“Is something the matter?” Her friend asks, the girl’s fleeting frown detected.
The girl smiles and shakes her head. “I’m fine. I was thinking.”
“If you say so,” her friend says, not pushing the subject.
“Do you want the rest of my coffee? I don’t feel like drinking it?”
Her friends reaches for the cup. Already in her fingers, she replies, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m not thirsty anymore.” She pushes the cup towards her.
“Thanks!”
As the girl is about to take a bite of the other half of her sandwich her friend says, “Do you mind? I’m so hungry.” She agrees to share. “You’re the best!”
“Becca, how long are you planning on studying?”
“Probably another hour. Why? Do you want to leave already?” Becca looks at her watch. “You’ve only been here thirty minutes. You promised you’d study with me.”
“No. I just wanted to know. I have some news I’ve been waiting to hear back on.”
“You can’t break your promise.”
Five minutes pass. Then ten. Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Forty minutes. Fifty minutes. An hour.
“See you at school tomorrow!” Becca waves while getting into her car. Her mom is in the driver's seat. Becca’s mom browses at nearby stores, always close by patiently waiting for her to finish her studies.
“Bye,” the girl says. She sends a text to her driver, informing him she’s ready to be picked up. In response, a quick ding alerts her of his message. Pulling up now, it says. She sees the car and walks toward him. She already feels bad for bothering him. She didn’t want to inconvenience him any farther.
“Excuse me, miss?” The girl turns, a man in his late thirties stares back at her.
“Yes?” She questions. She notices he is standing behind a table a little way down from the entrance of a shop. She glances down taking a good look at the flyers on it. ‘Help Feed the Homeless.’
“I’m collecting money for the homeless. There are millions of homeless folks that need assistance, and I should know. My name’s Ralph,” he said. “I used to be homeless. and there’s a few things you can do to help. All I ask is do you have money to spare? It doesn’t have to be much.”
She nods, digging through her purse. Unzipping her wallet, her eyebrows knit together. There was nothing left. She used her spending money on lunch and the coffee she gave Becca. The remaining money she has is for emergencies. “I’m sorry. I forgot I spent it.”
“You don’t have anything?” He pleads.
She winces. “My emergency funds, but I’m not allowed to touch it.”
“This is an emergency. People are dying each day because they don’t have food to eat.” He made a good point. Her parents can’t be upset at her for doing a good deed. She hands him the one-hundred-dollar bill. “Thank you so much!” She flashes a smile.
“Miss?”
Hearing the voice, she grins, “Ah, Lewis!” She runs to him.
“Slow down. You wouldn’t want to ruin your shoes. Your parents will not be happy if you do,” he advises.
Doing as he tells her, her pace slows into a walk. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“There’s no need to be sorry.” Lewis holds the car door open. He gestures for her to get in, closing it when she is seated. He walks around the expensive vehicle to his side.
She waits for him to get in before asking, “Do you know if they signed the papers?”
Putting the car into drive he replies, “I’m not sure. I’m sure they did.”
The girl grabs the seat in front her. “I hope so. I’ve been dreaming of this moment forever.”
“And I’m sure it will come true.”
“Were they in a good mood earlier? They seemed to be to me, but I can’t ever tell.”
“Your father was in his right state of mind if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh good! What about mother?”
“She was spending your father’s money, so I’ll assume she is doing fine.”
“This is going to be the best day ever. I can feel it.” She stumped her feet on the floorboards in a burst of eagerness.
“We are here, miss. I’ll get the-”
She doesn’t give him a chance to finish. She is already out of the car, racing up the mile-long staircase into the mansion. Her feet guide her to her parents’ room. Her steps falter, hearing the yells flooding the hall as she got closer. The thought of turning around enters her mind. She doesn’t want to. She wants to know if they signed it. Her hands clench into a fist. She also knows going into that room during a fight isn’t the best idea.
“Where did you put it you gold digger?” Her father asked.
“I’m the gold digger? That’s rich, seeing how my family has more money than you.” Her mother scoffs. “You won’t find your card or your cash. You’re not wasting a cent of our money on your poor habits.”
Her father slings the door open storming out the room in a rage. The girl lowers her head, her back connecting to the wall. She tries to make herself as small as possible in an attempt to go unseen. Or at least be ignored. Her plan is flawed. In his drunken state, rarely anything goes unseen.
“You!” His large hand hangs inches from her face. “Give me a couple of dollars.”
“I..I spent it,” the girl stammers.
“Spent it? You have the emergency stash. Give it here,” he grunts.
Her lips tremble and a whimper escapes. “I gave it to charity,” she whispers.
“You did what?” He shouts. Tears roll down her cheeks. “We deliberately told you not to squander it.”
Her body sinks into the icy tiles. “I’m sorry. I thought you and mama would be proud of me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Upset me? I’m not upset,” he says. “I’m furious. That woman takes everything from me and now you do this.” The hate swimming in his eyes deepen. “I never wanted a daughter,” he mutters, peering at the girl. She hides her head in her knees, but that doesn’t stop him. Neither will it save her. He grabs a chunk of her hair, pulling her from the tile. She screams. Her adolescent hands fighting to remove his.
“Daddy, stop. Please! I didn’t mean to,” she begs. “I won’t buy anything else.”
“The faster I get you out my life the better.” Her father drags her across the floor to the edge of the staircase.
“MAMA,” she cries. “MAMAAA! HELP ME!”
“Your ‘mama’ doesn’t care about you,” he snaps. “You’re here to make her look good. To have people think we did something good for the world.” Her father lifts her above the first step.
“Daddy, I’m sorry,” she murmurs, pleading with him once more.
~
“Breaking News, a fifteen year old girl was murdered by her foster father, Blake Phillips. Her foster mother, Marie Phillips, claims to have been in the other room while it was happening. The two signed the adoption papers for the girl that day prior to Blake getting drunk and throwing her down a flight of stairs. And for curious folks out there, yes, that would be Blake and Marie Phillips of Phillips Co. One of the richest families to date yet. His bail has been set and he has currently been released. His defense attorneys say they aren’t pleading guilty.”
“Poor child.”
“What an awful thing to have happened.”
“I heard it was the driver who called the police.”
Whispers about the incident went on for a week or two after. Then another when the trial happened. Blake was cleared of all charges through his connections, wealth, and status. He claimed his foster daughter provoked him causing him to accidentally push her down the curved stairs. Marie played the part of a diligent wife through out the predicament. She knew it was no accident, yet she stayed at his side.
The whispers quieted, chocking the girl’s death up to an unfortunate mishap. Her sole dream was fulfilled on the day of her tragedy. In the end, she got a family, a last name to add to her first.
and then Add to home screen.