Page 13 of That Pucking New Girl

“Mmhmm,” Elijah says. “Well, just in case you wondered.”

Ari’s eyes get really wide and she jumps to her feet.

“Dada!” she squeals. “Poop!”

“Shit,” Elijah says under his breath. “Did you go already or are we running, baby?”

“Runnn!” she yells. Elijah picks her up like a football and they run out of the room while everyone acts like this is normal.

“We’re potty training,” Liliana explains. “Elijah is semi terrified about it, but Ari makes it to the bathroom every time with him. So, he’s stuck.”

“We made it!” Elijah yells down the hall.

“Yay!” everyone yells, including the toddler on the ground, while I clap weakly in solidarity.

Holy shit balls, it really is a circus here. I don’t think I hate it.

CHAPTER

FOUR

NOOR

Gazing down at the get up they call a uniform, I blow out a breath in frustration. The size is right, but it still manages to hang off my frame.

“This is why I hide in loose clothing,” I mutter.

Looking back at the mirror critically, I see that the white shirt underneath the navy blue blazer washes me out, and the red tie isn’t doing me any favors. The uniform has a navy skirt that makes it even more obvious I don’t have an ass. I hate it.

“Yuck,” I sigh. The problem is that since I have a high metabolism and don’t eat much, my body is straight as a board. I read somewhere there are protein shakes that could help me gain weight. I wouldn’t mind it if the weight stuck to the right places.

I’m hoping I’ll be able to maintain healthier practices if I’m not in pain as often. Emil, Rachelle’s stepfather, took a special interest in me, and asked all kinds of questions about what I want. I blushed hard when I admitted that I wanted to be normal.

He looked at me for a long time before nodding.

“I think you’re better than normal, Noor. Let’s shoot for health and happiness, yes?”

I can see why Rachelle likes him so much. He’s right, simply existing isn’t enough for me, and it’s all I’ve been able to do.

Brushing my long, dark hair, I detangle it until it shines. I pull out my makeup and put on what I like to call, my armor. I can color correct bruises, do smoky dark eyes, and a vampy lip. That’s about the extent of my makeup skills, but it’ll allow me to feel more like myself.

My parents were of Middle Eastern descent, but as second generation Americans, didn’t teach me very much about my culture or language. Instead, I have wild hair I don’t know how to master, almost black eyes, and pale skin where they were more tan. It’s hard to think about my parents after everything, and I miss them.

Well, I miss who my father used to be.

“Noor, ten minute warning!” Rachelle calls out, making me work faster.

My eye makeup is dark, my lashes made longer with waterproof mascara, and my lipstick a deep blue-red. Sitting back in the chair in front of the mirror, I decide my face looks nice at least. I don’t know how to tell myself I look pretty, or how to make myself believe it.

People have been telling me about how unique I look for years, but since there’s usually a creepy vibe that goes along with it, I ignore it. Adults shouldn’t be telling me how pretty I am, especially when the assholes break into my room later. Shuddering with the memories of my early foster care years, I clench my hands into fists.

It’s hard to have nice thoughts about yourself when you’ve been exploited for so long.

“Get moving and stop thinking about bad shit,” I tell myself. The problem with being alone so often, is how often the inner thoughts in my head make their way out.

The long white knee high socks that go with the outfit are actually compression socks, and as I struggle to pull them up, I try to ignore how much I wish I could wear pants. I feel really exposed. However, this is the uniform, and I’m already getting so many accommodations, I refuse to be a brat about it.

At least the socks will look like everyone else’s while still helping me. I’m happy Rachelle thought about this.