Tristesse d' E'te'

Christine Wells is a normal teenage girl, recently healing from a loss. When she meets a new French teacher that thinks Christine can learn a whole new lot from French, Christine has a whole new life ahead of her.


6. June 4, 2017; Norfolk, Virginia; 3:13 PM

 After lunch, feeding Fluffles, and brushing my hair, instead of watching TV, I called the adoption service.
​ "Hello?" A young lady said over the phone.
​ My hand froze up in the air. I never planned out the speaking-without-speaking part. Then I remembered the voice copier Missy gave me last year for Christmas. I fetched it from my room and turned the mode to "Type".
​'Hi," a ladies voice said over the copier as I typed. "I was wondering if a lady named Missiline Taylors has adopted a child named Christine Wells?"
​"May I have your name?"
​ I paused. "Marybeth Andrews."
​"Okay, Miss Andrews, um... there is no results on the computer that has the adoption of Christine Wells. But I will sure call you when the time has come."
​"Okay, thank you. Bye-bye now." I hung up with a sigh of relief, but no smile. I would if I wanted to. But I'm never happy, so there is no need to.
​ Missy came in the kitchen then, and I was ha - grateful she wasn't behind me snooping on my phone.
​"Can you fold these clothes?" She asked me, setting the basket in front of me. She left without waiting for an answer. Probably cause she knows I would not give one anyway.
​ I ignored the me-sized basket that was in my way and closed my eyes before dinner. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw that little turtle I saw earlier. So I just went in my room and read my fairy tale book.

 For dinner, I ate macaroni and beans. It tasted delicious. Every single crumb was off my plate. I wanted to ask for more, but I didn't. Instead I played with Fluffles for a little bit. She was drinking tiny sips of the water I gave her a few hours ago.
​ I soothed her long ears back. I wheezed, the only thing that I do that is as close to a laugh as it can get. She sniffed my finger nails.
​ I sniffed, about to cry. I wanted to laugh as hard as ever, but I knew I couldn't. I wanted to cry now.
​ I knew that I wasn't normal: I was obsessed with luck, didn't talk, never laughed or smiled once since I was 6, and pretended like my guardian was invisible for the longest time. I was what Nancy called me: Christy the un-Misty. That meant I wasn't mystical at all, that I wasn't special or I wasn't something little kids would wanna catch every day. That I was just... weird. Now the tears were coming out. I sniffled, wiping my nose on my long sleeved shirt. I'm 13, I'm too old for this, ​I thought. I hurried up, took a shower, did my other stuff, and went to bed. But the whole time I was thinking abut the last words I ever said.
 She is not ​my mother!

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