How Samantha Deewas met MCR and Became Their Little Sister
Chapter 3
“What truth?” I yelled, filled to the brim with different emotions like surprise, anger. I don’t do that well under stress.
“Open it” My mum commanded.
I hastily flipped to the first page. The word ‘ADOPTION’ was typed in large, size 72 text.
No way. I could not be adopted. I cast pleading eyes to mum, but she just indicated to keep on reading. I read a few more pages. I was adopted from a website called ‘www.********.com.au’
She told me her story.
It had all started when I had been adopted at the age of 2 months. My mum could not have children anymore, being 54, and our dad desperately wanted a baby. Besides implanting an egg and some of dad’s sperm, she decided to take the less expensive way. Adoption. After surfing around, she found a website that offered children who needed families for a cheap price. She adopted me, and I had never been told, afraid of the negative impact that would follow such a revelation.
I did have the idea of me being adopted, but I had always pushed it to the back of my mind, only thinking about it on rainy days spent inside the house on a cushy armchair and reading a boring book.
Did I forget to mention I have an older brother, James, 24?
It’s hard to live with him, because he’s amazing at piano and music in general. He’s been hired for many a performance at . Expectations are high. I suck at music. Only 8th grade on trumpet. XC. And I’ve been playing for just about 2 years.
No wonder I look nothing like my parents, or had their skills.
We argued over the most stupidest things, like for eg. If Gerard Way looked better with black or platinum eyebrows. Even so, we were best friends. Dangerous situations had bound us together really tight, for example, he was stuck on a sandbar when he was 14. He couldn’t swim and the tide was coming in. I couldn’t swim either, so what I did was give her my tube, aim him to shore, and then nearly drown myself. I know, I know. That’s a bit of Samantha logic. Whenever someone makes an absurdly stupid mistake like that, they refer to me. It infuriates me, although the rest of my family just tell me to chill out.
Anyways, I impatiently flipped over the page, anxious to know who my real parents are.
My real parents ar-
My mum shut the pages. “No need to spoil that.” She smiled. I longingly looked at the papers, but I smothered my curiosity, and nodded. Whisky, my Russian Blue, winded around my legs, meowing for attention. I pushed her away gently.
“Can I meet them?” I asked, quivering with nervousness.
“Actually you’re meeting them today.”
“WHAT?” I yelled. Then I quieted down. “What?” I exclaimed with disbelief. “Today?”
“I actually meant for you to find it.” My mum chuckled, happy that her plan worked.
“Nice, mum.” I high-fived her. “What time are they coming?”
“Actually...” she craned her head to see the clock better. It showed 2:00. “In an hour!”
“Crap!” I ran up to my room in record time, collecting clothes for a shower. My room was on the direct left of the stairs, and the corridor banked right so if you looked at it from above, it looked like a giant L turned sideways. My brothers room was near the end, and a white tiled bathroom lay at the end. The entire corridor was about 15 metres. So much space was wasted in creating this house.
I raced to the shower, passing my brother who had stuck out his head to see what the fuss was all about. My speed made his black hair whoosh up. As I jumped into the bathroom, James ran downstairs, ready to bombard Mum with questions about my sudden change of cleanliness.
I dumped my clothes on the toilet lid, quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. I relaxed as hot water pounded my back and I started to shampoo my hair.
*~~~~~*
“Open it” My mum commanded.
I hastily flipped to the first page. The word ‘ADOPTION’ was typed in large, size 72 text.
No way. I could not be adopted. I cast pleading eyes to mum, but she just indicated to keep on reading. I read a few more pages. I was adopted from a website called ‘www.********.com.au’
She told me her story.
It had all started when I had been adopted at the age of 2 months. My mum could not have children anymore, being 54, and our dad desperately wanted a baby. Besides implanting an egg and some of dad’s sperm, she decided to take the less expensive way. Adoption. After surfing around, she found a website that offered children who needed families for a cheap price. She adopted me, and I had never been told, afraid of the negative impact that would follow such a revelation.
I did have the idea of me being adopted, but I had always pushed it to the back of my mind, only thinking about it on rainy days spent inside the house on a cushy armchair and reading a boring book.
Did I forget to mention I have an older brother, James, 24?
It’s hard to live with him, because he’s amazing at piano and music in general. He’s been hired for many a performance at . Expectations are high. I suck at music. Only 8th grade on trumpet. XC. And I’ve been playing for just about 2 years.
No wonder I look nothing like my parents, or had their skills.
We argued over the most stupidest things, like for eg. If Gerard Way looked better with black or platinum eyebrows. Even so, we were best friends. Dangerous situations had bound us together really tight, for example, he was stuck on a sandbar when he was 14. He couldn’t swim and the tide was coming in. I couldn’t swim either, so what I did was give her my tube, aim him to shore, and then nearly drown myself. I know, I know. That’s a bit of Samantha logic. Whenever someone makes an absurdly stupid mistake like that, they refer to me. It infuriates me, although the rest of my family just tell me to chill out.
Anyways, I impatiently flipped over the page, anxious to know who my real parents are.
My real parents ar-
My mum shut the pages. “No need to spoil that.” She smiled. I longingly looked at the papers, but I smothered my curiosity, and nodded. Whisky, my Russian Blue, winded around my legs, meowing for attention. I pushed her away gently.
“Can I meet them?” I asked, quivering with nervousness.
“Actually you’re meeting them today.”
“WHAT?” I yelled. Then I quieted down. “What?” I exclaimed with disbelief. “Today?”
“I actually meant for you to find it.” My mum chuckled, happy that her plan worked.
“Nice, mum.” I high-fived her. “What time are they coming?”
“Actually...” she craned her head to see the clock better. It showed 2:00. “In an hour!”
“Crap!” I ran up to my room in record time, collecting clothes for a shower. My room was on the direct left of the stairs, and the corridor banked right so if you looked at it from above, it looked like a giant L turned sideways. My brothers room was near the end, and a white tiled bathroom lay at the end. The entire corridor was about 15 metres. So much space was wasted in creating this house.
I raced to the shower, passing my brother who had stuck out his head to see what the fuss was all about. My speed made his black hair whoosh up. As I jumped into the bathroom, James ran downstairs, ready to bombard Mum with questions about my sudden change of cleanliness.
I dumped my clothes on the toilet lid, quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. I relaxed as hot water pounded my back and I started to shampoo my hair.
*~~~~~*
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