Welcome back to All Alone in This World! Stella’s world has fallen to pieces around her ears, and she finds that she must go to the dreaded orphanage! I know that some of phases don’t make sense,
sweetly sassy, seriously Enni?!? but nevertheless, let’s begin!
It was one week later, and I was sent to Weston Orphanage. I was told that the orphanage was nice, so I had to dress in something other than street clothes. I combed my wavy light brown hair with little blonde glints. I dressed in a flowing grey shirt that I saved for special occasions and my best jeans which I never wore on normal days. I put on black flats and glanced at my appearance in the mirror. My hazel eyes looked sober, my pale lips trembled slightly, my skin was much paler than my normal fair tone, and my very freckles, seemed very slight in my white condition. I suddenly ran out of the house, dashed up the grassy hill beside my house, and hugged my knees to my chest. How could have this happened? How, could it be, that just the other day I was climbing up a tree eating an apple with hysterical Aunt Danielle shrieking at me? One single tear slid down my face. It’s brothers and sisters followed. It’s cousins and aunts and uncles fell from the other eyes. It’s grandparents were right behind it. I buried my head in my knees and sobbed as if my heart would break.
A person came to pick me up to go to the orphanage a little while later when I had wiped my tears and made myself presentable again. It was the eighth grade teacher, my teacher. She had mocking, innocent red mouth, a sharp nose (nevertheless handsome), piercing blue eyes, and a cloud of titan hair which was not done in any style. She was dressed in a smart peacock blue button-up blouse, a khaki pencil skirt, blue heels, diamond drop earrings, and she had on makeup. I was not educated in the terms of makeup, but I assumed she was wearing foundation, blush, mascara and obviously, bright red lipstick. She was obviously young, around her twenties, and I did not know what to make of her.
“Are you the new orphan?” she asked, and her voice sounded sweetly sassy.
“Yes,” I replied sharply.
“I’m Miss Carla Carlos, who are you?”
I decided that she must be a rebel against the headmistress, Ms. Weston, a very conservative, orderly, polite woman. Her attitude! Yet, I didn’t dislike her.
“Stella Curtis,” I replied.
“Oh of course,” Miss Carla suddenly giggled in a sappy tone. “I suppose I must drop a curtsy, perhaps I must be curt, but meanwhile, I must maintain some Curtisy, or courtesy.”
I looked wry at these dry puns. I hopped into Miss Carla’s car, and we headed to Weston Orphanage.
A straight, tall, middle-aged woman with brown hair and a stern face, greeted us. I assumed immediately that she must Mrs. Weston, and I was right.
“You must be Stella Curtis,” she said. “Come in. We’ve been waiting.”