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A New Family

mentalsarcasm (March 9th, 2004, 6:04 pm)

This is my new story, it's about a girl who's fostered by a new family. She's about 11/12, does she sound too mature?

My name’s Michelle Stone. I’m nine years old and I like trees and plants and fruit.

That what I wrote at school. And for my social worker. He’s trying to get me fostered again. He had me put in the newspapers, including stuff about me having some attention problem. One of the kids at school cut it out and handed it round. I bunked off the end of the day, fed up with them laughing at me. Truth is I’ve been in care forever. Not really forever, just as long as I can remember. No one’s told me why I’m here, I just am.

Sally and Joe are in charge of the home. And Harry is my social worker. He’s nice, gives me a lolly after I go talk to him. He doesn’t understand about the bullying though. Tells me to ignore it, but all it does is make things worse. And I don’t know why he puts down that rubbish about me needing attention. No one wnts to foster a demented child like me. They want sweet, nice-looking children. My hair is blonde, and fine, but it’s very short. I cut it myself after someone put chewing gum in it. It doesn’t look nice. and I'm not sweet.

Normally I speak to Harry every two weeks or so. This time I’d only seen him two days ago. I sat the chair opposite his desk. He had my file with him and was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Michelle. I have great news. A couple has expressed an interest in fostering you. Asheline and Daniel McArran.”

“Oh.” Is all I can get out. Why on earth do they want to foster me? What sort of name is Asheline?

“They have a long history with fostering children, and they’ve adopted two as well. They sent a picture for you.” Harry held out a photo. I held it at the edges and looked at the smiling family. Tall dad who looks like he plays rugby, slightly chubby mum with a mass of red hair, two girls, one very small, and two boys, one wearing sunglasses although it doesn’t look very bright.

“Why does this one have sunglasses on?”

“He’s blind. And one of the girls is deaf. They also have another daughter but she’s travelling.”

“Hardly two point four children.” I pass the photo back.

“They don’t seem average you’re right, but I think a big family will be good for you. I’ve arranged for you to meet the parents on Saturday and we’ll see how things go on from there.”

Thursday and Friday seem to fly by. I get into another fight at school, I fail and English test and get kept in over lunch, and I get called names by some of the girls in my class. Then it’s Saturday and I wake up early. I’m very nervous and I’m not sure why. I choose my best clothes, a pair of jeans and a dark red t-shirt and for once I brush my hair. It still looks very uneven, despite Sally’s attempt to neaten it.

I have a few bites of toast for breakfast and then help Joe wash up. I have to run to the loo several times, my stomach in notes. Eventually Sally shouts for me, she’s dropping me off at Harry’s office. When we get there I see one of those big people carriers parked outside.

Harry buzzes me in and I go up two flights of stairs, the echo of each step sounding very odd, heavy. I tap at the door too quietly first time and have to screw up some courage to knock harder. Harry calls “Come in” but before I can open the door it opens itself, and standing infront of me is the Rugby man.

“Ah, this is wee Michelle, get yerself in lass you look frozen half to death.” He has a strong Scottish accent and he’s grinning broadly. I edge past him into the office. Standing next to the desk is Red Haired women, also grinning.

“You’re right there Daniel. Hello honey, I’m Asheline, please to meet your acquaintance.” I shake hands with her, aware of my weak smile. She has an odd accent, but her voice is warm and friendly, and makes me think of thick syrup.

“You’re not English?” I blurt out suddenly.

“No sugar, I’m from Louisiana, USA. Moved to this country for college and never looked back once I met Daniel. What happened to your hair?”


cruise (March 12th, 2004, 9:56 am)

I've met some very mature nine-year olds...especially so when they go through this kind of life. It makes you grow up very fast. So no worries on that score...

Does feel a little rushed, some sections could do with a little more depth to'd be nice to know a bit more about what Michelle is thinking and feeling.

Oh, and one typo: "stomach in notes" - in knots.


mentalsarcasm (March 12th, 2004, 4:04 pm)

Ah, another typo I missed ^^() Thanks!

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