Learning from a New Family
I was nervous when I stood on the doorstep. This was going to be my new home, in a new city, away from everyone I knew. I didn’t know what it would be like, or what I would do if I didn’t like it. I knew a little bit about the home. My foster parent was a woman in her early forties. Seven years ago she had taken in another foster kid, and recently had adopted her. She was a girl, sixteen, two years older than me. I had just reached the age where I was becoming interested in girls, rather than avoiding them. Still, I doubted it would turn out that way with this girl. It was the second week of summer, which meant she’d be the only person around my age I’d be …