Disclaimer: I really love that there's so many different places that can view your fanfic. You never think of people outside your country looking at it.

"And the big bad wolf huffed and he puffed and he—"

"Blew the house down!" the girls shout.

I smile and continue reading. "No. Unlike his brothers, the third pig built his house out of bricks."

"So does he live?"

"See, the big bad wolf was so incredibly determined. He tried many times to huff and puff and blow the third pig's house down but he couldn't. Finally, when the wolf was all tuckered out, he just let the pigs go and they lived happily ever after."

They cheer and jump off the bed, running around the room with a burst of enthusiasm. I watch them, still smiling. I'm envious; to be able to have such energy all the time must be something.

"Knock knock," says Martha from the door. "It's about time you girls go to bed, don't you think?"

They sigh in unison. "Do we really have to?"

I get the feeling they're asking me too so I nod my head. They sigh one final time before getting into their beds, Martha tucking them in one at a time.

"Goodnight girls," I say to them.

"Goodnight Maria," they sing. It's adorable how they all manage to speak in sync. "Can you read us another one tomorrow?"

My smile grows. "Sure, but worry about getting some sleep, okay?"

We go to the door and walk downstairs.

"They really seem to be warming up to you," Martha says. "And it's not just them, all the kids like you."

"You think so?" I say excitedly.

Maybe it's a little odd to be so eager over things like this, but I am. If there's anything I was worried about before coming here, it was the people, especially ones close to Martha.

We stop in the living room where there's a smaller table to sit four comfortably. I like it in here a lot more than in the kitchen. There's a television and a really large bookcase; things that always keep me busy. Most of all, though, there's a window seat that looks out into the front yard.

"Of course. They see you as an older sister, as a role model now." She then goes into the kitchen to get something, causing me to follow her in.

"But I don't really do anything," I say as she hands me a mug.

Martha's an avid tea drinker. In the cupboards overhead there's a wide variety of teas and they're all organized by when Martha likes to drink them—morning, afternoon, just after dinner, and as a late night snack.

"And?" she says, raising a brow slightly.

Her scrutiny makes me shy so I sit at the table, hands over my eyes. "I mean, what is there to look up to? I sit around here and… I-I just… The point is that I don't do anything."

I don't think she knows how much this has been on my mind. Before I finished school, I had decided that I was going to try and apply for scholarships because I knew we never had the money for college. I mean, I never had anything concrete planned, but I had graduated early for a reason.

Now it's different. And I'm more confused than ever.

"But you're a good person." She turns the notch on the stove to high. "More than anything you're humble and kind. You might not have plans now but you will."

She sits next to me and pulls my hands from my face. "But Martha…"

"Nothing—no job, no amount of money, no goal—is more important than being a good person. You will gain so much," she says, shaking my hands lightly, "from this alone. Just be patient."

She has so much hope in her eyes—hope for me.

It's terrifying.

I don't want to let her down, it could happen so easily. It's like she's unintentionally setting me up for failure. I don't know if I'd be able to handle that.

With so many thoughts soaring through my brain, I let go of her hands and place them on the table. I know she's still looking at me, but my stare is only on my lap. "The kettle's whistling," I whisper.

She gets up quickly, saying, "I guess it is."

She pours some in my cup first, then hers. Honestly, I didn't feel like drinking anything at the moment. I'm just not up to rejecting.

We don't talk about anything, either. If you were nearby, the clinking of cups on the oak wood table and slurps of our tea would be all you'd hear. I finish mine before her, say goodnight, and go upstairs. Right away, I shut the door and go to the closet.

I go through my bags, not sure which one it is in. T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, a few skirts, some hair clips. Where is it?

Clothes clutter the floor, some even on my bed. In all my frustration and uncertainty, I end up laying with them, tired of searching. Annie runs through them like they're a field of yarn, sniffing some things and toying with others.

Paper crinkling calls my name. "What are you doing, Annie?" I ask in a rhetorical sense. It's nice just saying things without waiting for a reaction, I guess.

She stops playing with the paper, leaving it an inch or two from my fingers. I glance at it, knowing it's exactly what I was looking for. Raising my arms above me, I stare at the clipping through half-closed eyes.

"Look Annie," I call to her, "that's who you're named after." I wave the picture back and forth. "They picked a really nice one; it's one of my favorites."

Sometime later, I fall asleep on my mound of possessions, dreaming about the newspaper piece.

Headlining News: Local Florist Dies in a Horrific House Fire

When morning comes, I decide to go to the library. No particular reason, I'm just bored. But I don't want to be around the house, too. Martha makes me sit down and eat breakfast even though I'm not hungry. After a strain-filled ten minutes of playing with my food, she lets me go.

Thankfully, the library's only a few blocks away. I tried leaving without Annie, but, after one block of walking, I noticed she was tagging along behind me. So very gingerly, I place her in the bag I have with me.

"You've got to learn to listen," I scold.

We reach the library and walk up the thousand steps that lead to the door. "Don't make any noise now," I whisper.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" the old librarian asks. It takes me a good while before I realize she's speaking to me.

"Oh. I'm not looking for anything specific," I say, "just looking."

She smiles politely and goes back to her work. I leave her desk and wander among the aisles, not quite sure where to go. I find a table and just sit; it's next to a window.

From here I watch people go by. It's strange how there's so many people you don't know who have their own lives and friends and problems. You can pass them on the street and not think twice about how they're doing or where they're going. You never wonder if they're dying from some incurable disease or if they're having the best day of their lives.

And you certainly do think about how lonely they might be.

I sit in a daze for what must be forever. There's a crash possibly a few aisles away. I flick my gaze in its direction, my tote—now empty—crossing my peripheral.

"Annie," I whisper harshly, getting up, "come back!"

I catch sight of her maybe fifteen feet away. She sits down, allowing me to snatch her up.

But there's a girl, on the floor picking up papers and binders. She stops, however, and takes a few glances at her surroundings. My limited amount of instincts command me to hide behind a nearby bookcase.

"That was strange," she mumbles. "I could have sworn I saw…a cat."

"Annie!" I smack my forehead afterward.

"Hello?" the burgundy-haired girl calls. "I can hear you."

Gradually, I unveil myself. And Annie. "I'm sorry."

"So I did see a cat." I nod as she resumes picking up her papers. "At least I know I'm not crazy."

I set Annie down and bend over to help her. I start rambling, hoping to find an explanation somewhere in between. "I didn't mean to bring her, she just tagged along. I'm sorry that she scared you and that you dropped your things and—"

Some of her papers have tiny wet splotches on them. I look at her face. Her eyes are chocolate pools, slightly pink and watery.

Her head goes down abruptly. "Where did the time go?" she laughs. It's fake and forced, though.

I try to tell myself it's no business of mine, but I can't help saying something. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

I don't pester her to talk to me, but neither of us moves from our spots on the floor. I wait for her to tell me to leave, yet she never does.

"My name's Akiza," she murmurs.

I started reading a book I've read before in the time we weren't talking and put it down. "That's really pretty," I comment. "Oh, and I'm Maria. It's nice to meet you."

And, again, it's quiet. A good quiet, like the silence itself is whispering words in our ears.

I just really hope she's okay. And that maybe we'll be friends. That would be nice.

"I'm getting kind of hungry," I hear her say. She puts some things in her schoolbag and stands. Her back is turned to me, but I still wave. The clack of shoes against the tile floor stops after several steps, causing me to look back up from my book.

"You're coming, aren't you?" she says.

My mouth swings open. "I'm…invited?" She nods. "Oh. Oh! I should probably get off the floor then!" I laugh.

This whole time I thought I was bothering her.

"And you should probably hide your cat, too."

I give a sheepish grin as I put Annie back in my tote. "So where do you want to go?"

"There's this really good smoothie place across the street that we can go to, if you want."

And that's where we go. We don't sit for too long and don't talk about too much because Akiza says she has to go study for a test. But we exchange phone numbers and make plans to meet up when she's free.

I'm really happy, Mom. So incredibly happy right now.

And that's what I said I wanted, to be happy.

Not everything you want…

So why doesn't happiness feel like the slap of joy I thought it'd be?

…is what you need.

Stay tuned for more cat-tastic Annie-tics (you see what I did there :D)!

TTFN