first day of sophmore year. i cant believe im already running late for class! my oversized tote feels like a sandbag weighing me down as i click down the hall in my theigh-heigh boots. without the added 5in from the boots, im about 5'7" with long blonde hair that lands in the middle of my back. ive been told that i seem to have a french influence in the way my face is shaped. i wouldnt know. when my birth mother got knocked up at 15 she decided that she couldnt live with her mistake and decided to give me away. not that i dont love my adoptive family, i do. i just dont understand how someone could give their child away. on top of the resentment i carry for my birth mother, my adoptive mother passed away about two years ago, leaving me with my two kid sisters, a paraket, and my adoptive father. annie, 7, was only 5 when mamma died, while marlee, 4, was only 2. every morning i play mother to the girls as i get them ready for school and drop them off at the nannies house. daddy went off the deep end when we lost mamma. where we found comfort in "thinkin' of the good ol' days", he found comfort in drugs. so i took up the roll of "mommy" so social services wont split us up. but no one except my best friend taylor knows that. and if my life wernt messed up enough, theres always the "gift". my head fills with these nonsense thoughts as i glide down the halls to my first period, math. as i make a left turn i spot the tourture site. one more deep breath and i turn the knob. i walk past the middle aged man while mumbling something about car trouble and take the last avalable seat. "ah.. you must be charlote. welcome!" the man, apperently mr. gibb, says way to cheerfuly for seven a.m. I give hime my best warning stare and watch him shiver uncomfortably. "its charly."
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soapapia
