Be Real
Disclaimer: Dude, if I owned DBZ, I wouldn't be sitting at home typing away on an old, out-dated 1999 Microsoft Word and wearing an old ragged pair of jeans and a baggy band shirt. I'd have the most updated, cool computer EVER; the body of a Victoria Secret model (personal trainers; duh), and-oh, well, the clothes never really change.
AUTHOR'S NOTE *****PLEASE READ*******:
A JD is a Juvenile Delinquent. Ju-V is a jail for kids under eighteen; it's an abbreviation, but I can't remember the whole word. A Social Worker is someone who takes care of orphans and figures out which foster home you go to, or if your dad were beating you or something you'd tell them. Basically, they're the police for kids, to make sure they have a nice, stable home and the stuff you need. Okay-now on to the story!
Chapter 1
"So, hold on, all I have to do is legally become these rich people's kid and I'm out?"
"Yes. All you have to do is sign the papers and you're home free."
The Social Worker and the teenage delinquent sat across a black metal table from each other in a vast, empty room used by tenants in the local Ju-V and outsiders to have a privet conversation-which was supervised constantly by police officers, mind you.
The Social Worker was primp and proper; her hair was up in a tight bun, her nose long and glasses perched on the rather skinny bridge of her nose.
Her clipboard sat neatly in her lap with a pen in her bony hand, her legs neatly crossed. She wore a tan suit with a skirt just below her knees, and high heels that screamed, "I make you sound like a horse when you walk!"
The delinquent, however, had blue, stringy hair that hung around her face with the rest of it pulled back in a ponytail. Her face was smudged with dirt, her arms more muscled than most girls her age, dirt under her fingernails, and her arms crossed, hiding her few scars and bruises and exposing her knobby, rough fingers and knuckles. She wore the required clothing in JV, which this year was a white tank top with a pair of navy- blue pants and a navy-blue long-sleeve shirt to go over the tank top. On the back of the navy-blue long-sleeve shirt were the numbers 11589, which was her tenant pin number. Honestly, all the tenants looked like mini mechanics, with their dirty bodies and ruffed clothing that was far too large for them.
In short, the two were opposites; the worker, a respectable, refined woman; the delinquent, a rough, violent, conniving, dirty juvenile delinquent. In fact, they were only alike in one way: They were both female.
The delinquent paused a moment, digging some of the dirt out of her nails.
"I don't like it." she said suddenly.
"Why not?" the Social worker asked, peering at the young girl. She had learned long ago that she (the JD) was a lot wiser than she let on, and she had to have something up her sleeve to not want to finally get out of Ju-V.
The JD propped her feet up on the table and put her hands behind her head. Her face changed to 'here we go again', and she sighed.
"First of all," she began, "you know I don't like rich people; second of all, I won't change my street name; and third of all, it's too risky."
The older woman's mouth pursed and she replied a bit sharply, "Well here's your answer to all three: first, you need to get over it, you're too old and wise to bother yourself with hate for a class; second, if you don't change your street name, won't that just raise your chances of being found? And third, you're right, it is risky, but you can't hide out here for ever; your sentence will be up next year."
The worker and the JD may have been different, but the worker had been the JD's only sense of the outside world since she was fifteen, and she had been put in Ju-V. Honestly, they were tight in a twisted sort of way.
The JD sighed, and pulled her dirty, black, torn-up converse all-stars off the clean, shining black table.
"I still don't feel right about it." she sighed.
"What's there not to feel right about?" the worker asked, "The Briefs have been taking in kids for years as foster parents; now they've just decided to adopt a kid who needs a stable home. I'm telling you, if you go along with it, it'll be you who gets the pay check."
"Pay check? What pay check?" the JD spat, crossing her rugged arms again.
The Worker smirked a bit, and said, "The Briefs are one of the richest couples on Earth. Wouldn't you think you'd get some of the money? Not to mention inheritance."
The JD leaned back, pushing the chair back on its two back legs and going back and forth, contemplating the situation.
Then she began to nod, and she let the chair slam back down on the floor.
"I'll do it."
___________________________
Okay. That was the first chapter, so just review and tell me what you think. If I get the okay on it, I'll continue. Oh, and I didn't say names the whole time to keep it nice and secret. Why? How should I know? Not even I understand me.
Thanks for reading, now review!
Much Love,
IHearVoices
Disclaimer: Dude, if I owned DBZ, I wouldn't be sitting at home typing away on an old, out-dated 1999 Microsoft Word and wearing an old ragged pair of jeans and a baggy band shirt. I'd have the most updated, cool computer EVER; the body of a Victoria Secret model (personal trainers; duh), and-oh, well, the clothes never really change.
AUTHOR'S NOTE *****PLEASE READ*******:
A JD is a Juvenile Delinquent. Ju-V is a jail for kids under eighteen; it's an abbreviation, but I can't remember the whole word. A Social Worker is someone who takes care of orphans and figures out which foster home you go to, or if your dad were beating you or something you'd tell them. Basically, they're the police for kids, to make sure they have a nice, stable home and the stuff you need. Okay-now on to the story!
Chapter 1
"So, hold on, all I have to do is legally become these rich people's kid and I'm out?"
"Yes. All you have to do is sign the papers and you're home free."
The Social Worker and the teenage delinquent sat across a black metal table from each other in a vast, empty room used by tenants in the local Ju-V and outsiders to have a privet conversation-which was supervised constantly by police officers, mind you.
The Social Worker was primp and proper; her hair was up in a tight bun, her nose long and glasses perched on the rather skinny bridge of her nose.
Her clipboard sat neatly in her lap with a pen in her bony hand, her legs neatly crossed. She wore a tan suit with a skirt just below her knees, and high heels that screamed, "I make you sound like a horse when you walk!"
The delinquent, however, had blue, stringy hair that hung around her face with the rest of it pulled back in a ponytail. Her face was smudged with dirt, her arms more muscled than most girls her age, dirt under her fingernails, and her arms crossed, hiding her few scars and bruises and exposing her knobby, rough fingers and knuckles. She wore the required clothing in JV, which this year was a white tank top with a pair of navy- blue pants and a navy-blue long-sleeve shirt to go over the tank top. On the back of the navy-blue long-sleeve shirt were the numbers 11589, which was her tenant pin number. Honestly, all the tenants looked like mini mechanics, with their dirty bodies and ruffed clothing that was far too large for them.
In short, the two were opposites; the worker, a respectable, refined woman; the delinquent, a rough, violent, conniving, dirty juvenile delinquent. In fact, they were only alike in one way: They were both female.
The delinquent paused a moment, digging some of the dirt out of her nails.
"I don't like it." she said suddenly.
"Why not?" the Social worker asked, peering at the young girl. She had learned long ago that she (the JD) was a lot wiser than she let on, and she had to have something up her sleeve to not want to finally get out of Ju-V.
The JD propped her feet up on the table and put her hands behind her head. Her face changed to 'here we go again', and she sighed.
"First of all," she began, "you know I don't like rich people; second of all, I won't change my street name; and third of all, it's too risky."
The older woman's mouth pursed and she replied a bit sharply, "Well here's your answer to all three: first, you need to get over it, you're too old and wise to bother yourself with hate for a class; second, if you don't change your street name, won't that just raise your chances of being found? And third, you're right, it is risky, but you can't hide out here for ever; your sentence will be up next year."
The worker and the JD may have been different, but the worker had been the JD's only sense of the outside world since she was fifteen, and she had been put in Ju-V. Honestly, they were tight in a twisted sort of way.
The JD sighed, and pulled her dirty, black, torn-up converse all-stars off the clean, shining black table.
"I still don't feel right about it." she sighed.
"What's there not to feel right about?" the worker asked, "The Briefs have been taking in kids for years as foster parents; now they've just decided to adopt a kid who needs a stable home. I'm telling you, if you go along with it, it'll be you who gets the pay check."
"Pay check? What pay check?" the JD spat, crossing her rugged arms again.
The Worker smirked a bit, and said, "The Briefs are one of the richest couples on Earth. Wouldn't you think you'd get some of the money? Not to mention inheritance."
The JD leaned back, pushing the chair back on its two back legs and going back and forth, contemplating the situation.
Then she began to nod, and she let the chair slam back down on the floor.
"I'll do it."
___________________________
Okay. That was the first chapter, so just review and tell me what you think. If I get the okay on it, I'll continue. Oh, and I didn't say names the whole time to keep it nice and secret. Why? How should I know? Not even I understand me.
Thanks for reading, now review!
Much Love,
IHearVoices