The world can be a pretty harsh place. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and anything that can fall apart, will fall apart.
Take it from me,
Grace.
16 year old foster, well, ex-foster kid who's currently running from a very angry police officer. Why am I running, you may ask? I may or may not have stolen a hotdog from a street vender.
No big deal.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the glass is half-empty blah blah blah.
You see, I was dropped off at a fire station in Atlanta, Georgia when I was just three days old. Mom was an addict and dad was a deadbeat, or at least thats what I've been told. I've been in and out of foster and group homes ever since. Well, I was, at least. I had taken off from my last 'family' two weeks ago and haven't looked back since.
That's what I mean by ex-foster kid.
For the past two weeks I've been sleeping in the nearby park and swiping food and sometimes cash from unsuspecting people. I'll admit it, I do feel bad, but better to do now, and ask for forgiveness later, or some crap.
The good thing about the park is that it's a couple blocks away from the local college, Barden University, so people just think I'm a college student. Besides the fact that I'm five feet tall and still have baby fat on my cheeks, no one really questions it.
Just goes to show how people don't actually pay attention to anything other than themselves.
I know my situation isn't ideal, but if I can make it two more years, I'll age out of the system and be able to get a legit job. Staying in the foster home I ran from would not have worked out since-
"Hey, kid! Get back here!"
Oh shit, I forgot about the cop. This was probably the third time this week a man in blue had given chase. You'd think they'd have given up by now, but they haven't. Well, alright, he asked for it.
Making a sharp left, I merge into a group of rowdy college kids, hoping to blend in and buy myself a few seconds to get away. It seems to work, because I can hear the guy telling people to move, but the sound of his voice is getting further away.
Three blocks away, I make my way to a crosswalk and without looking, dart across the street. Instead of making it to the other side, the sound of squealing tires causes me to turn my head to face the silver Toyota Prius that's heading right for me. I have about a second to think before I jump, hit the windshield and roll up and over the car, then effectively land on my ass.
The Prius comes to a halt and in my dazed state, my ears don't register the sound of doors slamming shut.
"Holy shit! Are you okay, dude?" My eyes slowly move up to meet the blue of a girl who looks to be at least 20. She's short, like me, with brown hair and she seems to be concerned. I can't really tell though, because my head's swimming.
Unable to make words, I nod but it turns into a grimace when a sharp pain shoots up my leg. I let out a hiss and grab at it, in an attempt to stop the pain.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," the panicked sound of someone else's voice catches my attention and I turn to look at a red haired girl around the same age as the first, who happens to be having some sort of panic attack.
"This is why you should have let me drive, Chlo. I wouldn't have hit a kid," the short brunette turns to the red head. "Chloe, calm down, you weren't even the one who got hit by a car."
The girl, Chloe, snaps out of her excited state and turns to me. "Are you alright?" she asks. "I'm so sorry, I tried to stop but I couldn't. I..."
"Hey, its cool. It's my fault I wasn't looking where I was going," I try to reassure the girl, internally laughing because I was the one who had been hurt. "I'm sorry if I dented your car or anything."
Chloe looks shocked at my words, while the other girl lets out a laugh.
"Beca! That's not funny!" Chloe admonishes the brunette, Beca, who stops laughing, but still has a smirk on her face.
"But it is. She could have died and she's worried about denting the car."
Chloe rolls her eyes but can't seem to help the smile that starts to form on her lips.
"You'll have to excuse her, she's lacking in the manners department. I'm Chloe, and the rude one over there is Beca. We go to Barden," Chloe informs me after Beca punches her in the shoulder, looking insulted.
"I'm-"
"Hey! Stop right there!"
Jesus.
That dumb cop doesn't seem to realize that I was just attacked by a car. Still, not wanting to be caught, I stagger to my feet and put most of my weight on my uninjured left leg. Chloe and Beca both appear to be confused as to why the cop is running towards us, but I don't have time to think about it.
"Sorry, got to go!" I start running (limping), in the opposite direction of the cop.
"Wait! We should take you to the hospital," Beca reaches for my arm but she is too slow and by now the cop has made his way into the street, getting closer by the second.
"It's alright, I'll be fine. I've got to be anywhere else but here!" I yell over my shoulder with a smirk.
Luckily, since I'm young, I have better stamina than a forty-something man, but because of my injured leg, I won't be able to run for much longer. He seems to be tiring out, too, and I wonder why he's still even chasing me.
I mean, it was a hotdog, not the Mona Lisa.
An alleyway catches my eye and I veer right and head towards the chain link fence at the end of it. The bottom of it has a gap just small enough for me to squeeze under and I, for once, thank god for being the size of an elf.
I crawl through it and turn to the cop, who looks like he is contemplating climbing it.
"Sorry Officer, but we'll have to pick up this game of tag another time," I send him a wave accompanied by a devilish smile; then, disappear down the other side of the alley, not looking forward to the swollen, bruised mess I know I'll find when I roll up my pant leg.
The purple, brown and green bruise that glares back at me when I look at my ankle almost makes me vomit. I am hoping that it's just a really bad sprain since I was able to run on it earlier, but now that my adrenaline rush is wearing off, I'm seriously starting to feel it.
After ditching the man in blue, I had taken refuge in some kind of auditorium located on the Barden campus. The locked door had been a piece of cake for someone who's had to pick locks on doors to access food in three different foster homes. Some people just wanted the checks and didn't think that they had to feed a child everyday.
It was pretty dark inside, but there was a dim light coming from the exit sign on the door. A black grand piano near the center that I so badly want to touch, caught my eye, but I didn't want to ruin it with my dirty fingers. So instead, I plopped down in the nearest chair and lifted my legs up onto the one next to it.
'I'll just take a little nap and be out of here before anyone comes here in the morning,' I think to myself, closing my eyes and letting out a breath that I feel like I've been holding all day.
It only takes moments before sleep envelopes me.
The bright light should've have been the first thing that alerted me to the fact that I had slept for longer than I'd planned; but, the thing that jolted me out of my chair is a female voice with an Australian accent.
"Well, at least she isn't dead. Then we'd finally have to let Lilly show us where to hide a dead body."
I am so screwed.