FOSTER CHILD | PETER PARKER

iv.

FOSTER CHILD | ACT ONE
scene four : nuisance niece

ISLA WATCHED Vincent from the back seat as he rolled the piece of paper which contained her home number of the air hostess—who he figured out the name was Julie—around his finger, his other hand tightly clutching the steering wheel, agitated that another one of his dates just so happened to be ruined by his niece.

You see, while Isla planned to go and find her fathers Vincent had planned to hang around Los Angeles with Julie until she had to catch her flight back to New York. His plans were soiled however, as not only had he failed to ask Isla where her dad was residing, Isla had also failed to google where her father lived. All she knew was that he currently resided in the state of California as he rotted away in jail.

After quick research done by Vincent, he had figured out that while did Isla's father did live in California, but he had lived five and a half hours from where they were currently standing.

An embarrassing attempt of getting a taxi driver to drive to Oakland from Los Angeles made by Isla who did successfully manage to coerce him into doing so but the tally was inching to a hundred dollars and they had barely made there way out of the city so the two had no choice but to pull out and find a car rental.

Since Isla insisted on being four hours early for their flight, worried that her social worker would find her and drag her back to her foster home, ruining the plans she had spent a month 'perfecting' to the best of her abilities. Vincent never had the chance to renew his licence at the DMV.

They were kicked out of the store, a cloud of shame hanging over them.

The suggestion to take a train or buy another plane ticket was out of the question as they were on a tight schedule and it would simply take to long for Isla to do what she wanted so she took to falling back into her juvenile ways and steal a dormant car, that seemed to have been abandoned for quite some time.

Starting the car was a pain in the ass for Vincent, especially in the sweltering heat. He couldn't help but start slowly resent the girl who had been licking an ice cream she got from the convenience store that was down along with the tools required to start up the car.

After constant twisting and turning and long-winded monologues, two hours had gone by and the car was finally up and working.

Just remembering the whole ordeal made him want to tear his fingers off and feed it to a pack of feral dogs.

It was nearing three AM and the duo was nearing the hotel in San Francisco, where Isla had used the last of her phone battery to book them the cheapest room she could afford.

There was no words between them of course, the two of them using the last of their words halfway into their trip as drowsiness had spilt her drunken spell over them, leaving the two tired and yearning for sleep.

Unlike Vincent who had been driving, Isla could go to sleep but the atmosphere the car gave off once she sat in it made her uneasy. And she certainly didn't want to lay her head down in the oddly stained seat beside her. Instead, she just took to staying awake for the rest of the journey.

When they had finally arrived at the hotel, the pair didn't hesitate to jump out of the car. The bumper falling off at the impact of the doors being slammed shut simultaneously.