―ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕆𝕟𝕖―

  The diaphanous leather steering wheel squelched loudly under the painfully tight grip of Karen Forbes; my assigned social worker. Catching sight of the displeased look on her face, my thumbs twiddled together numbly over my lap. Once again I had required Karen Forbes to pick me up and find me a new foster family.

  Karen Forbes was a skinny woman with strict sharp features. Her appearance was that of a middle-aged lady with a face full of forming wrinkles and graying straw-blond hair. I had known Karen since I was a baby first placed into the orphanage. She wasn't necessarily mean, but she did get irritated rather easily, something which wasn't good for me considering the number of bothersome instances I was involved in.

  These instances happened for as long as I could remember. Apparently; as I've been told, when I was six months old I was dropped off at the door of Salem Orphanage. No one saw who dropped me off, nor did anyone have any clue about my birth parents.

  After finding me outside, the matron found nothing but a small paper reading the lines,
❛Clara Casterson.
Born: Salem, Oregon; December 13, 2004.
Death: To Be Decided.❜

  It gave the matron quite the scare, to say the least; however, that was only the first of the many peculiar situations which surrounded me. With no indication of who my parents could possibly be, other than the fact that I was unquestionably biracial. One of my parents being a Caucasian and the other of some sort of African descent.

  Of course, the orphanage tried looking me up in the system, everyone shocked when they found nothing on the name Clara Casterson being born on December 13, 2004. They even went as far as to search the whole month, only to get the same results as before. No Clara Casterson born in Salem, Oregon in December of 2004.

  There was no option other then for them to simply register me with information that the paper said. Since there was no identification of who I truly was, it was impossible for anyone to even attempt tracking down a relative, and so, I was immediately put up for adoption.

  It didn't take long for a newborn baby to be adopted, so within a few days of being listed a happy couple who were unable to have children of their own adopted me. Jake and Paula Cooley lived in Boise, Idaho; a city which was a state over and four-hundred miles away.

  The couple was nice enough, the only downside was that they were extremely religious. For the first month with them, everything was good. Month two was when things took a turn for the worst. It was also the second occurrence of an oddity of events that would begin shaping my life.

  I can't remember, but according to the couple, every time I cried, windows shattered. At first, they marked it off as coincidental, but after it began happening with every cry from my mouth it was undeniably me. Paula's exact words were; ❛she's the devil's child❜, and they brought me to the nearest orphanage after a short three months.

  Linkin's Children Haven was the name of the orphanage I was brought to. That was also the place I first met Karen Forbes. She was young and optimistic then, she believed by taking me she would be able to find me a permanent family in no time. Oh, how bitterly disappointed she would soon become.

   After three months in Linkin's Children Haven, Karen found me a newlywed gay couple in Los Angeles, California. Shipped off to the beachy-sunny state, my newborn self met Shane and Gary Young. Both males were ecstatic, a lot more lenient than the Cooleys.

  It was seven months after they adopted me that instead of windows breaking, stuff floated. At first, Shane and Gary didn't mind it, it was only after a glass cup went soaring through the air and hit Gary's mom on the back of the head that they had to send me back. Gary and Shane sent me to Angel Orphanage, one of the many orphanages in Los Angeles.

  Two years of my life were spent there in that orphanage, it wasn't until I was four that I was once again adopted. This time, I traveled to Seattle, Washington where Sherry and Dallas Wagner awaited their new child's presence. Alike to the others, they were nice, but they also didn't like to deal with weird things.

  That personality trait in itself sealed our fate before we even met. One tantrum where windows shattered, and items were sent flying through the air was all it took for them to send me to the local Seattle orphanage without so much as a goodbye. My time with them was barely even five months.

  Another two years were spent at the local Seattle Orphanage and just before I was six years old, I was once again adopted. This time, I got to go back to my birth state. Carson and Lori Shay lived a wealthy slightly snooty lifestyle in Portland, Oregon. Unlike many of my prior 'parents', Carson and Lori were completely able to have children, both were at the prime age for it and were more than wealthy enough.

  The reason they didn't have their own child was that in Lori's own words, she didn't want pregnancy to ruin her  ❛beautiful immaculate body❜, along with not wanting to deal with a crying baby. That was why I; an almost six-year-old child, was adopted by them.

  Unsurprisingly, the young couple barely paid me attention, usually too wrapped up in other things. It was the nanny they hired that took care of me, and unfortunately, that nanny was also terrified of the things I could do. Because the Shay's paid no mind to me, they never noticed the queer things that occurred around me.

  Much to my own shock, out of everyone I was previously adopted by, I was with them the longest. A year and a half to be exact. Ironically, it wasn't the things I could do that made me leave them, Carson and Lori never even realized what I could do.

  However, it was due to the abilities that I had to leave. It was an average night when my seven-year-old self got curious as to how far I could push my abilities. I still remember that night so clearly, I was sitting in my room playing around with a candle. In my mind, I thought maybe if I focused enough I would be able to mimic the fire.

  Unfortunately, I was right.

  Thirty seconds was all it took for the fire to spread, fifteen minutes in total for the house to go up in flames killing everyone inside except for me. The authorities are still at a loss for how I possibly survived.

  The death of the Shays closed one chapter in my life and opened up another. Once again, I was sent back to the orphanage I started at; Salem Orphanage. Karen Forbes was horrified to hear the news of the Shays untimely death, along with perplexed as to exactly how I was still alive. She never outright said it, but I can tell she knows I was the reason for their death.

  Even if it was an accident, I was at fault for the death.

  The orphanage and Karen both deemed that I was too old to stay listed for adoption, but we all knew the real reason they took me off the adoption list. The real reason that no one dared utter in front of me was the honest fact that I was too dangerous to allow anyone else to adopt me, the death of the Shays was a sheer example of that. Bad luck simply followed everywhere I went at this point.

  Unable to just keep me at the orphanage without being listed for adoption, Karen Forbes placed me into the Foster Care system. Right away, I was sent away from Salem to the riverside flat plains of Austin, Texas. There I lived with Denise and Marilyn McCloud.

  They had two other children, both young boys no older than three and four. I was with them for six months, it was only when I went to school that my teacher tried making me read in front of the class. Being in and out of orphanages and homes all my life, I didn't exactly have the most prestigious academic history.

  In other terms, when it came to book-smarts I was a lost cause, utterly stupid. Math was by far my worst, my skill level equivalent to that of a first-grader. Reading was a close second, I was able to read just enough to slip by, but ask me to read anything more than a worksheet and I couldn't do it. Science and history weren't as bad as reading and math, but still pretty horrible.

  And so, obviously, when my teacher tried to put the pressure on me to read something from the textbook I lashed out. It was an accident; of course, I didn't mean to set her horrible looking plaid skirt on fire.

   A few hours later, Mr. and Mrs. McCloud thought I was too dangerous to be around their children and called Karen refusing to house me any longer. Karen Forbes who was no longer as optimistic as before, sulked while scrambling to find me another place.

  Chicago, Illinois was next on the map for me. I spent a solid six months in Chicago being fostered by Randall Dean, a chain-smoker addicted to gambling. It was fine at first, both of us simply stayed out of each other's way. However, when I was barely able to get any sleep at night because Randall always had his creepy-looking friends over to gamble was when the turning point happened.

  Now, I didn't directly use my abilities on him, in fact, this was probably one of the most peaceful households I had ever been in. But, nights when Randall gambled downstairs with his friends, I subconsciously wished him to lose. It didn't occur to me until after he had called Karen claiming I gave him bad luck that I realized, per my wish, I actually had been making him lose.

    I stayed with Randall for just over six months when Karen had come to pick me up. The next household was another Jesus-save-me sort in New Orleans, Louisiana. Gregory and Lucy Brodeur were even crazier about the Bible than the Cooley couple were.

  That was why I knew the second an incident occurred that was deemed ❛unholy❜ in the slightest, I would be out of there. For a year, I managed to hide my abilities well-enough, and pretend to be as crazy about the Bible as they were. The reason I stayed with this God-is-always-the-answer couple, was for the pure fact of New Orleans.

  New Orleans seemed to pulse with a magnificent energy, energy which I found familiar to the type that throbs throughout me when I use my own abilities. The oscillating feeling is hard to describe, all I knew was that while walking the French Quarter of the Jazz filled city, everything in me felt completely tranquil.

  Almost like the place was a natural habitat for me, if that made any sense.

   However; school wise, New Orleans wasn't the nicest in that department. The school was full of a bunch self-entitled hicks; who, when given the chance prayed on any sort of weakness. Me being one of the dumbest kids in class book-wise made me a victim almost immediately.

  I ignored the mean jeers and harassment, after all, I only had to deal with it for seven hours. When the children realized I only ignored them, it made most give up. But not one kid.

  His name was Chucky Stewart, and he was known as the  ❛King of the Playground❜. Also, the biggest bully to ever hit New Orleans Central Elementary. The nine-year-old boy could easily pass for eleven he was that big.

  In Chucky's mind, it was his way or the high way. So, when I didn't respond to his taunting with tears like most other children would, he grew angry. Angry enough to push me off the swing-set when I ignored his words.

'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words could never hurt me.' That was the saying I lived by.

  Here was the thing about Chucky The Bully; as I called him, he was mean, but he never physically touched anyone. Yes, his stature for a nine-year-old may have looked threatening, but he never put his hands on another person. Unlike the movies and stories where children would come home beaten to a pulp, real-life for me wasn't like that. People were only ever mean to me by words and little things such as not sitting by me at lunch or not letting me play with them.

  So that's why when he actually pushed me to the ground everyone was surprised and when I looked at Chucky, I could see he was surprised with himself as well. Though, he tried not to let it show, keeping his face as cool as a nine-year-old boy possibly could.

  After that shove, I for once got angry. If people wanted to be mean to me by words and actions; fine, I didn't care. But no one pushed me. It was an odd feeling to be angry, I was usually so level-headed and shy. I barely spoke in my classes unless I was forced to and children my own age never generally got along with me. Even when I was at the orphanages, children still steered clear of me.

  After being pushed by Chucky, I decided even as cool as New Orleans was, it wasn't worth allowing people to treat me like this. Plus, the Brodeurs were beginning to drive me crazy with their ramblings on the good Lord every second of the day. I knew Karen would be upset when she had to get me; again, but I was also curious as to where on the map I'd end up next.

  It wasn't hard, with just a thought, I managed to send Chucky Stewart flying across half the playground, landing harshly on the steps leading up to the playset. My lips had curled into a victorious smile seeing Chucky begin to cry, I had made the big bad bully who made so many other children weep to cry out.

  Immediately, rumors spread about how I beat Chucky up with only my mind. When I had got back home to the Brodeurs, Gregory was already on the phone screaming to Karen about she gave him a 'demon child', and Lucy was keeping me at least ten feet away with a wooden cross.

  Karen who luckily was around New Orleans came quickly and took me away. This brought us up to my current point in time, after driving for a day and a half in a tense silence, Karen annoyed at me for getting myself kicked out of what was my seventh house at just nine-years-old.

  With a few phone calls, Karen alike to always managed to find another open foster home willing to take me in. Interestingly enough, this home was in Oregon, my birth-state, and the state where my last adoptive family had been.

  Except for this time, I was going to be nowhere near Salem or Portland, this time around my new home was in Astoria, an extremely small city that barely made the population requirements to be considered a city. It was located on the huge Pacific Columbia River, bordering Washington with endless forests surrounding it.

  Peering out the window of Karen's Chevy, I was able to tell based on the inherently cloudy skies and foggy green landscape that it rained, a lot. According to the GPS, we were about five minutes away from my new temporary home.

  Despite Karen's annoyance toward me, she had informed me that I would be living with a foster mother who was also fostering two other girls as well. Apparently, my new foster mother's name was Billie Myers and she was thirty-four. That was all I got out of Karen before she snapped at me to be quiet.

  Tracing shapes onto the foggy window, I tried guessing how long I would be in this home. How long until I accidentally slipped again, was the better question.

  For a second, I considered purposely trying to scare my new 'family' into giving me away again just to get out of the rainy little city. It was only September and the weather was already in the low forties, a complete 360 from New Orleans.

  Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind Oregon in the slightest, I was born here. However, I did mind when I was sent away to cold little cities where everyone no doubt either knows or knows of everyone.

  That idea was quickly banned from my mind when I thought of Karen's wrath about being kicked out another house so soon. Unsurprisingly, despite it being mid-day outside, barely anyone was on the road.

  My eyes wandered over the medium-sized hospital with the proud sign of 'Astoria General Hospital' posted broadly in the front lawn. Tilting my head seeing the parking lot filled with all kinds of nice cars, I wondered what it must be like to have a parent who had such a successful job that they were able to buy such great things.

  Pins pricked at my chest when I thought of parents. How it must be to come home from school and be greeted with a kiss from your mother or having your father walk in from work and sweeping you in for a loving hug.

  For me, that was a dream, and it would only ever be a dream. A shining black Mercedes caught my attention in the crowd of nice cars, that Mercedes Benz seemed to be the nicest of them all.

  'Just a dream.' I sighed at the thought, the vision of the hospital now replaced by a sea of mossy green nature.

  Sooner rather than later, Karen pulled the Chevy on the street in front of a decrepit one story house. Mold crept between the wooden boards of the outside walls, with a large peaked ceiling that looked as though it leaked everytime it rained. Which in this city was at the very least every other day.

  Over-grown weeds emerged from the ground outside the house, the sidewalk full of grass growing in between the cracks. When my eyes landed on the rusty mailbox looking as if it was ready to fall any day, I knew that for however long this was to be my home, it was going to be a struggle.

  Karen said nothing, her face reading that she was expecting the house to be in this sort of a state. Placing the car in park, Karen opened her door with a creak.

"Well come on then..." She rolled her eyes, holding the door open as she spoke, her gaze warning me to get out. "I don't have all day, I need to be back in Portland by tonight." Nothing more came from her lips as she slammed the door shut.

  Suddenly I was wishing that I just ignored Chucky Stewart, this place was not worth putting the bully in his place. I would take New Orleans over Astoria any day. Biting back a groan of frustration, I opened the door to the passenger side of the 2011 Chevy Impala.

  Hopping out of the red car, my worn boots hit the pot-holed street harshly. Even the air had a permanent stench of rain mixed with the stinky smell of sea-fish. A horrible combination if you ask me. Eerily enough, the house was situated just in front of the woods.

Yep, I would definitely take psycho Bible obsessed preachers over this.

  Turning, I began walking toward the other side of the car which was facing the very front of the house. Unfortunately, stuck in thoughts of how much I didn't like Astoria, I accidentally waltzed right into a puddle of water. Looking down seeing my soaked foot, I wanted to scream.

  These boots which were one size too small and a pair of converse two sizes too big were the only shoes I had. Those along with three t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, one jacket, and one hat were the only clothing items I owned. If there was one thing all my foster guardians had in common it was the fact that they were all too cheap to buy me things and they all pretty much kicked me out.

  Shaking my head, realizing there was nothing to be done about the soaked boots at this point, my feet carried me to where I was originally heading. One thing I hadn't noticed about the house before was the two incredibly cheap looking cars in the driveway.

  I didn't know enough about cars to tell exactly which type they were, all I knew was that both looked about ready to fall apart with anything sort of speed over sixty miles per hour.

  "Here," Karen forced my red backpack carrying all my legal paperwork and documents on my back, handing me the medium-sized violet colored suitcase holding all my clothing. "Listen, I know exactly what you're thinking, you better be in this house for at least a year before I get the usual hysteric call claiming some sort of incident involving those witchy powers of yours happened." My head was frantically nodding on its own in perturbed agreeance.

  My thoughts of Karen may have been brave, and despite wanting to chew out my mean-looking social worker, I didn't have the guts to do it in real life. In all of my short nine years of existence, my thoughts were always louder than my mouth. I wasn't particularly shy, but I was definitely not bold in any shape or form.

  Besides, I was only five feet tall and made of nothing but skin and bone. Mouthing off to Karen, the only person who arguably cares even the slightest about me; even saying that was a stretch, would cause for no good things to happen. All I could do was try my hardest to conceal the abilities and count down the days until my year here was up. If I was lucky, my next foster guardian(s) could be somewhere cool like New York or Florida.

  "Yes, ma'am." The words were spoken softly, Karen nodding in appreciation for the way I respected her.

  Grabbing my shoulder, she lightly shoved me toward the front door. "Go on, I don't expect to see you until next year." Sighing sadly at her words, I followed her orders marching my way to the cheap wood door.

  God, I wish I had parents. Why did baby me need to screw it up with Gary and Shane Young all those years ago? They were caring, plus they lived in warm Los Angeles.

  The sound of my suitcase rolling was familiar, and soon I was standing in front of the door. Raising my hand, I timidly knocked dreading who was going to answer. My eyes perked at the sound of shuffling coming from inside, and a few seconds later the door swung open.

  Small coughs escaped me as I was greeted by smoke, my eyes watering and closing on their own accord. Waving the smoke out of my face, I was finally able to open my eyes to see who exactly it was that opened the door.

  Standing holding a cigarette was a woman with hair an obvious dyed black and stone cold blue eyes. Her features suggested she was young in age, and yet years of cigars and what I assumed was drugs seemed to age her ten years.

  Her body was the odd sort of skinny that was brought on by over-exerted drug use. She was clad in extremely short jean shorts, too short for this kind of weather along with a tight white shirt. Much to my ultimate disgust, the shirt was so tight that her unnaturally large breast looked ready to pop out. Her feet were bare and I wished I could say the same of her face, but alas that was not the case. Instead, her face was covered in heavy makeup, and as much I didn't want to admit it, this woman looked like she belonged on the stage of a strip club.

  'Oh great, another chain-smoking Randall Dean.'

   I frowned at the voice in my head. As if my catalog of peculiarities wasn't long enough, there was something else to add onto that mile-long list. It wasn't often, but sometimes a female voice sounded about in my head. It wasn't louder than a whisper usually, and it would either warn me of oncoming danger or make the occasional snarky comment.

  It didn't sound in my head enough that I truly inquired about it. Instead, I simply checked it off as number one-hundred and one on my list titled; Oddities About Clara Casterson. Sometimes, I imagined that the adult female voice was what my mother sounded like.

  However, hearing this comment from the voice, my amusement sparked as I wondered whether or not this woman who I assumed was my new foster mom; Billie Myers had ever met my previous foster dad from a year ago; Randall Dean. They sure would make quite a couple, that was for sure.

  "Hi, you're..." Billie held out her cigarette blowing out a ring of smoke as she talked, her right eyebrow raised.

  It took me a good second when I realized she was asking for my name. As much as I wanted to make a negative face at her for not knowing what her new foster daughter's name was, I held back simply giving her what I assumed was a nervous smile.

  "Umm," I cleared my throat, speaking up. "Clara Casterson, I'm your new foster daughter." My voice was feathery, everything in me hoping she decided she didn't want another foster child so I could get out of Astoria.

  Lucklessly, her eyes lit up with recognition as she nodded. "Oh, yeah, yeah. Forgot I agreed to house another kid, sorry." She didn't sound very apologetic, opening the door wider with just enough space for me to squeeze through.

  Turning around, I sighed seeing Karen already driving off. So much for that.

  Walking inside, I was pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the house. The front door led straight into an ugly yellow carpeted living room, with a small television sitting on a stand just in front of a
beat up cotton couch. There wasn't much to the living room, the only noteworthy thing is the dinosaur computer on a small desk in the corner of the living room.

  Off to the side was a small hallway with four doors equally split on either side of the walls. Just as I predicted, the roof leaked based on the multiple buckets sitting randomly on the floors ready to catch any sort of liquid. Assuming the small door behind the couch led to a kitchen, I looked around seeing that there was no door leading to a backyard.

  Gosh, I can't decide if Randall Dean's crappy apartment or this house was worse.

  My face was blank when I caught sight of the weeds growing through the corners of the floor.

  Yep, this house was worse than Randall Dean's.

  Shutting the front door, Billie walked taking a seat on the couch. "Kora, Lauren, your new foster sister's here. Come say hello!" She hollered before taking another drag of her cigarette.

  Unconsciously, my nose wrinkled at it, myself making a promise to never even think about smoking in the future. Immediately, two doors opened in unison from the hallway, two girls stepping out walking into the living room.

  The first one I noticed was the older girl, looking about sixteen. Straight blonde hair fell down her back, her skin pale and eyes hard as she assessed me with a sort of crude judgemental look. She was attractive, no doubt the envy of other girls her age. Next to her stood a girl who was younger than blondie and yet still older than me. Probably thirteen at the most. Unlike her predecessor, the girl's hair was caramel colored and extremely short, chopped off to end at her ears. Surprisingly, there was a friendly look that I had never encountered as she gazed at me.

  "Well, don't be rude, girls. Introduce yourselves." Billie waved, the pretty blonde teenager stepped forward first.

"Kora Nash, can I go back my room now, Billie?" Her words were harsh and quick as a whip as her gaze snapped to Billie who was blowing smoke ringlets.

Billie said nothing, simply waving at her to go, Kora wasting no time in swiftly spinning around walking back through the door to what I presumed was her room. I jumped as she slammed the door shut with such a velocity it made the house quake.

The younger girl rolled her eyes, taking a step forward. "Ignore her, she's always like that. I'm Lauren and you are...?"

"Clara." Sometimes I cursed myself for being only nine, my voice sounded so soft and pathetic.

"You and Lauren will be sharing a room. We only got three bedrooms, two of which already belong to Kora and I." Billie once again took a puff of her cigar. "I gotta leave for work in a few minutes. I left some money on the counter to order pizza for dinner, you all behave yourselves. I ain't want to come home and find anything broken, you hear me?"

"Yes, Billie." I murmured, Lauren simply nodding before motioning me to follow her down the hall.

"Here, Clara, I'll show you to our room." I followed her the short distance it was to our room.

I liked Lauren, she was nicer than anyone else who was even remotely close to my age had ever been. Maybe this place wouldn't be as bad as I was thinking?