Blaire TaylorMature

"Stop it! Give it back!" my demands fall on deaf ears. The two boys laugh, standing just out of my reach with my sketchbook, flipping through the drawings. Everytime i try to move closer, they easily avoid me, it's not hard when you're avoiding someone in a wheelchair.

Tears begin to form in my green eyes, and i blink rapidly in a futile attempt to clear them. angrily, i roll myself towards them as fast as i can, but still they just jump out of the way. frustration overwhelms me, why did i have to go to the movies that one time? for three years, I've been paying for the crash on the way home from watching some stupid movie i can't even remember. I've often wished that I could have had some sort of premonition, some sort of omen that kept me home. but i doubt i would have paid attention to it. i've made so many mistakes in my life, i would need a fulltime psychic to keep me from bringing about WWIII

eventually, Scott and Tyler- my newest foster brothers- tire of their game, toss the sketchbook into a corner, and laugh as they walk away. slowly, i wheel my wheelchair over to where the book is lying on the floor. coming up alongside it, i reach over to try to grab it. no such luck. my long red hair swings into my way. Frustrated and tired, i practically throw myself out of my chair to grab the book.  the only thing keeping me in is the safety belt i have to wear to keep me from slouching in my seat. my fingers barely brush the top of the book

seeing no other alternative, i undo the belt, put the brakes on my chair on, and ease my self out of the chair. i fall about a foot and don't feel any of the impact. the doctors said i was lucky to only be paraplegic, it could have been alot worse. Being  a teenager in a wheelchair sucks- no sports, no driving unless with special permit and car, plus people treat you like you are mentally slow as well. i played basketball in grade 8. not in grade 9, though. wheelchairs aren't allowed on the court.

i grab the book, twist about, shove it in my bag hanging from my chair and turn around. reaching my arms over my head and behind my back, i grab the arm rests. now the hard part. straining with all my might, I pull myself slowly back into the chair, taking a break on the foot rests to catch my breath.

Strapped back in with my book safely tucked away again, i maneuvere my way back into the main part of the house. wheeling into the kitchen, i find Mrs. Dunham, my new foster mom, sorting through the mail like she does every day, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun. She turns around and sees me as she brushes wisps of hair from her forehead, "Oh, Blaire, there you are. I have a letter for you."

that's weird because I don't have any friends, and haven't even been in this house for two days. no one should have my new address already. except the state. i take the letter from her. it has my name on it, along with my new adress. there's no return information, or any other identifiable markers. i tear it open.

"Well?" Mrs. Dunham asks after a few moments pass, "What does it say?"

i look up at her, "I've been accepted to a boarding school, full-scholarship, all expenses paid."A boarding school for disabled kids. jsut what i need. i think angrily.

"the letter says that it's already been cleared with the state and they are just awaiting my reply to set things in motion" i continue.

mrs. Dunham looks at me, her head cocked to one side, "Do you want to go?"

i look up at her, considering my options: stay here and move from family to family, or attend boarding school for disabled people and put up some roots? not really options are they? i'm going with the boarding school, hands down.

i nod, "yeah, i'm gonna go online and sign in." i say, wheeling past her towards the family game room, where Scott and Tyler are playing air hockey. upon seeing me, tyler makes a big show of jumping in the air while waiting for scott to retrieve the puck from where he sent it flying. i roll my eyes as i breeze past him to the family computer, keeping one hand protectively on my bag as my other alternates between wheels to keep me on a straight path. stopping before the computer, i turn it on.

waiting for it to boot up, i pull my almost-full sketchbook out, and turn it to the first page, whcih has a sketch i drew a couple months ago. a trainwreck, with fires burning, and firefighters and police everywhere. the fire is tinted green.

i flip the page and freeze. i glance at the date written in my scrawl along the left bottom corner. yep, i drew it five weeks ago. i stare at the picture in utter amazement- i've drawn Mrs. Dunham, messy bun and all, holding a letter out to an outstretched hand. i recognize the doodle on the stretched arm, the heart and the arrow that Miranda, a girl from nextdoor, had drawn in the inside of my arm. I've never shown anyone my drawings, not even her.

i shake my head to clear my thoughts, dissmissing the questions swirling in my head as i turn to the computer and go on Internet Explorer- ready to explore my next home.

The End

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