America My Home: Chapter 2
America My Home: Chapter 2 money stories

mollycat13 #Self-Lover
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
I accidentally posted part 3 before part 2. This is part 2.

America My Home: Chapter 2

My heart sags as I walk into my room. I go near the window. It’s nothing like America. I feel like crying. I want to just go around the mansion and sing the National Anthem. But if I do my new mom will tie me to a wall.

I can’t take it I start to sing, “Oh beautiful for spacious skies.” Then I start to cry. I throw myself on my bed, curl up into a ball, and I bawl into my knees. I hear someone knock on the door.

“Hello? Your Mom sent me here!” She sounds less British. Like she hasn’t been here all her life. “Come in,” I whimper, I wipe my eyes and look as happy as possible. She walks in and the brown side of the door shows. She looks kind of like the nanny in “101 Dalmatians” except a lot younger. I’d say young enough to be my Mom.

“Hi!” She says, “My name is Chelsea! What’s your name?” “Alexis,” I say. It is weird. I seem more afraid of her than my new foster Mom. Maybe that’s because she’s way too perky. “Oh. That’s a nice name. Where did you come from?” Chelsea asks.

“Nowhere,” I lie. If she figures out where I used to live I’ll be locked in my room for sure. “Come on you have to come from somewhere,” She says. “Why does it matter anymore. I’m not there anymore,” I exclaim.

“Yeah, but you are part of the family now,” She says. “I didn’t agree to that,” I say. She sighs. “If you don’t want to say it out loud, don’t say it out loud. At least just write it on a piece of paper.”

“You promise to never tell anyone and not lock me in my room.” “Yep,” She says. I sigh and open my desk. There are two piles of paper. I didn’t even know one person had that much paper. I took one piece of paper out and wrote. THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

I look at it like I’m doing something illegal. Which, I sort of am. In London laws. I show her the paper. She was about to say something. But she got interrupted by my new foster Mom.

“Ahhhhh! Okay! That tears it! I am going to go to the market and while I’m gone, Chelsea! Put her in the corner!” She slams the door and stomps down the stairs.

“Um… I’m sorry?” Chelsea says. “No, just forget it. I have finally found someone who could beat me. Where’s the corner?” “You know what. I’m from America too.” I look at her. She must be lying. Trying to get me more in trouble.

“Prove it.” She starts to sing the National Anthem. I feel like my heart has been lifted up to my throat. I wait for her to be done before I speak. “B… but how?” She shrugs. “I grew up in America. I came here in my late twenties.”

“But why? Why would you come to such a terrible place?” “To get a job.” “But why here? Out of all the countries?” “I knew they would hire me.” If I was her I wouldn’t move here for any reason.

“So now you’re torturing yourself, cleaning gutters, and unclogging toilets?” It didn’t make any sense. First, you come to a county where you can’t even be yourself, then you do whatever someone tells you to do just so you could have a job.

She shrugs. There’s a long awkward silence. I stare at her, she stares at me. After a minute of staring, I look away and focus on the sheet of paper that says THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. I was worried that if I looked any longer lasers would shoot out of my eyes.

She looks away and takes a look at all of my bags. That's when I get an idea. “What if we run away?” I ask. She looks at me like I’m talking gibberish. “What!” She says.

“Think of it, I hate this place, you hate this place, and Momma is at the market.” “Where would we get the money?” “You get paid. Don’t you?” “Yes, about ten- thousand dollars a year.” “Great, because I have a plan. And it’s going to work.”

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