Morgan Is The Bomb (The M' s Series #1)

Home is Where the Heart is

Hi, guys! I am Emma. Thanks so much for starting my story. This is going to be a wild ride! I have a lot planned for this series. So please be patient. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Love ya!! Like and comment please! Would love to know what you think.
##############################################

They say home is where the heart is, but what if your heart doesn't know where it belongs?

I take a deep breath and look up at the sky as birds soar through it on their way to some distant land. I wish I could join them. Fly away home. After I find home. Because my heart lies nowhere.

Home definitely isn't the bedroom I share with the reincarnation of a deceased Woodstock attendant named Daphne. Home definitely isn't the group home I live in. Home definitely wasn't with the multitude of foster homes I've lived in. Home definitely wasn't with the Sweeneys. Home sure as hell wasn't with the people that made me.

I shake my head. I've got to stop getting all philosophical. I need to study. I lower my eyes to the Chemistry textbook on my lap. Out of the corner of my eye I see the time on my phone.

Oh no. No, no, no, no! I toss my books in my backpack before slinging it over my shoulder. Rhoda is going to kill me! Sprinting can only help so much but soon enough I reach the group home I've lived in since I was twelve after passing the alleys and looming dirty buildings I grew up around.

"Daphne?" I call from down below.

She sticks her head out the window showcasing the vibrant purple she dyed it to only yesterday. She spots me, nods, sticks out a thumb then disappears once more. Next thing, a rope ladder flies out the second story window down to where I am. With the setting sun to my back I climb up to my bedroom.

"Hey, thanks." I land on the hardwood with a thud.

"Dinner time!" Rhoda' s shrill voice cries.

Within seconds doors open and close and footsteps thud down the passage. I soon follow suit. Daphne takes a last drag of her marijuana joint, downs some mouth wash before joining me. We aren't worried about not getting food. There is a hierarchy in the Group Homes -- oldest first.

It all comes down to the fact that kids my age don't go to foster homes with any chance of adoption. Kids like Annie, yes like the movie, at the back of the line with the bush of golden corkskrew curls and big sepia eyes is only six. She is going to a foster home next week. There is already a family in the neighbourhood who have already expressed interest in her adoption.

Daphne and I are sympathized with because at fifteen and rebellious, who wants to take us home? (Besides the sleezey boys in my class that is). I grab a plate and start piling food on it. The only kid older than us graduated last year. I see Millie often. It's  not going well. And Millie did well at school. I watch Daphne meditate cross-legged on her chair before she starts eating. I worry for Daphne. She isn't my friend, she is more like the sister I've never had. She is unwanted, like sisters are, but I care.

I wolf down the portions of rice, mixed vegetables and fruit salad in front of me at the large dinner table combined from two tables. Daphne picks at only fruit salad. She is on a diet. She peers over at me on my second helpings.

"You're so lucky." She slumps back into her chair. "I wish I didn't get fat even if I eat everything in front of me." 

"Lucky genes." I shrug. "Hey, Hannah, pass the orange juice please."

The ebony-haired flying monkey (she snitches to the wicked witch all the time) politely hands it over. Daphne leans closer and whispers in my ear.

"Cover for me tonight. I'm going out."