The sun sets, and the moon rises. I haven't left my room since this morning. I haven't eaten a thing. Pain clumps in my chest and throat like phlegm that can't be coughed up. I want to burst. I want to cry, but I'm stronger than that. This will end.

Two more years.

Curt and Diane returned from their shifts not too long ago. They don't know I'm still here in my pajamas, thinking about this morning. I don't believe Agatha, Max, or Chrys know I'm here or that I never left, either. They came home hours ago.

I turn my head on my pillow and fix my sight on the curtains. The shadows of arm-like branches dance with the midnight breeze. I've grown to love those shadows. They make me feel like my inner monsters are not alone. There're monsters outside, too. And right behind my door.

All I can think about is what I'm supposed to do tomorrow about my suspension. It wouldn't be the first. Last time, someone tried to stuff me in a locker, so I kicked him in the groin. Yet I'm the one who gets suspended? This time, I stuck up for a freshman and got accused as the fellow bully.

"Guilty by association," Mr. Ferguson said. Has he ever heard of "Innocent until proven guilty?" What's up his ass?

I close my eyes, and the tension leaves my body. But what am I to do tomorrow? Besides pretending I'm at school again? Mama wouldn't say anything... Would she? A lot of people turn on me. Mama could, too. But it doesn't matter where I go as long as Curt and Diane don't find me. They both work out of town, so I should be okay. I have been since Monday, and I was beyond lucky they didn't discover me in my room today. Tomorrow, if anyone asks whether I should be at school, I'll say I'm fresh out of college. I'll be fine. So far, no one has questioned me about not being in school, so how old do people think I am? I could pass for being in my twenties, but if people think I'm in my thirties, I've got a problem, and I should take up a better skincare routine.

I'm woken up from rocking back and forth.

"Bella, wake up." It's a good thing Chrys spoke. I was about to kick the shit out of her.

I rub my eyes and turn on the lamp. She stops shaking me.

"What do you want? It's the middle of the night."

"I can't sleep." The dim light illuminates her features. Thin, golden strokes for eyebrows. Big blue eyes. Small button nose. Plump lips. Pinchable baby cheeks.

"Why?"

"I'm too afraid." She tucks a strand of her wispy hair behind her ear.

I slump into my mattress with fatigue. "For the last time, there are no monsters in your closet."

"But—"

"Monsters Inc. is just a movie."

"My teacher said it was going to be funny."

"People lie. Now, please, go back to your room." My hand reaches to turn off the lamp.

"Can I stay here with you?" her voice trembles.

How do I say "No" to this? Can I say "No" to this? I can't, can I?

"...Fine."

Chrys climbs onto my bed and attempts to roll over me. Thin blonde hair falls over my face for a moment. Then, she lays next to me.

I throw the blanket off myself to get my laptop and DVD player.

"What are you doing?" Chrys asks, stuffing her short legs under the covers.

"If you can't sleep, I might as well culture you since Diane won't."

"What does 'culture' mean?"

With one hand, I scramble around in the dim, warm light to find my DVD player. My laptop is in my other, which keeps it steady under my arm. "It means I'm going to show you movies you should watch. At your age, those are Disney movies." I find the movie and DVD player, go to my bed, and turn off the lamp.

"Is this gonna be like when we saw the mermaid movie?"

I bend my neck away from her. How can she not remember the title? It's not that hard. "It's called The Little Mermaid, and yes." I lift the blanket up and form a fort over us.

After plugging in the DVD player and inserting the disc, I put my laptop between us.

"What movie is this?" The blanket fort smooths the acoustics of her voice while also amplifying it.

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Is it good?"

"Alice is a little annoying, but you should watch it, anyway."

She snuggles deeper into the pillow, getting herself comfortable. "This is gonna be fun."

"It's just a movie."

"But I like spending time with you."

Stop. Why is she like this? So positive? She knows how Curt and Diane can be. She's suffered from them, too. How could she be so optimistic?

"Don't get attached. You'll get adopted soon."

"Will they adopt you, too?"

Just watch the damn movie. Leave me alone, Chrys. "No."

"But you're my big sister."

I slam my computer closed. I didn't know she considered me family. Unless she doesn't and is only being nice. But we're not a family. We'll soon leave and go our separate ways, forgetting we ever knew each other. That's how the system works. I suppose that's why I can't remember most of my past foster siblings' names. I guess I never bothered to remember them in the first place. What would have been the point? We've gone our separate ways and will never see each other again. Once you're out of the system, you can't come back. Unless something tragic happens to your adoptive parents. Both birth and adoptive parents gone? Now, that's unlucky.

"Bella?" Chrys says, disrupting the long silence.

"I'm not your sister." I avoid looking at her. The darkness under the blanket helps. "We just live in the same house."

"So," I can sense the puzzlement in her voice, "we're not a family?"

I sigh. "No. We're the people you live with until you find one. Until one wants you."

"How long will that be?"

Eighteen. "Didn't anyone explain this to you?" That's a dumb question. Who could explain this to a five-year-old? Four, actually. She was four when she got here. Everything's too complicated to break down for a toddler to understand.

Her silhouette shakes its head.

"Well, that's what happens."

Chrys opens my laptop and presses play.

"You still want to watch it?"

"Uh-huh. I want to be culturd."

"Cultured."

"Yeah, that."

I don't pay attention to the movie. All I can think about is Chrys calling me her sister. Ever since I met her, I viewed her as another person who would soon leave. She's young. What's the point of making an impact on her if she's not going to remember me when she gets adopted and grows up? I never wanted to get attached to her, but it's been hard.

A couple of months ago, she was upset the Tooth Fairy didn't show up like it does for all her day-care friends. Curt and Diane never do anything to make us happy, and that includes pretending to be the Tooth Fairy. I had to do it since Agatha wouldn't. She doesn't care. I care for whatever dumb, stupid, crappy reason. I put the dollar under Chrys's pillow. And, in the morning, she was so happy and excited. It made me happy, too, seeing her that way.

Chrys reminds me of myself, except in how her hope is fading. Her positivity can't hide that. Culturing her in Disney movies is my way of helping since they helped me. Though, she isn't experiencing them in the same way. She watches them. She absorbs them for the moment. Chrys doesn't live them like how I lived them. She's spectating from a bird's-eye view. She's not standing alongside the main character, fighting, exploring, or experiencing the world with them. Maybe she needs to be a bit older. But when Chrys grows up, she'll have to face reality. The reality of the foster system. Right now, she's ignorant of it. She has no idea what it means. Her spirit will be crushed when she realizes we're not her real family—Oh.

I look at her. She seems okay. Definitely doesn't seem crushed. She's watching the movie, eyes glazed over. They're not brightened with imagination or fascination. She's watching. Not living.

I've been careful not to let her, Max, or Agatha in too much. I've kept up my barriers. I know my limits. They only know more about me than anyone else because I live with them. Other than Mama and them, no one knows a thing about me. No one knows my likes or dislikes. No one knows my hobbies or interests. No one knows my faithful love for Disney and Harry Potter. No one knows my heart. No one knows what I'm willing to do for a family—for love—for a place to call my home.

I've done my best to keep them at bay, but sometimes I get too soft. Too... empathetic. That has to stop. I need to be stone-hearted. Not cold, but learn to not be so sentimental and attached to people I see myself in. Not everyone with pain is me. I'm not everyone with pain. And I can't let myself die for someone who doesn't know a thing about me because I see hurt in their eyes—because I see me. I will not be my own downfall. As long as I keep up with assumptions, no one will be able to rip me apart like a pack of wolves. Not Diane. Not Curt. Not Agatha. Not anyone.

I'm a survivor, and a survivor is what I've been. It's what I'll always be.

* * *

Everyone has their assumptions about me. They think I'm tough and guarded, but it's not all I am. It's not what—who—I want to be. There's more to me. No one is one thing, and I'm no exception. Why can't people see that?

I want to let people in, but why do that if they're going to betray me? It seems like a waste of energy to me. People can't be trusted. People leave. People go. That's life. In two years, I'm leaving this place. Chrys and Max may leave sooner if they're adopted. And I can't wait to be free of Agatha next year.

Hours pass after the movie, and every one weighs my chest down like an anchor. Chrys went back to her room right after it finished. My eyes are heavy, but the sunlight's too bright to ignore. My body stretches under the blanket, pulling my muscles tight. What time is it?

My phone says it's seven-forty.

Might as well get up if I can't sleep.

My legs kick off my blanket, and I stuff my things into my backpack as part of the disguise. I throw on clothes as fast as possible, so I don't have to deal with anyone, and leave my hair as it is. After getting dressed, I go to the living room, starving, and find Max and Chrys playing another game of checkers. It's all these poor kids can do. Upon seeing them, I stop short in the archway. So much for not having to deal with anyone.

"Why aren't you two in school?"

"The school bus got a flat tire," Max says, not looking up from the checkerboard. "Didn't you get the email?"

"I haven't checked."

The two of them play as silent as the ocean in the middle of the night.

"I could drive you guys to school if you want."

"No, thanks," Max says, collecting one of Chrys's red pieces. "I want to miss Math. Do you know what it stands for?" he asks, turning his head to me.

I shake my head and press my lips together.

"Mental Abuse To Humans." He smiles like it's the funniest thing ever.

It's kind of funny. But I'm sure he didn't come up with it. He must've heard it from one of his friends.

"That must be the most accurate joke ever." I walk into the room.

"Do you care if you're late?"

It's warm in here from the heater. A little too warm. Suffocating.

"Not really," I say, sitting on the dusty armchair. I can't tell them about my suspension. The less they know, the better. It's a lower chance of Curt and Diane finding out.

I take Chrys's place in the game, and she joins forces with Max on the other side of the coffee table.

A bit of silence goes by.

Max lifts his eyes to me several times, then says, "Thanks."

"Whatever," I say, moving my piece. I turn to look at the put-out book burner.

Potter is a pile of ash and burnt pages. The scent still wafts in the heavy air.

"Why can't there be a separate bus for the high school?" Agatha says, coming out of the kitchen with her black curls tangled around each other.

The door swings back and forth behind her, and Max and Chrys try to take a peek inside the room before it stops. I would've, too, but my chair is too angled against it.

"I'm sure the district could afford two separate buses," Agatha says.

"You get to be late. Isn't that fun?" Max says while I jump over his checker.

"No. I need to be at homeroom. That's the only place I can talk to Genny. Our schedules have nothing else in common."

"Where are they?" I ask about Curt and Diane.

"Upstairs. You fill in the blanks." She drinks from her coffee thermos.

"I swear they're always—"

"They're going to you know what as much as they want since they can't have their own kids."

"It's gross." I jump over two of Max and Chrys's black checkers.

"What?" Chrys asks, collecting them.

"Nothing," I say. "Just be happy you don't know."

Agatha returns to the forbidden territory, and Chrys says, "Bella? Do you think I will ever get adopted?" I'm not sure where this is coming from. It can't be from last night, could it? Regardless, I don't want to fill her with false hope. But I also don't want to hurt her. She's only five.

"I don't know, Chrys. You might. Everyone loves little kids," I mutter.

"That's bullshit," Max says. He's at the age when the abandonment and loneliness start to sink in. And the bitterness.

"But it's true. I mean, what do you want me to tell her? That she'll end up like the rest of us and no one will want her?"

"I probably will," Chrys utters.

"No, you won't, Chrys. Bella's just mad because no one wants to adopt her." Max puts an arm around her and moves his piece on the board with his other hand.

"You don't know that, Max. One day I will get adopted, and then you'll all see." I whisper, "I'll find my family."

"I doubt you ever will," Agatha says, walking in again. She leans on the wallpapered surface with a smug look on her face.

Once more, Max and Chrys try to get a sneak peek of the kitchen.

"You'll never have a family. Like the rest of us."

I hate how she's in charge when Curt and Diane are out of the house or... preoccupied. But I can't complain, though the power goes straight to her head. She acts like an evil queen, controlling us without respect or our best interests in mind. Agatha's maliciousness got worse these past six months because she knows the moment she turns eighteen, she's out of here. So, what's the point of being nice to people you know you'll never see again?

"Even if I don't, I can take care of myself. I'd rather be alone and a good person than alone and being... Well, a bitch." I lean over. "Like some people around here."

"Face it," she says with a scowl. "You're one of us, whether you like it or not."

The chimes by the door go off. Chrys covers her ears, and the rest of us cringe.

"I swear I'm going to sledgehammer that thing off the wall," Agatha growls.

When it stops, we all look at each other.

No one said, "Not it."

Who's gonna start it?

At first, no one dares. But then, Max and Chrys shout it out in unison while touching their noses. The big bully jolts off the wall and says the words, putting her index finger on the tip of her nose, too.

I never stand a chance, even when one's given to me. I could've said it first, but no. I waited. "Guess it's me, then."

"It's always you," Agatha says, swiping the remote off the coffee table.

No one's at the door when I answer it. Instead, there're three boys running down the street. Don't they have anything better to do at eight in the morning?

"Your exes are playing 'Ding Dong Ditch' again," I say and sit back in my chair.

Agatha grunts. "Don't they have a life?" She reclines on the stained couch and checks her nails.

"Apparently not since they dated you."

She looks up from her hands and glares at me. Her eyebrows slant toward each other like pinball flippers. "I'm getting you back for that one." Her tone makes me regret what I said. But I can't show that.

"I'd love to see it." I get up and go to the front door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she says.

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Out."

I slam the door behind me and stand on the stoop, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Curt blocked my car in the driveway again.

I take my bag out of my car and walk to the bus stop instead.

Today's a new day. That means a new beginning. I have to keep pretending I'm at school, but it doesn't have to continue being so dull. I have a plan. A plan that could get me out of this house for hours.

A job.

I need to get a job. Once I go back to school, that's seven hours away from the fosters. Well, except for Agatha. A job right after school would give me more time off. I'd come back to the house at night when everyone is asleep. I don't care how many shifts that would equal. I'm doing it. I want to do it.

I need a job.

* * *

Am I qualified for a job? What experience do I have? Self-loathing? Wistful thinking? High tolerance for abuse? The only real thing I can do is songwriting. And guitar. Piano, too. And drums—pretty much any instrument. It helped to go to a music shop almost every day for two years.

It would be the absolute best if Mama could give me a job. Then, I'd have a real excuse to go every day. Plus time away from the house and getting paid? It doesn't get better. Unless, of course, the deal includes parents, but that seems unlikely. I doubt Mama has my parents locked in a closet at the store. But that would be a cool game show concept.

"And, behind Door #2 are Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald, your new parents. Congratulations."

If only.

I head over to my happy place. It's somewhere I can be free of those fosters and not have them ever find me. I'd stay there forever if I could. I didn't go yesterday, and I haven't missed a day in over a month. There goes my streak.

It's odd that I keep coming to the record store when I don't have a record player, as much as I'd like to have one. But it's fun to dream of what I could have. Having a record player is a dream that'd be nice if it became a reality. Having a family is a dream that needs to be a reality.

I step into the old music shop, and it's empty, as usual. No one listens to records anymore, I suppose. And no one seems to be buying any of the guitars hanging from the ceiling. They must think they're decorative or something.

Mama rushes to greet me. Her yellow cardigan is a pleasant contrast to her dark skin. "Oh, Bella, dear. I was starting to get worried. We didn't see you yesterday," she jokes.

"Sorry. I was... busy." If you call starving yourself in your room, trying not to cry "busy."

"How's it going, B.P.?" Johnny says from an aisle.

"The same, Johnny. It's always the same."

"Those fosters giving you problems again?"

"Again? Since when did they stop?"

"It gets better, honey," Mama coos.

I suppose now's a better chance than any. "You wouldn't happen to have any job openings, would you?"

She scrunches her face, accentuating her fine lines. "Job? You want a job here?"

I shrug one shoulder. "If you've got one."

"Oh, Bella. I wish I did, but I can't afford anyone now."

"I'll do it for free."

Her eyes glint with amusement. "Isn't that the complete opposite of having a job?"

"I want to be out of the house for as long as possible. Pay me or don't. You know me. I'll do whatever you want me to do. I love it here. Please."

"I'm sorry, hun. It wouldn't feel right not to pay you." Wouldn't feel right? What doesn't feel right is living in that house with no outlet—no escape. I don't think I can handle it. I need something to do to get away. A job would've been perfect. A job here would've been perfect.

"...I understand. Thank you—for—um... Thank you."

Now, I'm stuck in that prison. I could get a job elsewhere, but if Mama won't hire me when she knows me well enough, why would a stranger hire me? Why would anyone want me?

There's nothing to do. School isn't enough. Adoption is my only option now, but that'll never happen. All I can do is hope that someone takes my game show idea and makes me a contestant. But even then, I'll lose 'cause I'm not lucky.

Two more years, I guess.