Alexander was a troubled kid, to say the least. There is no need for further explanation at the moment. All that needed to be known were the basics. He was only sixteen years old and had already been in numerous foster homes. None of which have been that kind. If it wasn't the parents that were rude it was the kids. He could never keep his mouth shut and he knew that was the problem. He never trusted people with his past and while his social worker seems to be nice enough yet he couldn't confide in her. Never has and never will. Yet once he realized the long drive from his last home was coming to an end and not only that but they were deep in the city where all the rich folks lived with their fancy cars and large houses. Yes, multiple of them. Why would any of them want to take in foster kids? Especially ones that are damaged. His throat tightened and his hands became clammy. He felt shame and anxiety rise up his throat and threatened to spill out in pleas to go back to living on the streets. He rarely listened to who he was staying with and about them, it never lasted more than a few months.
The car came to an abrupt stop, tearing him out of his thoughts. He caught sight of a woman standing by the door, she was waiting for him. Hamilton's throat threatened to tighten. The house in front of him was fancier than any home he had ever seen with his own eyes. Three stories high and marble pillars. A porch larger than any room he had ever stayed in. From what he had gathered they kept a lot of children here. Some who are fostered or adopted. Some who are simply troubled. Alexander didn't know where he would fit in. It happened all too quickly, he was being forced out of the car with his small duffel bag in hand. It was heavy and barely held any clothes only filled with pencils and pens. Notebooks and books filled to the brim with words. He finally was able to see her up close, she was more on the pudgy side and a bit taller than him. He wasn't surprised.
