I walked into a strange place, fear and curiosity crept in my head. My mom, five feet behind, following with anticipation, made it obvious that she was excited. I, for one, was not the least bit excited to be here.
"Welcome," my mom's friend, Mrs. Jonston said.
I don't remember much after that. It seemed to be a blur…I blocked out the meeting in her family room. Halfway through it, I realized that staying here had one plus—I would be away from my mother. This place looked like a living hell. Plain white paint covered the walls, and it smelled of cleaning products. The house was spotless, it was almost uncomfortable. Being sixteen, I did not have much a say as to where I lived.
Mrs. Jonston was a well-mannered middle aged woman, with no children, and no husband. My mom was the complete opposite; sometimes I wondered how they were even friends. I was her only child, but she's always had boyfriends in and out since the time I was two. Instead of being a normal parent, she decided to ship me off to her friend's house until I turned 18 because she's not in the "financial position" to take care of me. She told me it was either this, or child protective services might take me away. Which wouldn't be a surprise, they had visited our house enough times in the past year to last us a lifetime. Between the drunken fights and drugs taken in the front yard, my mom's tiny ranch is not fit for any child, or person even, to live in. This house is obviously a huge improvement, but it's about as boring as a stack of bricks.
