Disclaimer; I own nothing. Except Sabree, and the whole foster home. I don't know a lot about skateboarding, I'm just a fan of Lords of Dogtown. If you don't like my story, don't read it. Don't comment me to bitch about how bad a writer I am. I don't care. Mmkay?
"Mr. Jones? This is Paula Walker from the foster home. It looks like we've found you and your wife a foster child. Mhm, yes. We'll bring her by as soon as possible."
Click. I watch as Paula hangs up the phone and then makes her way over to me. Bet she's relieved to get rid of me. . .again.
"Well, Ms. Thomas, it looks like we've found you yet another a foster home. Start packing, Sean will be here soon to take you to meet the Jones' family. So, do hurry.
I look up at her. Did I care? Not really. She knows I don't care. She knew I never cared, so why did she even bother telling me? She passes me smile. I simply roll my eyes and blow her off, as per my usual routine.
I think I'm too harsh on Paula sometimes. Most of the time, it does seem like she really cares about my well-being. But, then again, she does own a foster home. . .
"C'mon, ya little punk, I ain't got all day!" Sean swears loudly at me and I take my sweet ass time to wander over to the car. It's when he's in a pissy mood like this that makes me appreciate being taken away from my drunk of a father, and his slut of a girlfriend. "And this time, don't do anything to fuck it up. Frankly, I'm tired of having to do this over and over again, six fucking times a month. So, just stop doing your drugs and keep your skinny ass out of trouble."
I can't say I blame Sean for the way he acts towards me. I even get sick of the way I act sometimes, so that's saying something. But, I certainly don't go in and out of foster care six times a month! Three times at the most, but it's not my fault the families they send me to don't give a rats ass about me.
He pops the trunk. I toss my bags, skateboard into the back, hop into the passengers seat, and settle in for the ride.
About 20 minutes later, we arrive at a house. An actual house. Not an apartment, but instead a large estate. 'Great.' I think, rolling my eyes. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Sean pulls my stuff out of the trunk of the car, then yanks me out. He puts on his 'happy' face as he escorts me to the cloud white front door of the house and knocks on the door.
A middle aged couple answers the door. The male looks in his late 40's, with curly brown hair, graying in some areas. The woman is maybe in her mid 30's, with bleach blonde hair. It has to be dye. I know this because Karen, my dad's girlfriend, buys the exact same shit. They smile at me, and a boy around my age sneaks up behind them, quietly trying to sneak a peek into what's going on.
"You must be from the foster home. Please, do come in." The woman says with a large, flashy smile while opening the door to us. I look at Sean. I can tell his more than thrilled to come in.
I know Sean. And all Sean wants to do is leave me here so he'll never have to put up with any of my shit again.
"Well, as you know, my name is Mia and this is my husband, Larry," she says to me, but then she points to her teenage son, "And, this is my son, Tyler. I'm sorry, dear, it seems Mrs. Walker never told me your name?" she asks me, and brushes a strand of my platinum blonde hair out of my face, so her green eyes come in contact with my steel gray ones.
I sigh, looking at Sean in a pleading manner. 'Please, don't tell me I have to stay here.' I think, but Sean just gives me a smirk and silently laughs at me like the jackass he is. I look around one more time. "Sabree."
"Beg pardon?" Mia asks.
I clear my throat, "Sabree. My name is Sabree."
She nods, and smiles at me. "Well, Sabree, I think that you'll find it very comfortable at our house. Tyler, be a dear and show her to her room."
Tyler rolls his eyes, and grabs my stuff, "C'mon." he mutters.
I shrug, and follow. He opens the door to my room. It's huge. A queen sized bed, a huge window, and a fairly sized closet.
"Shit." I mutter, plopping down on the bed to take it all in. This is maybe five times the size of my room when I lived with my dad. I look over at Tyler, who takes a seat on the edge of my bed.
"So, foster girl," he begins, watching me as I unpack my stuff, "why are you a foster girl?"
I stop, and look at him inquisitively, "Didn't your parents' fill you on this?" I ask. Tyler shakes his head, and a few strands of chestnut colored locks fall in the way of his piercing green eyes, defiantly inherited from his mother.
"Nah, they kept me in the dark about this whole thing."
I shrug, setting down a pair of messily folded pants. "They took me away 'cause my old man's a drunk and he's abusive."
An awkward silence filled the room, and Tyler takes a sudden interest in the ground. He looked like he had regret asking. He changes the subject after he gets a glance at my board, "You skate?"
He smirks, and rolls his eyes, "Come with me. You new to Dogtown?
I'm baffled. Dogtown? I'm assuming he means Venice, at least the ghetto, where we live now. I nod instead of asking questions.
"Well, Mom and Dad are gunna make me show you around eventually, so I'll get it over with now. C'mon, foster girl."
"Foster girl? Cute, but I prefer Sabree." I bark, pulling an aged black hoodie over my head. I've had this thing for so long, I think that if I washed it, it might very well dissinagrate in the washing machine.
"Whatever, just grab your board and let's go."
"Dude, Ty, who's the chick?" I glance over at a Mexican boy with frizzy gold hair who proposed the question.
"Member how I told you 'bout that foster kid my parents were taking' in?" he said, forcing me into a spin, as if to show me off, like I was some grand prize for a skateboard competition or something. Then he gives me a shove forward, "Foster girl herself. Foster girl, this is Tony. Tony, this is foster girl."
He has listening issues, doesn't he? I think.
"Sabree, my name is Sabree. Not foster girl."
"F-foster?" The youngest boy of the group asks, his large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Foster, as in the place they took her out of wasn't good enough for her." The third boy snorted, picking something out of his teeth. "Bet she can't skate for shit."
The final, and tallest, of the boys rolls his eyes, and hooks a strand of long, blonde hair behind his ear, "Nice, Jay. Real nice. I'm Stacy. That jackass over there is Jay, and that's Sid." He says, and extends his hand out for a friendly hand shake.
I look at his hand, then back up at him. He seems decent enough. I forgo my less than pleasant persona, and put on a sincere smile, before taking this Stacy boy's hand. "Sabree," I state, then move over to Jay, getting as close to his face as humanly possible, "And I could trash your blonde ass any day."
Jay scoffed, "Yeah, I'd like to see that."
Again, I see Stacy roll his eyes. A long, awkward pause lingers in the air. Sid's first to break the silence, "So, why did they put you in foster care in the first place?" He asks, sheepishly. Almost as if I'd flip shit on him right then and there.
I shrug, "Well, my dad likes to drink, smoke pot and beat the shit out of me on almost a daily basis." I say, nonchalantly.
They all look stunned. Stunned because I'm just. . .straight foreword about it.
"Hey, ya little grommets, its ten bucks to browse." I look back, and see a middle aged man, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, a vodka bottle wrapped in his left hand, and sunglasses dangling in the other.
"Yo, Skipper, this is Sabree. The foster kid my moms been yappin' about." Tyler says, forcing me around yet again.
"Ahoy there, Sabree." He slurs, and his gaze lands on my board. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, "So you skate, huh?"
I nod and tap my skateboard with my fingernails, "Look's like it."
"Sabree, come on, we gotta bail. Mom gets tweaked if we're late for dinner."