Page 1 of Mistaken Magic

Chapter One

Therewas a strange creaking coming from the back wheel.Itdidn't quite sound like it was going to fall off, but it fit the rest of this car, some twenty-year-old luxury thing that was so far past its prime, it had become a joke.I'dgotten pretty good at figuring out my latest foster family by the type of vehicle they drove to pick me up.Inthis case, it wasn't good.

Theinterior was covered in cracked and brittle leather.Theheadliner was loose and looked like someone had tried to glue it back up.Yeteven though it was the middle of winter, the outside had been washed and waxed.Ihadn't seen a single scratch beforeIgot in, soI'dexpected some kind of lovingly maintained classic car.WhatIgot instead was pretty on the outside, rotten in the middle.

Everythingabout this car said the owners wanted to make a good impression without doing all the hard work.Ifthey'd put half the effort on the inside of the car or the mechanics, it could've been a decent vehicle.Instead, it might look good, but the thing was ready to fall apart.Icould only assume they treated everything else like this, including their foster kids.

Butthat was how it went, wasn't it?Allpeople cared about were how things looked.Appearances, impressions, andopinions were the real currency this world ran on, andI'dlearned that the hard way.Withmy history, ifIwanted a chance, thenI'dhave to make sureIdidn't make a single mistake this time - andIdesperately wanted that chance.

SoIsat there with my hands clasped in my lap, watching the patchwork of snow-dusted farmland pass outside the window.Inthe front seat,Mr. andMrs.Sparkstalked softly.Icouldn't quite hear their words over the squeaking of the back wheel, butIhad a feeling that was intentional.Mrs.Sparkswas reassuring the mister about something - which was probably me.Notmany people wanted a seventeen-year-old foster kid.Thatwas howI'dended up with them.

TheSparks' place wasn't exactly a group home, but it wasn't far off.Myprevious advocate had told me they had seven other foster kids: three boys and four girls.Allof them were older, getting close to aging out.Thiswas the last, desperate place for kids like me who didn't fit anywhere else.IfIcouldn't make it here, thenIwouldn't be able to make it anywhere.

Soright now,Iwas on my best behavior.Hopefully, it would be good enough to make these people happy, butIhonestly had no clue whatIwas doing.Accordingto my file,Ijust couldn't settle.Iself-sabotaged.Yeah, and there were a few other phrases like that in there that all basically translated to me pissing off the people willing to take in a kid no one else wanted.Itwasn't intentional, though!

Butthat was howI'dbecome the foster child who got bounced around every few months.WithNovemberjust starting,Ihad a little under a year left of high school, and this move meantIhadn't spent a whole year at the same place sinceI'dbeen in the eighth grade.Iwas officially a rubber bouncy ball.Throwme at something, andI'dping off it with miraculous agility, only to end up lost in the dust bunnies under the sofa.

God,Ihated my life.

Yet, when the car pulled off the highway,Istarted to pay attention.Plainsboro,Iowa, was a new town for me.Googlesaid it had a population of just under thirty thousand people, one high school, and one private college well outside town.Nomalls, no movie theaters, and the largest industry was agriculture.Gofigure.Although, whatIsaw as we drove through it made me dare to hope.

Thestreets were quaint, but the square had some real businesses, including an old-fashioned ice cream parlor.Atleast two stores sold clothes.Isaw one restaurant and a game store.Ok, soIhadn't jumped back into the dark ages;I'djust landed in podunk-middle-of-nowhere's-ville.

Afew blocks further on,Mrs.Sparkstapped her window, raising her voice to me. "That'sthe high school you'll be attending next week,Lorraine.I'mfriends with the principal, so we can get you into some good extracurricular activities.Sports, or maybe band?"

"Inever learned how to play an instrument,"Iadmitted, "andI'mpretty sure they require me to have been in a sport at my last school to get into one here."

"Thenmaybe debate," she said. "Kidsyour age need clubs to keep you engaged and out of trouble.Youwillparticipate in something,Lorraine.Eitheryou can choose, orIwill.Wewon't allow you to simply be a delinquent."

Yeah, andI'dalways wanted to do those sorts of things, butI'dnever had the chance.EverytimeI'dtried,I'dbeen toldIshould've started sooner.SinceIhad no experience, it was too late to join now.BecauseIwasn't part of the team, or group, or club,Icouldn't simply jump in halfway through the semester.Rejection.Alwaysrejection, and it sucked.Butif this woman thought she could make it happen, thenIsure wasn't going to stop her.

"I'msureIcan find something onceIlook at the options, ma'am,"Isaid politely.

Sheturned in her seat to look at me.Afrown flicked over her face before she turned back, but her tone was a warning. "Believeit or not, we know what we're doing, child.Andwe've got some more appropriate clothes for you, too."

Uh, there was something more appropriate than a blue cable-knit sweater and jeans?IthoughtI'dfound something pretty unobtrusive.Thefirst day with a new family, it was always a good idea to be boring.Howmuch more boring couldIget?Thenagain, my record made my choice of clothing moot.

Somy only good option was to say nothing.BecausewhileIwas willing to bust my ass to prove myself,Istill had limits.Toomany times,I'dseen kids screw themselves over.Somewere people pleasers, willing to do anything to make their latest foster parents happy.Unfortunately, enough foster parents were creeps, which made that abadidea.Theother half went the other way, fighting so hard against everything they ended up causing their own problems.

Itwas basically a no-win situation for us.Ok, and maybeIwas bitter about it.Iwas also a realist.IfIwanted to succeed in life, thenIhad to play the game.Ineeded to be a perfect little addendum to this familyI'dbeen assigned.Ihad to get itrightthis time.

WhileIwas silently feeling sorry for myself in the back seat, we pulled into my new "home."Thehouse was an old two-story farmhouse sort of thing.Itcould've been adorable if it was kept up, but just like the car, it had been shined instead of loved.Theexterior was painted a shocking shade of baby blue, yet the cracked and peeling paint from the last coat was visible.Thehandmade sign by the door that declared it as "home sweet home" leaned precariously, as if it had long ago been forgotten.

Thisplace seemed to be on its last leg, but the paint was definitely fresh.Maybelast year's attempt to hide the decay?Nevermind the obvious lack of cars either in the drive or parked by the curb.Withso many kids my age or older, there should have been at least someone who could drive, right?Thelack of vehicles made this place feel a bit like a prison.

Atleast it wasn't isolated.Theentire street was filled with older homes like this.Mostof them had vintage cars or trucks with obvious rust around the wheels.Itlooked like the sort of neighborhood a grandparent would live in, where time had done its best to stand still while the rest of the world continued to move on.Ihated it on sight, knew that wasn't fair, and still couldn't stop myself.

Maybethat was just my resentment at my lot in life?Ididn't know.WhatIdid know was that over and over,I'dtried as hard asIcould, and yet somehow,Istill couldn't manage to be what people wanted.Butthis time, things were going to be different.I'dmake sure of it.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to shuffle my things inside.Myentire life consisted of a black suitcase - one wheel chipped so it didn't even roll properly anymore - and a nylon bag.I'dgiven up on anything cool.Somethingalways got lost, usually whateverIloved the most, and the next family would have rules against anythingIfound fun.Nolaptop, no tablet, and not even a cell phone.AllIhad were a couple of old books no one could complain about and two weeks’ worth of clothing.Thenthere was my bear.

Theohad been with me through all of this.I'dbeen five when the cop - also namedTheo- had given him to me to keep me entertained while they waited forChildProtectiveServices.Thebear had been cute enoughIdidn't remember a thing about them carrying out my dad's body.He'dcaught my tears when they took my mom away to jail.Now, he was a little threadbareand worn, but that stuffed animal was the one thingI'dkeep with me forever.Hewas basically the only familyIhad left, since my mom would be in prison for the rest of her life.

"Let'sshow you the room,"Mrs.Sparkssaid, turning me to the stairs.

Herhusband simply dropped my suitcase on the couch.Whenhe started to unzip it,Iturned back, but the wife kept tugging.Damn,Ihated the first day in a new place.Inever knew what was expected, but ifIwanted to start off on the right foot,I'dfollow.

Withone last glance back,Ilet her lead me up the stairs and into what was little more than a storage closet plastered with store-bought art.Everythingwas a pale, sickly yellow.Pissyellow, ifIhad to name it.Notbuttercup or even vanilla, just gross, like puke, but not even that pretty.

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