Prosthetic Head

It was decided that Amy would be put in foster care, since she had no aunts or uncles (both her parents were only children), and her grandparents were all dead. The court let her stay in California for the rest of her senior year, they just didn't take into consideration which part. You see, Amy is a southern Cali girl, and her foster family the Armstrongs live in Rodeo, which is in northern California. It's kinda close to Berkeley, which was ok with Amy: she had wanted to live there for a while, it was the hippie in her.

Amy grumbled to herself when the social worker pulled her into the car for the hours long drive north. She took out her walkman and put in her Never Mind The Bollocks Here's The Sex Pistols tape. Johnny Rotten couldn't really sing that well, but she needed that raw anger. Amy's way of dealing with her parents' deaths was to repress it. She was in the anger stage of denial. Why did they have to fucking leave me like that?!?! Was it something I did?

At the last pit stop, she wondered what her temporary family would be like. She had heard that the mom, Ollie, was really nice and that she had a son her age named Billie Joe. Her social worker had mentioned that they would have to share a room since there weren't any others available.{i]Why the fuck would you sign up to take care of a kid if you didn't have enough rooms in the first place? Billie Joe better not be an asshole perv. Her social worker had assured her that the Armstrongs were good people. They better be. They left the pit stop and drove the last mile to the Armstrong house. When they pulled up to the house the socila worker said,"This is it," and helped Amy with her stuff. She wanted to get rid of her, most likely. Amy knocked on the door. She heard yelling from inside the house, and then a boy answered the door.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked in disgust as he gave Amy a look over.

"Amy Wilcox." Amy glared and grit her teeth as she stared at the boy in front of her.

"Well, Cox. What the fuck are you doing here? I don't think I ordered a prostitute." Amy glared at him and punched him in the balls. She smirked as he grunted and bent over in pain. She took her stuff inside and walked past him into the house.

"You must be Amy! I'm so sorry about my son, dearie. He's just coping from a really hard break up. His girlfriend dumped him, just like that! I think she bruised his ego. Well, enough about Billie, let's show you to your room."

"Wait. That was Billie?"

"Yes, what were you expecting?"

"Well I wasn't expecting to room with a complete asshole."

"Oh, give him a chance. He's really a good boy. He's just going a bit in the wrong direction, what with the marajuana and everything."

Great, I have to deal with a pot smoking asshole on top of my only family fucking dieing. God kill me now!