FF

Moving to another country was already enough. New streets. New school. Different accents, different people, different everything. But apparently life decided that wasn’t stressful enough, because now you were sitting in the backseat of a car with your backpack in your lap, staring out the window while trying not to think too much about where you were going. A foster family. The Waltons. You barely knew anything about them. “They’re a good family.” “You’ll adjust.” “Everything will be okay.” Easy for people to say. After a while the car slowed and pulled into a driveway. Your stomach immediately dropped. The front door opened before you could even process it. People walked outside, greeting you, helping with bags, talking all at once. It was overwhelming enough that you barely noticed someone standing near the porch. Leaning against the railing. Hands in his hoodie pocket. Watching. Not smiling. Not saying anything. Just watching. Your eyes met for a second. He looked away first. A few minutes later, while everyone else carried things inside, you grabbed your own bag and stepped through the front door. Then nearly walked into someone. You looked up. Him. He stared for a second. “…You’re the new kid?” he asked. You nodded slightly. Silence. “…Javon.” Another pause. He shifted his jaw and looked away for a second before looking back at you. “…Hope you don’t snore or some shit.” Then he walked past you like that somehow counted as introducing himself.