They were late. In fact, they were later than late, they were almost rude in their belated arrival.

Finally, Mike looked up as the familiar rumble of gravel echoed through the house. All the children gathered around in the living room, milling about and waiting conspicuously for their newest arrival.

Buzz…Buzz

All the children's attention was on the door as they waited for Mike to bring her in, having only been told a new girl would be arriving. Gathering up the courage, Mike strode to wards the firm oak, gripping the handle as another impatient buzz called. Answering the door, Mike saw something… unexpected.

Maya POV

It's official: I hate social workers.

I've never really fit in any of the care homes I was sent to, but the journeys, those are the worst. Sitting in a ridiculously ancient, slow-as-anything car with THE most annoying type of person in the entirety of this universe, is a dragged out, seemingly never-ending experience; a form of torture that child should never have to repeat.

To be honest, I'm not like most care kids; I've been in the system for around a year now, but unlike the others in each home, I'm not from a rough background. My name is Amelia Rosalie Montague-Douglas-Scott.

I am to inherit of over £10, 000, 000 in off shore investments, I can enunciate, and I have never once physically harmed anyone. This is my seventh care home in less than six months; apparently I'm not suited to their lifestyles. Having been tossed from place to place like a coin I'm pretty sure I've seen most of the country with my care worker, Jake.

Jake, in my opinion, is a grown-up child. As he pulled up to the newest disaster, I watched in fascination when he managed to lock all the doors as he switched off the car. But, fun as it was to watch him frantically pressing buttons, I sighed, exasperated. Suddenly the show cut short; when the car door he was leaning on clicks open from one of the many buttons, sending him flying across the drive and swearing furiously.

"Honestly Jacob, when are you going to learn to calm down, and do things right!" I said, opening my door then daintily closing it without making a kerfuffle, and walking over to him. I crouched down and snatched his keys away, finally shutting his door using the automatic lock.

"You're a ridiculous man-child. Grandmamma wouldn't accept this aggravating behaviour from a toddler, let alone an adult. Obviously she raised me correctly, unlike your mother, who seems to of left you to learn for yourself. Grandmamma would never do that to me," I chastised, subtly reminding him of my annoyance at being dragged from my family – however not kicking and screaming, this situation is degrading enough without loosing all my dignity.

I often speak of my Grandma around Jake; he says that I am a pest who does not know when to silence myself, but little does he know; I'm subconsciously keeping my family and my real home fresh in his mind. Mother always said that the best of debaters were never confrontational, only reminded their opponents of their genius using strategically placed subjection. I found out it's called passive-aggressive protesting.

"God, just, go and introduce yourself whilst I grab my bags. But remember what Grandmamma told you when we left," I called behind me to the mess of a man I call my guardian as I strolled gracefully toward the car.

After several months in my own personal hell, I have come to appreciate constants. My most treasured constants were the weekend each month I got to spend with Grandmamma, not that she ever makes and effort; the thought that as soon as I was 18 I could go back home and what I like to call the 'wayfaring wardrobe'. My entire collection of designer tops, skirts, jumpers, jeans and my vintage shoes and accessories all fit into my petite, yet spacious, Versace leather suitcase. It had an old, musky scent, which only ancient leather could achieve. It was a family heirloom, passed down from mother to daughter for centuries.

What I wore that day was a particular favourite of mine, outfit-wise. It wasn't often that I wore something from my more, elegant selection. Generally preferring to acquire a few sets of clothes from wherever I was at that time. I marvelled at the way my vintage strawberry red skirt swished in the breeze. It complemented the cream bralet that I wore underneath a beige blazer from Givenchy.

I hauled my suitcase out of the car and sighed at the familiar sound of my red suede T-bar heels against the gravel. Each step felt like a marathon as thoughts and fears rushed through my brain a million miles a minute. Jake buzzed the door as I came up to stand by him.

Buzz…Buzz

Nothing happened. After a few seconds and some loud noises from the other side of the door, I buzzed it again, getting impatient. Whilst I waited, I admired the oak finish on the front door, when suddenly it swung open, leaving a tall, gentle-looking man and a small child with a giraffe.

This is my new 'family'.

Mike POV

I stared at this, phenomenon, for a few seconds before Harry poked me with his giraffe. I snapped my head down to him immediately, shattering the trance-like state this young woman (she could not be described as anything other) had coaxed me into.

"Jeff says you're being rude!" He declared, the slight lilt in his voice making him sound like a baby.

"Well young man, Jeff is precisely right," articulated a mesmerizing voice, the flowing tones of her voice oozing class.

"So sorry we're late, mate. Traffic was horrible and I had no way of getting here earlier. She'll be fine though, she's used to me daft behaviour," mumbled a lanky, blonde man, grumbling as he mentioned his charge.

The girl exhaled heavily, "Jake, you have the most unfortunate inclination of mentioning every single negative attribute you posses when you strike up a conversation. It is most unbecoming! You ought to-"

"Yes Amelia, I must listen to your Grandmamma and straighten my life out as I am never to succeed as a mere scuff on a real man's shoe," he gritted out, teeth grinding so roughly you could almost hear them scrape, "but this is not about me, this is about you, and the fact you are in your seventh care home because of comments like that. Now go inside, straight to Mike's office. Then you can meet the residents of your new home. Mike if you would…" he trailed off, pointing toward the hall behind me.

I stared at the scene before me: a silently seething young lady, a knowing she had lost this argument burning in her forced visage, and a seemingly calm social worker with an obvious glint of triumph in his eyes. The tension between these two was palpable.

Looking from one to the other, it wasn't until Harry wrapped his tiny fingers around my wrist that I sprang into action, ushering the two through the hall and into my office. After they sat, I took Harry to the door.

"Hey, why don't you and Jeff go tell the others all about how nice Amelia is?" I whispered.

"Okay! Jeff likes Melia," he smiled, running as fast as his little pale legs could carry him. I smiled, his innocence radiating from his bright smile, and then turned to deal with our newest recruit.

Amelia POV

I peered at the social workers before me: Michael, Gina and Tracy. They had sat me in a child's seat, meaning that I was forced to look up at all times to see them. Mike was smiling at me, and it shone clear in his crystal blue eyes – I had never had anyone smile at me sincerely before, only the untruthful tugs of lips from past houses. He seemed kind, cheerful and warm-hearted; I had gaged that he was very experienced and therefore highly regarded by his co-workers. He was beginning to bald, his grey hair scarce on his head; his sense of dress was plain: a casual shirt that covered a top, and unfussy trousers.

Gina seemed… out-going.
Her hair was completely unprofessional: thick strands of dark braided hair were only just restrained by a bandeau of indescribable colour, purple, blue and brown fused together. Her eccentric t-shirt glared boldly in the bland, brown and dreary room, screaming for the attention of every person in it. Her smile beamed at me, almost as vivid as her blouse but behind those eyes another personality hid, a wrath suppressed so deep it only escaped in times of completely overwhelming rage. Other than that, she seemed nice enough.

The last one was called Tracy.
I didn't like her.

"Hello Amy, welcome to Elm Tree House! I'm sure you'll have a fab time here and all the other children are pretty cool," the youngest woman giggled irritatingly.

"Excuse me, but my name is Amelia. You should know this; it is on my file, as is my life story, supposedly, along with countless opinions on my behaviour and past," I frowned. I despised that folder; even the notion that my entire life was written down somewhere for anyone to access was completely mortifying however, having failed several attempts to retrieve it for myself, I had succumbed to the control of the care system.

"Stop being difficult, you know it annoys people!" my petty social worker jibed, knowing full well it annoyed the hell out of me. Mike glared at him, giving me reason to smirk.

"Okay Amelia," Mike affirmed, smiling encouragingly, "You are 15, so that means your bedtime is at 10 o'clock. There are two boys and a girl the same age as you, but you'll meet them later. You're allowed out at the weekend without a guardian, but you must carry your phone on you in case of emergencies and you must be back for 6 o'clock. Now, any trouble will not go unpunished, so you've been warned. Any questions?"

"Yes, my school. How can I continue to attend the Westgate School if it's three hours away in Hampshire?" I questioned, my thoughts drifting to Millie and Imogen at my last school.

"About that, I'm afraid that we will be moving you, Amelia. Starting next Monday, you shall be going to the state school in town," he informed, his eyes searching for sign of an outburst - I guess his other charges are violent.
I was horrified at the thought of leaving my friends, but as Grandmother always said, poise before temperament.

"I see," I began, turning to Jake, "You were planning to inform me of this when, exactly?"

"Er, well, it were Kelly's idea to send you 'ere! I didn't know most of the details," he grovelled, what a coward.

"Well, do you want to meet the kids Amelia?" Gina asked, her smile waning.

"Why not," I relented, standing up and making my way into the hall. The other social workers followed our lead as Gina walked past one door then approached the next.