Dear Friend,
When I turned nine, my mother took in a foster child. Her name was Kelsi, and she was six years older than me. Her family lived in Louisiana, but her parents couldn't take care of her at the moment, so she stayed with her grandparents. Mum was a tudor, and we got so used to her coming over that she just moved in with us for a while. With her quirky attitude, and crazy imagination, we quickly became friends. She was my best friend, my only friend, my confident, my saviour from my abusive older brother, my sister. We shared everything. Toys, clothes, a room, friends, movie nights, candy, secrets. I loved her more than words could describe, and it killed me when she left back home two years later. leaving her at the airport terminal, tears streaking down her face, was by far, one of the hardest things I had ever done.
The yeras that follwed, were hell, without my sister, but I made another friend. Sarah. Or, as I often call her, Sa-rah. We were inseperable. We had weeklong sleepovers and when either of us recieved a present for a holiday or birthday, we both said "Thank you!" because we knew that we would share it anyways.
In the third grade, I switched schools, and attended Gladys Wood Elementary School, where my step-father worked. There, i was no longer the Talent show singer, surrounded by friends, but the outsider. The out cast. The Freak. The Teacher's Pet. I had no friends for the longest time, but my enemies grew in numbers, taunting me, calling me names and excluding mee in recess activities. And then, i met Him.
