"You'll be fine here," Mrs. Stevenson said. She was staring opening at Diana and Jenna, making both girls feel uncomfortable. Diana looked away from her new foster mom, soon to be adopted mom if the paperwork went through. She sighed, rubbing the back of her head. Jenna moved closer to her, holding onto her leg, looking like a white little duckling child.
"Mother never once told you we were albino, did she, Mrs. Stevenson?" Diana asked. She knew they looked different, but she wished people wouldn't stare. It was just rude. If they were curious, they could just openly talk to them, ask them questions. Things like that. But no, most people stared, or worse. Diana didn't want to think about the "worse" things some people had done to her. It was usually during class when she had to use one of her special tools to help her see the chalkboard better. Such as her glasses with the thickest lenses imaginable. Attached to them was a scope, almost like a telescope. They helped her see better, but it was not a fix-all. She still had to use a walking cane when moving around and so did her poor six year old sister.
"Please, call me Sharon," she answered. Diana couldn't tell, but it sounded like she was blushing. At least she sounded flustered. "I'm very sorry. You're right, your mother never told us."
Two months ago, Diana and Jenna's mother died from an overdose of drugs. She had hid her addiction so well, even from her children, so her death came as a huge shock. Diana was devastated that her mother had been so sick and she never noticed. Of course Jenna was too young to understand anything. All she knew was that her mommy was gone and never coming back.
After saying farewell to their mother, the siblings were sent clear across America to the smallest town imaginable with their godparents that they had never met. The town was so small, that there was only one school house for high schoolers, and another for grade and middle schoolers. Most of the people who lived there worked out of town, because there were not many job opportunities, save for the one gas station, one fast food joint, one run down movie theater, and one all purpose general store that had food and everyday things a person might need to get by.
As far as entertainment, there was only the movie theater. There had been a bowling alley, but it was shut down years ago when the owner died. The teens had a few hang out spots, but nothing Diana could ever see herself participating in. Hang out spots meant make out spots, anyway.
"There was a lot mother did not tell us. So yes, we have albinism. We're not sick. We look different and have sensitivity to the sun..."
"We can't see very good," Jenna added, happy to contribute to the conversation, though her happiness was short lived because she remembered her mother was gone.
"But it doesn't slow us down... much." Diana hugged her sister close to her. Even if Sharon and her husband Dan adopted them, and their mother had asked for them to in her will, Diana knew that she would never be able to see them as parents, and it was more likely that Jenna would come to think of her sister like a mother figure before she thought of some stranger as her mom.
"Come on in," Mr. Hanks said, waving Diana into the classroom. It felt so daunting to her. She could not see the people in the hallways too clearly, but it did seem they were staring based on their whispers. She stepped into the classroom, and using her cane, helped to find her way to the front of the room where the history teacher was standing. She did not have her glasses on; they were only used when she needed to see things more clearly, like the blackboard.
"Would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?"
People in the class were whispering. Diana could make out blurry faces, but no details were obvious. They were staring all right. She sighed, brushed her long white hair out of her light blue eyes, and thought about what she should say. She hated doing things like this. She felt like she was in a zoo on display.
"I'm Diana, moved here from a big town. I used to work in a flour factory. There was an unfortunate explosion and I'm sure you can guess the rest."
There were a few laughs, but not really mean, more surprised, perhaps.
"Oh, I've heard all the nicknames. My favorite is Ghost, but Powder is more of a meh, if I'm honest."
Mr. Hank shook his head. Kids these days.
"Mother never once told you we were albino, did she, Mrs. Stevenson?" Diana asked. She knew they looked different, but she wished people wouldn't stare. It was just rude. If they were curious, they could just openly talk to them, ask them questions. Things like that. But no, most people stared, or worse. Diana didn't want to think about the "worse" things some people had done to her. It was usually during class when she had to use one of her special tools to help her see the chalkboard better. Such as her glasses with the thickest lenses imaginable. Attached to them was a scope, almost like a telescope. They helped her see better, but it was not a fix-all. She still had to use a walking cane when moving around and so did her poor six year old sister.
"Please, call me Sharon," she answered. Diana couldn't tell, but it sounded like she was blushing. At least she sounded flustered. "I'm very sorry. You're right, your mother never told us."
Two months ago, Diana and Jenna's mother died from an overdose of drugs. She had hid her addiction so well, even from her children, so her death came as a huge shock. Diana was devastated that her mother had been so sick and she never noticed. Of course Jenna was too young to understand anything. All she knew was that her mommy was gone and never coming back.
After saying farewell to their mother, the siblings were sent clear across America to the smallest town imaginable with their godparents that they had never met. The town was so small, that there was only one school house for high schoolers, and another for grade and middle schoolers. Most of the people who lived there worked out of town, because there were not many job opportunities, save for the one gas station, one fast food joint, one run down movie theater, and one all purpose general store that had food and everyday things a person might need to get by.
As far as entertainment, there was only the movie theater. There had been a bowling alley, but it was shut down years ago when the owner died. The teens had a few hang out spots, but nothing Diana could ever see herself participating in. Hang out spots meant make out spots, anyway.
"There was a lot mother did not tell us. So yes, we have albinism. We're not sick. We look different and have sensitivity to the sun..."
"We can't see very good," Jenna added, happy to contribute to the conversation, though her happiness was short lived because she remembered her mother was gone.
"But it doesn't slow us down... much." Diana hugged her sister close to her. Even if Sharon and her husband Dan adopted them, and their mother had asked for them to in her will, Diana knew that she would never be able to see them as parents, and it was more likely that Jenna would come to think of her sister like a mother figure before she thought of some stranger as her mom.
"Come on in," Mr. Hanks said, waving Diana into the classroom. It felt so daunting to her. She could not see the people in the hallways too clearly, but it did seem they were staring based on their whispers. She stepped into the classroom, and using her cane, helped to find her way to the front of the room where the history teacher was standing. She did not have her glasses on; they were only used when she needed to see things more clearly, like the blackboard.
"Would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself?"
People in the class were whispering. Diana could make out blurry faces, but no details were obvious. They were staring all right. She sighed, brushed her long white hair out of her light blue eyes, and thought about what she should say. She hated doing things like this. She felt like she was in a zoo on display.
"I'm Diana, moved here from a big town. I used to work in a flour factory. There was an unfortunate explosion and I'm sure you can guess the rest."
There were a few laughs, but not really mean, more surprised, perhaps.
"Oh, I've heard all the nicknames. My favorite is Ghost, but Powder is more of a meh, if I'm honest."
Mr. Hank shook his head. Kids these days.
