1 The ancient springs beneath me creaked loudly as I slowly made my way out of bed. My off-white, donated nightgown flowed smoothly towards my ankles while I slowly climbed out of bed. The slightly wrinkled calender hanging on the wall above my bed told me that in just one moth's time, I would turn eleven. June seventeenth was my birthday, and although I knew to expect nothing more than a simple cupcake with a candle sticking out, it was nonetheless special.

My roommate, Charlotte, was still fast asleep– it was a Saturday, after all– as I made my way to our shared full-length mirror. A slim, willowy girl with radiant, slightly tanned skin stared back. Her shiny, gold-streaked hair fell straight down her back and gold-flecked, brown eyes were surrounded by thick lashes. I liked what I saw, but at times, I knew the other girls could see every one of my flaws though I tried to conceal them. The older girls yanked at my hair claiming it needed cut– that it was too long. They claimed my skin was a glowing orange even though my tan isn't fake. However, the younger girls seemed enchanted by my appearance, always wanting to braid my hair. Without examining my appearance for too long, I began to brush out the tangles with ease, and, knowing I'd be doing a few– or more than few– chores today, I slid my hair back into a ponytail. The clothes in my closet were all old, tarnished donations from charitable individuals. Without much thought, I slid into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt for it was a slightly chilly spring day.

The hallway was vacant for one as I made my way to the third-story bathroom. Like everywhere else in the house, it was old. Rust began to crawl on the sink knobs, and the scent of mold was ever present.

Without acknowledging the rust or moldy scent, I brushed my teeth and splashed my face with cold water.

"Axelle! Get down here and help me fold some clothes!" Miss Margaret, the woman in charge of the orphanage, had spotted me on the landing.

Sighing, I headed downstairs to help her. I was one of the elder girls at the orphanage, and I knew I must set an excellent example for the younger ones– after all, they were more likely to be adopted. However, it had been quite a while since an orphan had been adopted. I never wanted to be adopted because I knew my mother was out there somewhere. "Waiting until it's safe" as she put it in the letter she'd left me.

A mountainous pile of clothes greeted me as I entered the first-story sitting room. Miss Margaret stood over the mound of mostly pink clothes. She was a tall, fat woman with frizzy, dull hair but clever, little blue eyes. I greeted her good morning as I picked up a tiny littly, hot pink shirt and began folding.

The rest of the girls got up slowly, the last of whom joined us at around eleven. Miss Margaret typically was kind enough to let us sleep late on Saturdays but no later than noon. I was more of an early bird which meant more chores for me to do. Breakfast was served around ten and consisted of cold cereal or taster waffles. The budget was tight here at the orphanage so breakfasts weren't that varied or fancy. After breakfast, Charlotte and I cleaned up our shared bedroom.

Charlotte was typically nice, though her temper could flair up unexpectedly. Also, she had an ever present know-it-all attitude which bubbled under the surface of her personality. Large hips dominated her tall farm and not many jeans could fit well on her awkward body shape. Thin brown hair famed chubby cheeks that were often covered in acne. I've often speculated why she possessed such a passive aggressive, know-it-all attitude and came to the conclusion that she remains the oldest unadopted child at the orphanage at fourteen, resulting in insecurities. Whatever the case may be, I tried to stay out of her way.

With a sudden flair of her angry side, Charlotte slammed her shirt onto her bed, causing a slapping sound that resonated throughout the room.

"I can't believe you! You took my shirt again! Where is it?" She shrieked.

I sighed with frustration and said, "I didn't take it, Charlotte! I told you the last time that you simply lost it! I just found it for you the last time!" I yelled back, feeling my palms tingle with warmth.

Charlotte was under the impression that I stole her shirt a couple of weeks ago, even though it had simply been lost, and once I had found it, Charlotte was convinced that I had stolen it.

"Oh my gosh, Axelle, just hand it over! I need it for tomorrow!" Her high-pitched voice pierced my eardrums and began to give me a headache.

"It's not as if you're going to get adopted. The couple's looking for a toddler!"It was hurtful what I said, but Charlotte had gotten on my last nerve.

Charlotte grew red-faced and hot as she stomped over to where I was standing. I could see tears welling up in her eyes. My features were stone cold.

"Give me my shirt," she commanded through gritted teeth.

I glared right into her eyes. "I don't have it. Now leave me alone!" I pushed her away from me, and Charlotte fell back a bit.

Then, the unreasonable girl went to slap me as if she were my mother. Anger exploded within me, but Charlotte never slapped me. Her hand was frozen about an inch in front of my face. It was as if there was an invisible wall between Charlotte and myself. Charlotte was flabbergasted, and she tried once more to slap my face but to no avail.

Letting out one last shriek, Charlotte departed, her feet stomping loudly against the wooden floor.

Strange occurrences such as that were the norm for me, although it never ceased to amaze me. I had no idea how I did that, and I was curious to know if it had something to do with my mother. Now that Charlotte had left, I pulled from under my pillow a little wrinkled note. In gorgeous, slanted handwriting, it read:

This is my beautiful daughter, Axelle. Her birthday is June seventeenth. I will miss terribly, but she is not safe with me. When the time is right– when it is safe, we will be reunited once more

With love,

Charity Summers

I had snatched this note from Miss Margaret who'd accidentally left it in her pocket when she put a pair of her jeans in the pile to be washed. Since I was the only Axelle Summers in this orphanage, I knew athat this note was about me. My mother would come back one day. I was sure of it.

"Axelle! Did you take Charlotte's shirt?" Miss Margaret yelled from downstairs.

"No, ma'am!"I yelled back.

Nonetheless, the majority of the girls believed Charlotte and shunned me even more than usual. Luch was silent for me, siting alone, eating my soup and sandwich. Miss Margaret was used to Charlotte's dramatized stories by now and knew the whole incidence would be over with once Charlotte found her shirt.

The rest of the day dragged on slowly as I helped with the dishes, played with some younger girls' hair, swept the third floor, and dusted some shelves in the sitting room. By dinner, I was ravenous, though I had a nagging sens that my time here was drawing to a close. Charlotte was still furious with me, but I could also sense fear mingling within her. Whenever something strange occurred as a result of me, she would ignore it and certainly not tell anyone despite the face that they all knew how strange I was.

The next day, a young couple came to look at the orphaned toddlers playing in their play room. One was a shapely blonde in workout clothes while the other was a tall, dark-haired man in simple jeans and a t-shirt. I glanced frantically at Belle, a fragile, angelic toddler barely two years of age, who hated this place more than anyone. I secretly hoped that she'd get adopted as I headed upstairs with more laundry in my arms.

As fate would have it, she ended up leaving with the couple in merely two weeks. Belle clung to her new mother, and I prayed that one day, I would do the same with Mrs. Charity Summers– my true mother.