I hate the Foster System. It's not the fact that terrible people decide to get a fostering license, it's the fact that it's not a actual system. Systems are supposed to be easy, clean and have an effective, consistent now, I'm telling you that the Foster system is far from that. It if were an effective system, the poor girl infront of my would have a family.

"Do you need papers?" She asks, running her fingers through her curly brown hair. She's pretty, but it's clear that she's been going a lot of stress.

"For what?" I ask, staring at my feet. Even though both of us have had a taste of the Foster System, I don't know her personal experience. That's another reason why the Foster system shouldn't be called a system; it was made to help kids without families, but don't care about them.

"It's if you're in an bad Foster house," She explains, giving me a small smile. "So you can find a good place like me. I'm lucky. Really lucky."

"No. I don't need them. I have a family."

"So you're getting adopted?"

"I'm waiting for my dad to come back," I lie, shrugging. "Took off when I was younger."

"He won't come back. You're smart enough to know that."

"You don't know me." I say, probably too harshly, but I can't help my short temper. The simplest things affect my response to situations, and I hate it.

The girl sighs, shrugging. "Alright. My name is Callie Jacob, and I've been in the system for six years with my younger brother, Jude. We found a family about a year ago. Jude got adopted by them, but I didn't because it turns out that I had a biological dad that I have never heard of."

"Nice." I say blankly, and it's clear that my answer upsets her, and her shoulders shrug forward in defeat.

"What's your name?" Callie asks, and I internally groan. I hate telling people my name. It's one simple word, but it bothers me so much. Names aren't important in today's world. People either care about you or don't at all. Most of the people I tend to meet want nothing to do with me.

"Ellie," I answer, giving in to the look in her eyes, and she gives me a smile even though it's forced. "I've only been in the system for about a year and a half."

"Still enough to mess a kid up. That's why I volunteer here. To me, it doesn't matter how old you are or how long you've been in the system, it affects you in some way. I'm here to help."

"You're not helping these kids, Callie. They come here because they think it's safe and it's going to get them away from their foster parents. It's like you're trying to give them false hope." I say, not able to hold it back, but it's true. I come here almost every day because I'm trying to get away from my foster parents, and nothing has happened yet, even though I filled out papers; and that was almost a month ago.

"You know the last time you came here, you didn't talk at all."

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" I ask, sitting down on the couch.

"It just... Uh, surprised me actually that you were the one screaming at whoever that was."

"He was a asshole, and he started it. I was just defending myself." I grumble, remembering the fight that happened earlier. I wouldn't call it a fight, I would call it a very loud verbal debate.

"Yeah, but last week you were signing. Are you deaf or something?"

"I was born deaf. I promised my biological mom that I wouldn't sign anymore because she worked hard for me to be able to hear."

Callie doesn't say anything else, except for a small sorry. Atleast that's what I think it is as she starts to look sympathetic. Just another person thinking that being deaf is a sad thing. Maybe for some people it is, but I don't mind it at all. Callie walks away, and I pull out the book from my backpack.

My mom hated books too. My mom hated just about anything I loved. She would always yell at me and say that books were just filling my head with fantasy and worlds that would never exist. I know that, of course, but she didn't understand why that's I read. It used to take me away from her. I don't see why it mattered to her so much, it's not like it affected her life.

Even though she was my mom, our lives were completely different. And from some of the girls I've met, they seem to have similar lives. My mom did whatever my mom did. I went to school with my younger brother and made sure that my uncle had something to eat. It wasn't a hard life, expect for the fact that my mom brought drama with her everywhere. She would do something stupid and ask me to help her fix it before my Dad came home from where the Army took him to.

He would always leave for nine months and come back for five. He died when I was 13, so I've only actually known him as my dad for about six years of my life. My dad was the greatest man I ever knew. I'm not saying it because he's my dad, I'm saying because it's true. If I ever meet somebody better than him, I wouldn't hesitate to say so.

It would be hard, though. My dad was so easy to get along with, it still surprises me why would he ever want to marry my mom, and that was the thing about him. He actually loved people. That's why he married my mom, even though he knew that there was a good chance that she would somehow ruin their marriage. Or that she would never love him back in the same way.

"Hey, uh, Ellie?" Callie asks, and I look up at her. "Mike's here for you. Remember when filled out those papers when you first came here? Well, Mike's here to bring you to your new home since your social worker can't make it."

He's too lazy to do anything, that's why. I think as I look behind her to the police officer. He's medium height and has short hair. Immediately, I have the urge to leave right then and there, to not say a word to either one of them. I don't want to spend the night with him. I much rather be alone with nobody looking for me. Atleast then I don't have to worry about anyone getting hurt.

Mike offers me a smile. "I'll take you back to your former foster parents to get your stuff then take you home, deal?"

I don't say anything. I just grab my bag as Callie stares at me, and I know she's upset that I've decided to not say anything.

Mike does what he promises. He takes me to the house I've been living in, and I ignore the yelling from my Foster dad. It only takes me a few seconds to get all my stuff, but Mike is sitting at their table. "Next time I'm here, it's to take away your Foster license." He promises, and I groan internally.

"I'm sorry," Mike says as we walk out the door. I shrug. "Hey kiddo, I really am. It's not okay for people to treat kids like that. I promise I won't let it happen again."

His promise means nothing to me. By now, the only thing that will surprise me is if he does some how keep it. We get in the car, and even though I don't know him, I trust him. I trust him enough to get comfortable in the seat as he stares at me, and I know it's because he does feel sorry for me.

"It's okay to go sleep. Nobody's gonna hurt you, you know that right? It's my job to make sure that doesn't happen," Mike laughs nervously, and I nod. I'm thankful for this. I really am. I just hate the fact that he's trying to help me. I don't deserve it. "I'll find you some kind of home, okay?" He asks.

I don't answer.

Mike sighs, almost angrily, and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "I can't tell what you're thinking. So we'll just drive through the night until we find some kind of home, okay?"

A/N: TADA IT'S MIKE. I'M REALLY PROUD OF MYSELF FOR WRITING THIS STORY BECAUSE FOR ONCE IT'S NOT BRALLIE CENTRIC. Anyways what do you guys think so far?