Upon request, I’m changing the style to completely first person narrative. If you don't like it, or want me to change back, let me know... I'm not so sure about the way it all went.

You might think that with all the drama in my life, that I’d be one unhappy little girl, but I wasn’t. Not on the outside, and not on the inside. My mother, for all her flaws, loved us, and we loved her. And work… well, if you grow up thinking that you have to work young, you really don’t know what you’re missing, do you? I grew up thinking that it was my job to bring money to the family, and so I did. I wasn’t unhappy about it, but I wasn’t too pleased either…

Work wasn’t the most fun experience for a twelve year old girl. Getting up before the sun, walking outside in the chilly, morning air, and trying to stick to the shadows to avoid being noticed weren’t the highlights of my day, let me tell you. At least the Deli owner liked me; at least he was nice enough to give me a job when I really needed one. And he was pleasant enough, too, not like some of the creepy men you see loitering on street corners; oh no, Mr. Jono was pretty nice-looking for a fifty year old man.

Now, I have a slightly better job at the local McDonald’s, but that’s because I’m sixteen now, and can legally work, no matter that I’m pregnant, and it’s not like you can see much anyway, if I wear a baggy tee; I’m only four months along. Working at McDonald’s isn’t the best job I could get, but it has decent hours and I get more money here than I have ever gotten at the Deli’s. Besides, they never really needed the floor swept. The cashier could do it on her way out, or in, because the floor was never really all that dirty.

Oh, wow, was that cashier some piece of work though. I don’t think she ever truly liked me, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked her, but she did have her moments…

“Isabella, get your behind in here! You’re late; again, I don’t know why we ever bothered to hire you.” She’s mean. That was my first impression of Martha Baker, cashier at Jono’s Deli. She’s mean, and she doesn’t like me.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I had to help my sister get dressed. She was feeling sick and Mama didn’t have time.” That’s a lie, but how’s she going to know? Mama doesn’t ever answer the door, so she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about my lie, and I doubt that Martha would lower herself down just to visit my apartment building. Martha lives in a nice white house with a little fence surrounding perfect green grass; my apartment doesn’t even have little yellow grass, or a fence… unless you counted the sticks that Theresa, Maddie and I set up when we were bored. Somehow, I don’t see Martha counting that though.

Martha snorted, her beady eyes staring at me, then glancing at Raef, who still hung at my hip, and frowned, “Oh doesn’t have time, does she? And what high-status job has she managed to get that takes up all her newfound time? Hmm?”

I don’t think I’m meant to answer that. It’s just one of those other sorts of questions that people ask to make you feel bad, and to feel better about themselves. Miss Rosie calls it reto… rhetora… rhetorical. A rhetorical question is what it is. So I do what she expects of me, I nod along but don’t quite answer it, and content myself to stare at her frizzy hair. ‘It’s huge,’ I giggle to myself, wondering if I could manage to hide Raef in her orange locks. ‘Probably not, he’d get lost! Or die…’ Turning away, I pretend to cough to hide my laugh; adults don’t like it if you laugh at them, that’s what daddy used to say.

Once she lets me go, I grab the broom and begin to sweep what little dust there is out the door, where I push it into the gutter. A nice looking woman in a white suit is watching me, but I don’t pay her any attention, maybe if I ignore her she’ll go away. Sure enough, when I’m done sweeping and begin to walk back home to fetch my bag, she isn’t there any more.

“Mama! I’m home, I need my bag!” Sometimes, if I yell loud enough, Mama will bring me my bag and I won’t have to walk through my house to get it out of my room. But that’s only on good days, and I think today will be a bad one. I can hear Mama crying in the bathroom again, and she’s really loud, so it might even be a really, really bad day. Maybe I should make dinner tonight; I don’t want Mama burning herself again. Sometimes she does that, when she’s really, really sad, and then we all sing and dance to cheer her up. It’s fun, because then, Mama will laugh. I like Mama’s laugh.

“Here you go, Izzy.” Lovely little Theresa; my ten year old sister, one of a set of triplets, brought me my bag. Usually, Theresa, Eric and Maddie stay in their bedrooms until I come home from school, and then I start helping them practice their reading and sometimes their writing, if we have time. I didn’t think they could hear me, but I guess they could.

Thanking Theresa is easy, because she likes hugs. So all I have to do is hug her, take my bag and go to school. Mr. Jono from the Deli sometimes gives me money for the bus so I don’t have to walk all the way to school (which is why I leave early), and today, he was nice enough to give me two whole dollars. I might even have enough money left over for an ice cream, but I might not. That’s only if I want to walk home.

I like taking the bus. Some people don’t like it, because the bus always smells funny, but there’s a lot of people who take the bus that are funny looking. I suppose I’m one of the funny looking ones, but it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who looks funny. There’s Mr. Cha, he takes the bus every day. I don’t know where he goes, but he’s always on the bus when I get there. I like Mr. Cha, and I always sit next to him if I can. One time, he brought a live chicken with him! That day though, I had to sit behind him, because the chicken stole my seat.

I don’t really like chickens.

“Ola, Mr. M.” The bus driver scares me. He’s big and hairy and doesn’t ever speak properly. He says it’s ‘cause he’s from a place called Eee-jypt (Egypt), or something like that, but I think it’s really ‘cause he eats little kids. At least, that’s what Meredith Holycross said; that bus drivers eat little children. I don’t know if it’s true, but just in case, I always make sure to walk a little ways away from him. Just in case he didn’t eat breakfast.

The first thing I notice is that the nice looking woman is there. She smiles at me, but I’m not sure if I should smile back or not. Sometimes, it’s best to just leave grown-ups alone, so I better just ignore her. Daddy used to always tell us to stay away from strangers, and even though the lady is nice looking, I think she’s just a bit strange. She’s wearing too nice of clothes to wear on the bus, and her long brown hair is pinned up in a fancy bun. She looks rich, richer than anyone I know; ever Meredith Holycross.

So I ignore the lady and sit next to Mr. Cha. He didn’t bring a chicken again this time, and I’m thankful. Not just because I don’t like them, which I don’t, but because the fancy woman is here and I want to show people that the bus can be for everyone, not just the freaks. Well, Meredith said that too; that only freaks take the bus. Maybe I shouldn’t listen to Meredith anymore, but she’s really, really smart; the smartest in our class, so she’d know a lot more than I would.

“Hi Mr. Cha, how’s your chicken?” I whisper, because I don’t want the lady to hear me talking about chickens on the bus.

“Hello, Isabella. My chicken taste very nice, thank you. Is your throat sore, why you whispering?” I don’t know why he says his chicken tasted nice, unless he licked the chicken, but it’s best not to question grown-ups so I just ignore the comment.

“No, Mr. Cha, my throat doesn’t hurt. I’m whispering because I don’t want the nice looking lady to hear us talking about chickens, she might think we’re crazy.”

Mr. Cha looks around and sees the lady, before turning back to me. He taps his nose in a funny way and nods, “Ah, yes. I see.”

I can’t help but giggle, but Mr. Cha’s just funny that way. I don’t know what he sees, unless he’s talking about the nice lady, but everyone can see her; she’s not hiding or anything. “You’re one silly man, Mr. Cha.”

But before he can answer it’s my stop, so I say bye to him and get off, holding my bag tight against me. I don’t want it stolen; I can’t afford to buy more books and Mama would get really mad if I lost them again. Last time, it cost us a whole welfare check just to replace my school books when they got stolen. Mama wasn’t too pleased.

I used to like school, when I was really little, around eight. It was fun, and I liked learning. Now, I just come because I have to; because if I don’t, some man might come and take me to a new family, and I don’t want that. Mama can get away with teaching the triplets and Sammy (my six year old brother) because she used to be a teacher, before she met Daddy, but she said that I’d be one too many to teach, and I was already passed her level anyway.

I go to a public school. I didn’t know there were two kinds of schools, public and private, until Meredith said she was going to go to some private school and that it was much better than any public school. At least she’ll be out of my way, right? Now I don’t have to listen to her making fun of my curly hair, or the fact that I’m really, really short. “Like a jungle midget.” Is what she likes to call me; but I don’t think there were any jungles where Mama came from…

“Hello, Miss Rosie.”

Miss Rosie waves a hand in my general direction, but doesn't look up. I like Miss Rosie, but some people like to think she's crazy. Maybe that's why I like her, or maybe it's because she's the only teacher that ever complimented me when I got the highest mark in class. But I do have to say, though, that Miss Rosie certainly looks crazy. She has dark, curly fly-away hair (like mine, but mine isn't as frizzy and poofy as hers is, mine just sort of curls into tigger-tails), and giant sparkly glasses that make her look like a bug. She always wears sparkly and shiny clothes and a lot of rings on her hands, and bunches of necklaces on her neck. She reminds me of those Future-Seers at the circus, the ones that I see in all the pictures, or a giant, perfume-smelling butterfly that likes to speak in a sing-song voice. You can never be too sad when around Miss Rosie because she can always make you laugh with her funny sayings, "The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."

As I think all this, I make my way to the back of the class, where I sit in the corner. Miss Rosie says I can't think and stand at the same time, doing nothing, because people will think I'm a statue, or frozen by a giant overlord that wants to take over my brain… I really need to find out what an overlord is, though, because I quite like my brain.

In class, I pay extra attention to what Miss Rosie is teaching us. I've always heard that 'To Kill a Mockingbird' was a good book, and it seems nice enough. I really, really like Scout; she reminds me of Theresa for some reason. Maybe it's 'cause they're both nice, and like to play outside. Hey, if Miss Rosie will let me take my copy home with me, maybe I'll read it to her and the others tonight after dinner; I always try and read a book to them before bedtime and this'll be extra special.

A knock at the door interrupts Miss Rosie as she's reading the second chapter, and guess who it is? Go on, guess. Well, if you guessed 'the nice-looking lady that was on the bus' then you're right. But what surprised me even more than her coming to class, was the fact that she looked at me and said, "If it's ok with you, Rose, I'd like to speak with Isabella Costa for a moment. It won't take long."

My first thought was, 'how did she know my name?', but then I got scared. Was Mama ok? Did the triplets set someone's chair on fire again?

Why? Well, I'll let you find that out for yourself as we go on. But if I'd ever thought that Martha Baker was mean, that woman had nothing on Gemma Stewart, otherwise known as "the nice-looking lady". If ever there was a person who so fit the 'don't judge people by what's on the outside – it's what's on the inside that counts' phrase, it was her. And you want to know what made it all especially worse?

I never got to read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' to Theresa.

Well, I know I said it would be longer, and that it'd be up earlier, but I got side-tracked with my international flight so badly that I didn't have time to write or post anything. I'm so, so sorry. My chapters will get longer as they progress; I just figured this'd be a good place to stop since I took so long anyway. I'm not so sure about the way this chapter turned out, but I hope you like it anyway.. comments appreciated! Whether they be constructive or otherwise. :)

xox Caramel