Chapter 1- Something To Live For
"I am so done with men!" Her 'sister' through down her purple bag on the counter next to her and Rin watched as Maggie paced around to room in an irritated huff.
"What happened this time?" Rin raised one eyebrow slowly.
"Look at this!" Maggie jerked up her balled fist to point at a long black mark running down the side of her pale cheek. Little black dots ran down her arm, some staining the white t-shirt she wore. Her brown hair was set in a perpetual tumble at one side of her head, barely staying in the thin black elastic that held it together. All in all, she looked like she had gotten caught under the bus on the way home.
"What's all this about?" An elderly lady shuffled into the kitchen, small quiet smile gracing her lips at the two girls. Mrs. Grace Robinson had been their foster mother for the past three years, and never once had she not been smiling. "Oh, dear." She sighed in silent dismay at the line of dark black running down her youngest charge's back. Maggie turned around to face her, tears brimming under her big blue eyes. Mrs. Robinson smiled reassuringly and wrapped one thin sweater-covered arm around the girl's trembling shoulders. "Let's clean you up."
Rin remanded quiet. She had never really liked Maggie, but being forced to live with her until her 18th birthday was a price she was willing to pay to at least have a home. Grumbling into her textbook, she once more became immersed in the wonderful science of toasters. What did toasters have to do with osmosis anyway? Maybe it was the evaporation of water from bread to make it hard? No, that wasn't right. Maybe it….
"Rin? Can I speak with you for a moment?" Her 'father's' voice rang out from the study. Sighing in mock annoyance at having to leave the gripping tail of toasters, she trudged of down the narrow hall of the small three bedroom and into the back room Mr. Robinson had turned into his own sanctuary of knowledge, complete with small TV and radio squished in between mountains of books, Wall Street Journal articles, and Time magazines.
Mr. Robinson was an old man, maybe 75, Rin never thought to ask. Grace was his sister and she had lived with him after the death of her husband in a train wreck during World War II. After that, they had held up the family home for 45 years after that, never once thinking of moving away from the little Wisconsin farm. But loneliness must've gotten to Grace, not have having time to have any kids of her own when her husband was still living. Hence, Rin's reason for standing in front of a slightly disappointed looking Mr. Robinson.
He sighed, pulling off the wide-framed bifocals from his long nose and placing them on the desk next to him. "I received a call from you art teacher today. Mrs. Rubis…Rebus…"
"Rayfus." Rin chimed in quietly, all air of annoyance gone. The one person she couldn't fool was holding out a piece of paper with "Report Card" in big block letters on it.
"What is your grade in art Rin?"
She looked down at the paper, a wave of cold guilt washing through her. "F."
Mr. Robinson held out his hand for the paper once more, cutting Rin off before she could come up with an excuse for failing six tests, two essays, and turning in class work late. "I don't want to hear an explanation Rin. Mrs. Rayfus spoke with me quite plainly." He motioned for her to shut the door and sit down in the folding chair crunched in between the 'shelve of infinite knowledge' and the 'trashcan of infinite rubbish'. "What's wrong Rin? You had an A in her class last term." He shifted in the chair, resting his elbow on the crossed leg in front of him. She slumped back into her chair, looking around the room from under lowered lashes.
"I don't know."
Mr. Robinson leaned back in his rolling chair. That wasn't the best answer, but it was honest. "Can you bring it up before the end of the year?" She stared at the multi-shaded gray carpet for a little longer, wondering if she could sink through it without being noticed.
"Yes."
"And will you?"
This was why she loved Mr. Robinson. He didn't ask questions to put her in her place, he asked questions to get answers. He could've easily told her in a domineering tone that she was a senior and that in order to study abroad she couldn't have F's in anything. Instead, he merely asked what she was going to do about it.
She lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. "Yes."
He smiled at her, laugh lines deepening in his sallow skin. "Good. You can go now."
Rin smiled back, standing and walking once again down the narrow hall. She could hear Maggie crying about some boy named Josh drawing all over her in Physics, but for once her whining didn't bother her as much as it normally did. It seemed that whenever she talked to her "father", she always seemed to be less irritable. He had given her a goal, something to live for, at least for now.
Pulling down the trap stair to the attic, she began the long climb up to her room, skipping the bum third step. Grace said that this had been her bedroom as a little girl. A large round window allowed murky light to filter in from the outside. It was a strange window. The center seemed to have been built in later because if one pressed hard enough, one could open it upward and air out the large room in the summer. Grace had said that her Bobby had serenaded her from that window on a balmy spring night the day he proposed.
Rin tore her eyes away from the memory. Happy things didn't belong up here.
Her pale reflection stared back at her from the oak framed mirror as she sat down at the two-drawer vanity. Dull brown eyes, shinny straight black hair, pale full lips. She sighed, bunching up her hair on top of her head, twisting it into knots, folding it and unfolding it, letting it fall in a bushy tangle around her shoulders. Her eyes seemed dead, even to her, and no amount of primping was going to solve that. It seemed that the sleep Nazi had won again, and it wasn't going to let up no matter what her brain told it to do, not even for the fascinating world of toasters.
Rin leaned back in her chair, letting her head fall back and her neck stretch as she stared at the wooden rafters of her attic prison. It wasn't that the attic was a terrible place, no, it was wonderful, especially when it was sunny out and she could open up all the windows and let the fresh warm air in. No, the attic wasn't terrible at all. She was.
Sitting back up, she raided the vanity for matches. It was Friday, that meant candle night. At least her tired mind was able to figure that much. Maybe she hated the attic because it always made her feel sleepy? No. After throwing almost all the knick-knacks she had to her name out of the drawer, she found a small pack of Hotel matches. They weren't the best, but they would do. Not being the best meant that you had to try a hundred times before the dang match would light. Rin decided the candle of choice tonight would be vanilla. She needed something to relax with. Even though her mind was already sedate as it was.
The sputtering match crackled against the black end of the wick. Mr. Robinson was right, something was wrong with her. Something had always been wrong with her. A small flame slowly lifted itself out of the wick, sparking as it found hard wax in its way. "Mom…Dad…well, guess what?" Her voice cracked. "I'm still here."
