Seriously, woman, let go.
“Jane, I know you haven’t had much luck within any of those places I put you,” she sighed. “I tried to do my best. Believe me.”
“Well, you didn't do good enough, did you?”
She narrowed her eyes, clearly fed up with my shit. “These people are great. They are rich, have their own kid, and they want to adopt you, not just be your guardians. You know the difference, don’t you?” She was talking to me as though I was dumb and hadn’t spent my whole life in this fucked up system.
“Sure do. Guardians get the money from the state for watching me.” It was one of the reasons Audrey and William never signed papers to finalize the adoption. The money helped to pay the bills and, hey, good for them. “Adoption means, legally, I become their kid, so they can never get rid of me.”
She nodded and smiled with satisfaction. “See? So you can understand that you would be set and nothing bad could happen.”
Was this woman nuts?
“I think they are freaks who freaking want to adopt a teenager, and it’s not normal.”
She removed her glasses, and pinched her nose. “I tried to prepare you for this, but don't forget I don't need your permission. You’re going to be part of the Armstrong family, whether you want it or not.” Anne finished coldly. It was impossible to reason with her.
Fuck, I was screwed.
New York, New York
Jane, 14 years old, 2 months after Trenton
“Well, where is this perfect American family?” I asked Anne, while holding my backpack and drinking Coke from a can. We were standing at a busy airport gate for the arrivals, waiting for those freaks, as I called them, to pick me up. The papers were finalized, and I was officially part of their family. Fuck me, seriously. For some reason, they couldn't come to Trenton, so they sent tickets for Anne and me. We traveled first class with all those big seats and stewardesses who were nice, even if you spilled something on them.
“Jane, behave. Let’s not make them angry with you on the first day,” she said, and her words made me chuckle.
“What are they going to do? It’s not like they can get rid of me.”
Before she could say anything else, we saw them. There was no doubt it was them, because they were staring at us and had a paper in their hands that said Jane Armstrong.
The man was tall. He towered over his wife. He wore an expensive suit, and the way it hugged his body, he obviously worked out. His eyes were deep brown, and his hair was sandy blond. Overall, he was handsome, I guess, and had a kind smile. The woman he hugged was different. She had emerald green eyes, long black hair that fell in waves down her back, and the top of her head barely reached her husband’s shoulders. Her body was slender, and she was wearing a strapless white summer dress, which hugged her curves. She had tears in her eyes, and for some reason, the image was familiar to me. It was as if I’d seen this woman before. But I just shook my head, because where would I have met this woman?
Then there was the boy.
He was standing in the middle, in front of them with their hands on his arms, and had a rose in his hand. He had brown eyes, black hair, and tanned skin like me. In fact, he looked a lot like me. Which was weird, I guess, but then maybe they made sure the new kid matched theirs? Life in foster care made it easy to guess the age of kids by small details, and this boy was very attached to his mama, which meant he was around five or six.
Perfect little family indeed.
Anne grabbed my elbow and pushed me toward them, ignoring my glare.
“Be nice,” she warned, causing me to roll my eyes and plaster a smile on my face.
“Hello, Jane,” the woman said softly, almost caressingly, and somehow, her voice triggered some memories. It was a weird feeling. I was always sensitive to sounds, and her voice sounded so familiar.
Hell, maybe with all her money and shit, she was some kind of celebrity.
Since I was silently staring at them, Anne jabbed me slightly. The action wasn't missed by those people either.
“Hey.” My voice was bored and uninterested. What was the point of all this anyway? They were probably weirdos. Why would they need a grown-ass kid otherwise?
“We’re happy you’re here.” The man’s voice was deep and commanding. Probably no one ever said no to him. “My name is Marcus, and this is my wife, Carissa.”
“Yeah, okay.” There wasn't much else to say, but by the way his knuckles tightened on her shoulders and she hugged closer to him, they weren't happy with my reactions.
Well, then.
Big fucking surprise.
Suddenly, the rose was in my face, and I looked down to the boy who raised it high.
“Hello,” he told me, and then kept those huge eyes of his on me. “Yo,” he giggled. Only God knew why, and then he pushed the rose again.