"I hate you," Doc whined as I gave him back his journal.

"Good," I said, smiling.

My name is Saddie L. Tunstall and I am John Tunstall's daughter. My dad has been taking in boys who don't have a place to go since I was ten. First came Josiah G. Scurlock. Then Dick, Charlie, Steve, then Chavez. He took in Josiah (Doc) a week after my mother died. Me and him haven't gotten along since. Just recently, he took in William H. Bony, Billy for short. He gets on my nerves more than Doc ever did.

"I'll tell you something Chavez," I overheard Steve one time. "That kid never shuts his pie hole."

"Just like you?" Chavez spat.

I had personally liked Chavez better than any of 'em. I respected Dick for being the quietest and most mature, but Chavez understood me. I'd be surprised if he didn't understand everyone.

"Nup," Steve disagreed. "Just like you." He lodged a wad of chew in his mouth and flounced off.

That was one thing about Steve that I never liked: he had no manners.

I'm about Doc's age, Billy's height, and Steve's weight. I have blue-green eyes and long, sandy blonde hair.

Although Doc and I where twenty, we still fought like children. As I said, my dad has been taking homeless boys in since I was ten and Doc was the first. I didn't think of him as my brother like I do Chavez, a friend like Dick, or a no one like Billy. He wasn't someone I didn't talk to like Charlie, or someone I wouldn't talk to like Steve. He was just . . . there; sometimes I noticed him, sometimes I didn't. When I did, I was mostly taunting him or punching him. I've done a lot of physical damage to his things and probably caused a lot of emotional pain. Although I knew he was tough and could handle himself, I started to feel bad.

Because of what I did to him when we were younger, he wont accept my apologies or accept the fact that I want to be my friend.

"I'm sorry Doc," I said after he flipped through his journal to see if all his poems and notes were intact.

"If there's one thing I know about you Saddie," he began, smiling. "It's that you're never sorry."

I held strongly to his innocent gaze and repeated my self. "I'm sorry Doc."

He stifled a small, hurt filled laugh and shook his head.

"I mean it."

"Doc, Saddie," John called. "Come get your dinner."

I fallowed Doc out of the room and to the dinner table.

"Hi Saddie," Steve said with his mouth full.

"Hey Steve," I greeted back, taking a seat next to Doc.