"Boats n' hoes, boats n' hoes, I gotta have me my boats n' hoes..The Nina (oh!), the Pinta (oh!), the Santa Maria.."
I half press, half punch the okay button on my phone. Even waking up to Will Ferrell and John Reilly doesn't help my early morning misery. Senior year, and you'd think I'd be more accustomed to waking up at 6. I've just become less accustomed over the years. Irony is overused in my life story.
I get ready and leave for school more than half an hour before it actually starts. I walk through the doors and see the face of the main reason I still wake up- Claire. After four years of being friends, I still feel that excitement when I see her face. Happiness. The smile I wear is genuine, which I can't say is the case every time I smile. I raise my eyebrows as a greeting, and she returns the gesture. It's amazing how if you know someone well enough, you can tell their mood through such a simple act. How their day, week, life has been going lately.
I've never loved someone so much. Honestly.
Sadly enough, she's the only one I've allowed that close for a long time, and I can't even tell her how I feel about her. I wouldn't risk losing her.
I've been in and out of foster homes, and my fourth one is looking permanent. The parental figures, John and Sally, look great to anyone who doesn't live in the same house. They tried for years to have kids, but failed due to his infertility. I guess feelings of inadequacy, or maybe just feeling defeated and hopeless, drove him to drinking. They turned to adoption, and found that the process of fostering a child is much simpler. More relaxed.
Of course, that means that one could be an alcoholic, and as long as the overworked social worker doesn't smell the alcohol on him on her infrequent and momentous visits, he's in the clear. She's a small woman, who has a bun, pantsuit, and attention span of a housefly. She speaks as if she can't seem to get the words out of her mouth fast enough.