I've been in foster care for as long as I can remember. I was adopted once but they sent me back, said I was too aggressive. Right. Who wouldn't be aggressive and defensive when everyone treats you like crap? I've bounced around so many foster homes and group homes and not a single one has treated me like a part of the family. I guess that is just my life, forever an outsider. I can't wait until I turn 18 and can get out of this ruddy system. Unfortunately I still have another 2 and a half years to go. Lucky me! NOT!
Here we are pulling up to yet another foster home. Maybe this one will be better than the last.
"Here we are, Paisley. Please do try to get along this time, we are running out of options for you."
That is Mrs. Bea. She is the social worker assigned to me for the last couple of years. She just doesn't understand what it is like always feeling unwanted. And of course, she thinks that it is all 100% my fault. Doesn't that just make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside?
"Yes, Mrs. Bea," I sigh as I get out of the van. I have very little faith that things are going to be any different from before but I will give it a shot.
Mrs. Bea walks up to the door and knocks.
Not too long later a man and woman come to the door and invite us in. They are pretty young compared to most foster parents, maybe mid to late twenties, early thirties at most.
He is fairly tall, around 6'3. Lean but muscular, lightly tanned skin. Dark brown hair and sage green eyes flecked with gold. Overall, pretty hot.
She is about average height for a female, around 5'7. Fair complexion and the envious hourglass body. Long blonde hair that falls midway down her back and bright sapphire blue eyes. Quite the beauty.
We sit around the table in the kitchen to get the introductions over with. I am only half listening but I catch that they are Mr. and Mrs. Michaelson.
Mrs. Bea talks with them a bit longer, telling them how troublesome I can be. Yeah, make me out to be a bad kid right off the bat, that is always a great start.
They get up to walk Mrs. Bea out and she gives me a look as to say that I better be good this time. I just roll my eyes and follow behind them. No point in keeping up pretenses. She knows how much I despise how she talks about me.
"Go ahead and grab your things and bring them inside," says Mrs. Michaelson as she gives me a slight smile. Surprisingly it actually reaches her eyes.
Usually after the "speech" my foster parents would give a fake smile in front of Mrs. Bea but you could see the derision in their eyes. This is the first genuine smile I have seen for as long as I can remember.
I shake off the slight stunned feeling and grab my stuff out of the van. For being 15, I really don't have much stuff, just a backpack and a duffel bag.
I nod to Mrs. Bea and walk back into the house. I don't know where I am supposed to go yet so I just stop in the kitchen and wait for the Michaelsons to come back in.
As I am waiting, I start to wonder about how things are going to turn out this time around. If they can accept me as I am then it might be ok. I am never one to put up a false front and I am as straight forward as they come. I like to think I have a pretty open mind but have low tolerance for bull shit, to put it mildly. I am actually really easy to get along with as long as I am not treated like a dog or a servant.
I hear Mr. and Mrs. Michaelson come back in and I break out of my thoughts.
"Lets drop the formalities," says Mr. Michaelson as he walks into the kitchen.
Uh oh, here we go, I can see this going south fast.
"You can call me Logan, and this is my wife Kara," Mr. Michaelson says. "From today onward, this is your home for as long as you wish it to be."
I stand there not knowing what to say for a moment. I was expecting something totally different. Like a run down of the rules and threats of discipline or something.
"Paisley Matthews," I replied.
The Michaelsons look at each other and nod. I don't know what that is about but I just shrug it off.
"Alright, I will show you to your room so you can get settled in," it was Mrs. Michaelson this time.
I follow her as she walked down a corridor. It is weird to call it a corridor but it is much larger than a hallway. This place is actually much bigger than it looks from the outside.
We stop about midway through. There are doors on both sides. Mrs. Michaelson opens one of them and says it is my room.
I walk in and take a look around. God this room is huge! King size four-poster bed with a canopy, a large vanity, a black leather couch with a white sheepskin throw. On the right is a walk-in closet that is almost as big as the bedroom. On the right is a bathroom with an elegant clawfoot bathtub, a large walk-in stone shower as well. It looks elegant and classy but a little rustic as well.
Mrs. Michaelson just watches me as I check out the place with my mouth hanging wide open.
She clears her throat to get my attention.
"We will go shopping tomorrow to get whatever you need. If you would like to change anything in here, you can."
I just nod, still too stunned for words.
"Alright, I will leave you to get accustomed to things. If you need us, we will be right down the hall, fifth door on the right," she says as she turns to leave.
"Thank you," I manage to say as she leaves the room but it only comes out as a whisper.
"There is no need to thank us," she responds and closes the door.
There is no way she could have heard me! I didn't even say it loudly, heck, I barely heard it myself. Just what in the world is going on here?!