Annie wasn't quite sure where she'd find Pepper after the elder girl had run inside, but her first bet—and best hunch—was that she was in the guest room the girls had all been staying in. Sure enough, that was where she found her, and though Pepper was visibly upset still, more sad than anything else, Annie would guess, the only emotion Pepper displayed outwardly was seething anger.

"Go away," she grumbled, folding her arms as she peered out the window overlooking the driveway. "God, don't you ever know when to butt out? Not everyone needs you around all the time."

"They really wanna adopt you," Annie said, cautiously, stepping in and sitting across Pepper on the bed. "We could be sisters. We could all be sisters. Isn't that what we always wanted?"

"It's what you always wanted," Pepper rolled her eyes. "Ain't nobody gonna really act like a mom or a dad to me, you're not dumb enough to think otherwise, are you? Warbucks and Farrell, they only said they wanted me because they can't just take five in and not seven. It'd seem really awful of them. Imagine if it got back to the papers. He wouldn't be the hero no more—he'd be the monster who abandoned orphans."

Annie set her lips together. "Miss Farrell was right—you're still a kid, just like me and Molly and everyone else. And even when you aren't, you still need parents, right? I bet Mr. Warbucks wishes he could talk to his parents still. Because who teaches you what to do when you become a parent yourself?"

Pepper turned to face her a little better. "I've been livin' my whole life without a ma and pa. You really think I want 'em now? Especially them?" she scoffed. "He'll be on business trips, and she'll probably try and make us all proper. She'll tell us not to talk this way, or dress that way, and I ain't doing that. I'm me. I ain't changing for some rich folk, no matter how much money they have."

"But what are you gonna do, then? Go back to the orphanage?"

"Not like it was horrible," Pepper shrugged. "It was cold, the food wasn't great, but it was still a roof and a bed and that's way more than most have these days. You hear about 'em Hoovervilles. We could've been like that. Some orphans are like that. They age up and out, and then they're on their own. I'm fine back there—it'll probably even be better now, 'cause they're sticking their snobby noses into everything."

Annie frowned again. "What about us?"

"What about you?" Pepper laughed. "You'll be living the fairytale! You'll have the ma and the pa and the sisters, and I bet President Roosevelt will even make you some kind of hero or somethin'. I can see it now, you'll be on the ten-dollar bill, and Molly or Duffy on the fifty, and nobody will remember me, 'cause all's I ever was, was the kid who was in the same room as you. That's all we have in common, kid. Literally. We lost our parents and wound up in the same crappy place. Only, you're cute still, so you got a chance. I don't. I ain't had one since I was eight."

"But Miss Farrell—"

"Is playing a part," Pepper shook her head. "She's acting all nice, but you really think she wants me as her kid? Think about it—what about, like, when there're charity nights and stuff? She'll have six other kids who look perfect, Molly will steal the damn show, and then there's me. Grubby and lanky and grumpy. Nobody wants me, I know it, you need to figure it out, too.'

"You're not always grumpy," Annie stood, sitting beside Pepper on the windowsill now. "You can be really nice when you wanna be. I remember when I was little, I was crying one time, and you were the one who made me feel better. And I know you care about all the others."

"I had to care about them," Pepper shook her head. "We were all in the same room, and Miss Hannigan was Miss Hannigan. I was the oldest one, they didn't get it. I had to be the one to make it better.'

"But you didn't have to be nice like you were," Annie just stared at her. "You took care of us. Even when you were mean, you did it mostly because we were gonna get in trouble if you didn't say somethin'. You can't just go back to the orphanage while we all get to live here, that's horrible. Why can't you give Mr. Warbucks and Miss Farrell a chance? It's like getting used to the rest of us."

"Yeah, 'cept I don't have to worry about always having you around for the rest of my life," she sighed. "There's, like, expectations when you have a family. You have to do holidays and stuff. And, like, they're always s'posed to be there. But, I'm not like the rest of you. It's easy for them to like you guys, because you're young and cute and all that. I'm not. No adult has ever liked me, not even my own mom."

Annie scooted closer. "I thought she died," she said softly, knowing she was broaching sensitive territory. Pepper had never talked much, if at all, about her parents. The most she'd ever said at a single time was that her parents were terrible as a couple, but she didn't know the circumstances surrounding the deaths—or, even how old Pepper had been when they'd passed.

"Just go away, Annie," Pepper turned to the side, so her back was facing the girl. "I don't need you to tell me the sun is gonna shine or whatever. Just because some people get happy endings, don't mean everyone does."

"But they said—"

"They're liars," her voice cracked now. "Okay? For kids like me, all adults are liars. The only person who's ever said it like it is, is Miss Hannigan. She's right, I'm a dirty, rotten brat. Oliver Warbucks would never want me as his kid. He'd probably do it for the papers, so everyone thinks we all got what we needed, and then he'd throw me in the basement as soon as the pics were done. I'm not doing it.'

"Miss Hannigan was a liar," Annie folded her arms. "She said that because she was sad, but they were still lies. You're not dirty and rotten."

"Annie, please," Pepper leaned her head against the wall. "Believe whatever you wanna, but leave me out of it. I'm not gonna think about a ma and a pa, because I don't get that kind of happiness. It just doesn't happen for me."

"But it c—"

"I'm not doing it," she repeated. "Just shut up now."

The younger girl went quiet, knowing her friend was close to blowing her top at this point. Nodding simply, she got up, quiet for a moment longer, before she spoke again. "I bet they're gonna take us to dinner or somethin' again," she said. "Are you gonna come?"

Pepper just completely turned away, and for half a second, Annie could've sworn she heard a sniffle. When Pepper responded, though, she sounded nothing like someone who'd been crying. "Why don't you answer that for yourself? Why don't you think about whether I'd wanna go to some fancy place for dumb celebrations?"

Annie went silent again, the notion hitting her loud and clear. She nodded again, though she knew Pepper couldn't see her, then sighed.

"We'll bring you back something," she said, heading towards the door. "Feel better, Pepper…"

The older girl simply pulled her legs to her chest.

/

Just as Annie predicted, she and the five other girls were, for the second night in a row, treated to a dinner they could've only ever dreamed of in the orphanage. The name of the restaurant, the girl couldn't pronounce, but according to Grace, it was known for being the most authentic French cuisine in all of the United States. It was upscale, and they all put on their best for the occasion, and for the several hours they were seated around the table, Grace felt nothing but pure bliss. These weren't just some little girls she'd had the luck to meet anymore. These were her daughters. She had six girls, six beautiful, kind and sweet and funny girls, and it felt, for the first time perhaps ever, that everything in her life was falling perfectly into place. She and Oliver were healing. The girls would start to, as well. It was all coming together so beautifully, and going home in a limo with six girls asleep and curled up against her, it felt just… right.

These were days she never wanted to end. Moments she'd always remember.

Going home, though, hearing about the seventh girl who'd yet to depart her room all evening, guilt set in, in the most tremendous fashion ever.

"I don't get it," Oliver grumbled as he and Grace sat in the office, a glass of brandy in front of him while she nursed a mug of tea. The girls were all in bed now, ready to go to the zoo the next day as Annie had asked while they were being tucked in, and though Grace knew she, too, should be retiring soon if she wanted any prayer of being functional the next day, she couldn't quite calm her nerves. "What kind of child doesn't say yes as soon as they're told someone wants to adopt them?"

"It's not as simple for her," Grace answered, eyes locked on the liquid in her mug. "She's used to adults never following through on their promises. On them always letting her down. I can't imagine how nerve-wracking it must be to even consider trusting us.'

"We saved Annie, didn't we?" he scoffed. "Good Christ, do we have to make it any clearer? Should we put it in skywriting? We're not like them, I don't get how she can't see that."

"You don't?" she looked at him. "You don't trust anyone, either."

"I do so," he gave her a pointed glance. "Unless you don't count all of a sudden?"

She sighed. "You don't trust easily," she corrected. "You can't argue with that. It was five years before you could allow yourself to show emotions around me, just imagine how difficult it must be for her. We're strangers, for all intents and purposes. Annie, we had two weeks with before the other girls. And even they don't trust us fully yet. The only one who does is Molly, and that's because she hasn't been hurt yet. Pepper, though… well, for one, she's at such a hard age. I remember being twelve. There were so many expectations. You were supposed to be proper. Know who you wanted to be. She doesn't fit into the mold, and she doesn't have anyone she can lean on. She's had to be her own mother, not to mention that of all the others. I don't think she's able to just dive into this headfirst."

"So, what are we supposed to do, then? Send her back?"

"Of course not, Oliver," she sighed. "We give her time. We be patient. We'll treat her as though she's said she's alright with it, so that when she actually does, it feels like we've been her parents this entire time."

"And then what if she doesn't say if she's alright with it? Do you really think this is the best idea? I mean, I know nothing about children, Grace. Do you think we should be taking in one with so many issues?"

"Because being neglected all her life is her fault?" Grace sat straighter. "What do you suggest, we throw her back to the wolves and hope for the best? We have the resources to help."

"Maybe financially, but definitely not emotionally," he shook his head. "A child like that would almost need our full, undivided attention. Clearly, we can't give that. And, even if we could, who's to say we're the best ones for her? I know nothing about being a father, you know nothing about being a mother. We are not the ones who should be caring for her."

She raised an eyebrow. "I know nothing about being a mother, do I?" she scoffed. "I suppose I've just been flying by the seat of my pants with the girls up to now, no?"

He sighed. "Grace, I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, but part of you did, didn't it? I know nothing about being a mother. You think this is all a horrendous idea, because I'm new, and you're new, and nobody ever learned while on the job, right? You knew how to be a billionaire already when you left England on that ship when you were a ten-year-old. You knew everything."

"Grace—"

"This is why she was so scared, Oliver," she shook her head. "Nobody has ever wanted her, and now she's had one outburst and you're having second thoughts. What must that say to her?"

"I haven't told her I'm having second thoughts. It says nothing to her."

"She'll be able to sense it, I'm sure. Kids are perceptive like that.'

"Then, maybe it's for the best, Grace. Maybe this is too much of an undertaking. I'll help the child find a home, but I can't say ours is the best one. I think you know that, too."

She set her mug down. "What if this were Annie?"

He cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"What if she'd been just as scared? What if it wasn't because of her parents, but because this is just so new? What would you have done then?"

A pause filled the air, before Oliver shook his head. "That's different. Annie is different."

"Because she's a happier kid? Because she's easier to deal with?"

He sighed. "What do you want me to do, Grace? What's the right answer here?"

"Maybe, 'have a heart'. Maybe try and put yourself in her shoes, because I promise, they're impossible to walk in. She's a scared little girl. Give her a chance to come around. Give her a chance to know we will be here for her, no matter what."

He rubbed his temple. "I just don't know if it's the right fit. We can find her someone else. Someone better."

"Away from all the other girls?" she shook her head. "That'd devastate her. It'd devastate all of them."

"She'd come to visit. She'd be better off."

Grace stood now, so quickly she almost toppled over the bottle of brandy. "She's a human being," she said, voice thick with emotion. "A little girl, Oliver. She's not someone's trash, or something you can just get rid of because it's an inconvenience to you. She's a human being, a kid who needs a home, and I'm not about to give up on her just because you're pig-headed and arrogant."

He sighed. "It's not giving up, it's being realistic."

She just started towards the door, angry in a way that didn't quite make sense to her. She knew this was a big undertaking, too. She knew she and Oliver probably weren't the best parents for all of this. But she'd already grown attached, and she needed Pepper to know she belonged somewhere. So, she laid a palm on the door handle, sighing before she turned to face him.

"It's giving up if you take the easy way out," she said, coldly, before storming out.