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FORREST GUMP WAS RIGHT, life was like a box of chocolates, you'll never know what you'll get. Amara Gilbert's existence was the perfect example of that. Her life was like a never ending shitshow. But at least she wasn't alone—because she was friends with the Gallagher's.
And whenever she felt like a total screw up, she would just look next door, and a part of her would feel a little better.
Well, not literally of course. They were her family, along with Kev and V, and her actual sister, obviously. Their problems were her problems, that's just how it worked. You take care of the ones you love, you protect them, cover for their stupid asses when they sneak out at four in the morning to steal a slurpee from the closest 7/11. To have their backs when the rest of the world is against them, because you know they'd do the same for you. That's family.
Amara stared at the piece of paper in front of her, as if somehow hoping the essay that was due the next day would write itself. Her mind had completely hit a wall, and she was stuck reading the same paragraph over and over again, but still came up with nothing new. She absentmindedly tapped the pencil in her hands against the table as she thought—but with no luck.
"Open up you cuntmuffin!" A slurred voice demanded from down the hall, and Amara was broken from her daze. She immediately pushed herself up to go see what the fuss was about, and ended up finding her very drunk mother, pounding on the bathroom door.
Amara glanced to her sister, who was sitting in the living room watching television, and sighed. "Mom," she hesitantly called out, and the crazed woman turned around with her eyes widened. "You have to turn the doorknob." The woman did as she said, and Amara heaved another sigh, walking towards the front door, not before ruffling Silvia's short hair on the way out. "I'll be back later."
The air outside was freezing, to say the least. Chicago had the worst winters. Amara didn't know if it was the pollution that did it, or if it was just the shitty location of the state of Illinois. All she knew was that it was cold as hell. She quickly pulled her coat tighter around her body, if that was even remotely possible. The article of clothing was already sizes smaller than it should've been—she hadn't gotten a new one in years.
Amara swung open the Gallagher residence's gate, and hurriedly rushed up the front steps, not even bothering to knock on the door as she stepped inside. This place was her second home, after all.
Debbie's red hair popped up from behind the couch at the sudden noise, and her face broke out into a smile once she saw who it was. "Amara! Can Silvia come over and play too?"
"No," the older girl told her with a frown. "I grounded her. She graffitied a cop car...again."
"Aw man! I painted this!" The redhead said excitedly, showing Amara a piece of paper with drawings on it. Amara beamed at her artwork, trying to hide the fact that she had absolutely no idea what Debbie drew.
