack nodded, "I've something to show you, Comet."

Mr. Jack led me downstairs to the entry room of NY Orphanage. A young woman was waiting there. She had wavy brown hair that had a touch of red and sparkling blue eyes with hints of green. She was sturdily built with an athletic figure and she had smile lines around her face. The weirdest part was that I had no idea who she was, but at the same time, I recognized her.

"Hi, Comet," she had a lovely voice, but she kept it quiet. Like she was saving it or something, "I know that you probably don't recognize me, but my name is Erika Henningsen. I found you the other night and I just wanted to check-in and make sure you were okay."

"Thank you," I somehow managed to keep my voice strong, "For last night."

"Of course," Ms. Henningsen nodded, "We girls gotta look out for each other, right?"

"Right," I found myself laughing softly.

Mr. Jack left the room, "I'll give you a moment."

"Can I ask how come you're here?" Ms. Henningsen asked after a few moments.

"My dad dropped me off last night before he was taken to prison," I wanted to keep my sob story brief, but I couldn't help myself from beginning to ramble. Ms. Henningsen was easy to talk to, even though I didn't know her. "...After nearly killing someone a couple of nights ago, he signed parental rights away and stuck me here."

"I'm so, so sorry, Comet. That sucks. I wish there was something that I could do to make it better."

There was something. I haven't had a women's hug since my mom left. Dad sometimes would give me hugs when he was in a weirdly good mood, but it wasn't the same. There's something different about being hugged by a woman rather than a man.

"I could use a hug..." I mumbled and instantly left Ms. Henningsen's arms around me. She was warm and smelled like dogs, which I liked. Oddly enough, I felt safe in Ms. Henningsen's arms and safety was a feeling I hadn't felt in a long, long time. When I pulled back, the only thing I could say was, "Thank you, Ms. Henningsen."

"Call me Erika," She kept an arm around my shoulder, "And no problem." We sat like that for a few moments, then Erika pulled a pen and paper out of her pocket. She scribbled a number onto the paper, "This is my phone number. If you need anything at all, feel free to call me."

"Thank you," I took the paper, "I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but I don't want to be a burden. That's the last thing I would ever want to do to you."

"You're not a burden," Erika placed a hand on my shoulder, "Don't worry."