I lie alone on the floor in my small closet, unable to sit up, because my clothes are in the way. Ms. Pryce, my new foster mother, locked me in here about an hour ago so she can clean the house without being disturbed.

Her new boyfriend Ryan is coming over soon and she wants the house to look perfect, and warned me about opening my mouth. She promised to come get me when he leaves, but last week, her last boyfriend, John, stayed overnight, so I fell asleep in here without dinner.

Freezing, I pull down a t-shirt of mine and cover myself, but it hardly helps. I shiver and my teeth chatter until I simply can’t take it anymore. Ms. Pryce would get really mad at me if I pulled any more clothes down.

“Please let me out!” I say, hoping that I’m loud enough for her to hear. “Please, Ms. Pryce!”

“Be quiet, you-!”

“You have a kid?” Ryan asks. I didn’t hear him come in.

“I won’t in a minute,” my foster mom answers firmly.

My closet is forcefully opened and a handful of my curls are grabbed by Ms. Pryce, who, with my help, pulls me to my feet. In this way I’m pulled through the house until we reach the front door.

“You ruined this for me!” she shouts, opening the door. “You ruin everything! Get out!” My foster mother gets impatient with my slow steps and, instead of waiting, pushes me out. I stumble a few feet and then hit the pavement. The door is slammed and I’m sure she locked it, just like she did last time.

“Well, well, well. She couldn’t do it, I see. I’ll get rid of her troubles for her.”

Wiping the blood off my lip, I look up to see Ryan standing right in front of me. I’m about to get up myself, but he grabs my collar and lifts me up.

“I don’t mean to be trouble,” I say.

Ryan makes a fist and I immediately cross my arms in front of my face to lessen the damage, but it doesn’t lessen the pain his blow brings. That’s the last thing I remember before hitting the ground while everything around me disappears.

When I wake up, I feel that my face is distorted in a physically pained expression as if I have really just been hit.

This is the second night in a row that I’ve had a dream like this. Where are they coming from? It actually makes me a little afraid to fall asleep again tonight.

I look at the clock and see that it’s only 8:43. A far cry earlier than yesterday.

After finishing my morning chores, I go to my parents’ room and find that they’re both sleeping. Remembering that before I went to bed, my mother promised we could go to the mall today, I wake her up.

“Huh?” she says groggily, turning over. She looks at me through half opened lids.

“I finished my chores! Can we go to the mall now?”

“Shhh,” my mom whispers, telling me to bring my volume down, as my father is still asleep. “We can go tomorrow.”

“But your birthday’s tomorrow and I want to get you a present today!” I say quietly. “Please Mom!” I gently shake her again when I find that she fell back asleep. She rubs her eyes and asks for the time.

“It’ll be ten in six minutes!”

“Okay, I’ll be right out.”

While my mom gets ready, I hurry to the kitchen and start making breakfast. She usually takes a while in the bathroom, so I’m trying to beat her. This time, however, it doesn’t take her as long as it usually does, and she catches me with the eggs halfway done.

“Save it for your dad,” she says. A slow smile comes to her face as she finishes, “We’ll have breakfast at Chick-Fil-A.”

I smile widely and head to the door. Looking out the window, I see that it’s raining. Heavily. I inform my mother about this.

“You still wanna go?” she asks. “The umbrellas are in the car.”

“I don’t mind a little water,” I answer. “I actually like the rain.”

“I do, too,” Mom replies, “but not when I’m caught in it. I like it only when I can cuddle up with the covers and read a good book.”

Speaking of a good book...

“It’ll be worth it, Mom, when you see what I’m getting you!”

I really hope she likes it!

As soon as I step outside, I’m pelted by hundreds of drops of rain, so I hurry to the car, but am careful not to slip. When I get inside, I look out, but can barely see as the packed rain is coming down so hard.

When the downpour slows a bit, I see my mom standing at the front door, looking too scared to venture out into the rain. But when she finally steps out, she begins to speed-walk, then breaks out into a run.

I can’t watch! The grass is too slippery to be running like that!

I open my eyes when I hear the car door close.

“Whew!” Mom says, visibly shaking from the cold. “The lights went off inside the house. Are you sure you want to go now, Abby? Are you really sure?”

“Yes.”

“Is money burning a hole in your pocket?” she asks playfully.

“I just want to get your present today!” I answer seriously. “Tomorrow I wouldn’t be able to, because we’ll be out all day getting your birthday freebies.”

“Okay… If you’re sure.”

I know Mom doesn’t like driving in the rain, but I have to get it before tomorrow!

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” I say with a reassuring smile.

On our way to the Westfield Brandon Mall, we pass by a few car accidents, and this makes my mom even more uneasy.

Nine minutes after we left, we arrive at our destination, and the rain is now pouring heavier than when we left the house.

“Where is it you need to go?” Mom asks me. She seems calmer now that we’re closer to being inside.

“Books-A-Million.”

“Really? Before we have breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Once we’re parked in front of Books-A-Million, I hop out of the car and into a puddle I forgot was there. My brown leather boots get soaked. The funny thing is, though, that the bottom of my boots are never slippery… but when the insides are wet, they become very slippery. I’ve sweat in my boots before and have slipped inside them.

I walk carefully across the road with Mom on my left side – the side of the street, my boots making sloshing noises with every step I take.

Before walking inside, I squeeze as much water as I can out of my hair so I don’t drip in the store.

I’m grateful when we’re finally inside the bookstore, and I can tell that Mom is even more so; she breathes a sigh of relief after groaning while she wipes the bottom of her shoes on the carpet.

“Okay,” I begin, “please don’t follow me. Go over there or somewhere… Just don’t hang around me!”

“What, do I cramp your style?” she asks, appearing hurt. Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. She knows better. “I’m joking. I know you love me!” She pulls me into a hug and continues, “What’s not to love about me?”

I giggle. “I have to go now, Mom. Treat yourself to coffee and a cookie while you wait.”

“That I will do!”

We go our separate ways, and I head to the Christianity section. After around ten minutes of searching for the two books I’m hoping to get, I become frustrated. I don’t want her to start worrying about and decide to come find me.

“Ugh!” I say exasperatedly, perhaps a little too noisily. “Where is it?!”

“Gee, you’re like a bad penny.”

I sigh, taking a quick glance at him, then return my eyes to the bookshelf. “Oh, you.”

“Stalker much?”

“As if,” I reply flatly, my eyes into slits.

“At least you managed to not knock over any of the bookshelves.” Sarcastically, he continues, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“So you work here, too?”

“Yeah, on weekends,” he answers. “What is it you were looking for?”

“The Traveler’s Gift and Three Free Sins.”

“You read that type of stuff?”

Glaring, I reply sharply, “Yeah, you should try it. You could come out a decent person and actually be bearable to be around.”

Ooh, did I just say that?

“Whatever you say, Church Girl. Who’re the authors?”

“Steve Brown wrote Three Free Sins,” I answer, “and Andy Andrews wrote The Traveler’s Gift.”

“All right.” Chase whispers as he goes down the aisle, probably the alphabet. Then he begins to sing. “A-B-C. You’re easy as 1-2-3… ” He then flashes me a goofy grin as if to ask if I get the joke.

“Childish much? What are you, in kindergarten? I’m not easy. You’re getting me mixed up with somebody else.”

“Nah, you’re easy,” Chase replies, the smile gone from his face. “Here’s one of the books you asked for, Church Girl.”

Rolling my eyes, I take Three Free Sins from him, then whip around and march away out of annoyance. “You say that like it’s something bad.” I march all the way to the register before realizing that he didn’t give me the second book. I turn around suddenly and bump right into the same guy I was trying to get away from. Backing away quickly, I look into his face.

“Watch it, Church Girl,” he snarls. “You may not be knocking over bookshelves, but we’re all in danger when you’re around. I’m still trying to get your conditioner out of my eyes.”

“Because it’s you, I wish it were something a little more lethal than conditioner!” I retort.

“Ouch. I didn’t know church girls talk like that.”

“Why are you following so closely behind me?” I question, my eyes squinted.

“You forgot your other religious cult book,” he answers.

“Oh.” I take it from him and we walk to the front of the store. Chase goes behind the sales counter and I put the books down.

“I’ve got this, Ethan,” he says, taking over for the man who was originally behind the counter. He leaves to go help a customer find a book she asked if they had. He’s obviously glad to be able to walk around. I want to beg him not to leave, but he’s gone before I have the chance. “Do you have a Millionaire’s Club card?” Chase asks me.

“Oh, yes.” I dig for it in my wallet, but can’t find it anywhere. While I search for it in my bag, Chase taps his fingers on the counter impatiently. Then I suddenly remember that I left the discount card in my other bag. “I left it at home,” I say in a low voice.

“Well, then, I need your phone number.”

“Never mind,” I reply, glaring. “The discount isn’t that important.”

“Okay then,” he says snidely, “the grand total is $33.15.”

My face immediately flushes. “I don’t have that…”

“Well, I’m sorry, ma’am…”

“Okay, okay,” I say, defeated, then resign myself to giving him my phone number.

When he finishes ringing up the discount, I save a whole forty percent. I hated having to give him my phone number, but it allowed me to pay for the books.

I meet up with my mom and we go to Chick-Fil-A. Both of our stomachs are growling.