Kayla is a nameless orphan, who is being ill-treated by her foster family. She runs away, only to fall in the hands of other foster families, who treat her worse than ever. Kayla soon discovers she has a half-older sister, who betrayed her, but lived a life of misery. Kayla can't do anything but save Karen, or worse, become a slave.
I ran down the cold streets in January, almost freezing with frost. I have no proper coat or jacket, just a thin cardigan, and a torn skirt.
My scarf is made of a duster cloth, and I couldn't even dream of wearing cheap jelly shoes. Which I'm wearing now.
I'm Kayla, just Kayla, no last name no nickname. Of course, my foster family calls me 'brat' or 'a mess' sometimes, but those aren't suitable nicknames for me.
The thing is, my parents, abandoned me when I was seven, so I'm all alone in the world.
Not always. Hannah, my social worker, threw me into the foster care of the Bitermanns.
Nora is the daughter, who, you can guess, is the REAL brat. She's so mean, so rude to everyone, and also quite spoilt.
If she asks for anything and you say no, she created a tantrum and cries all day (all day) unless you get it for her.
Can you relate?
I ran down the main and the bakeries. I was running an errand for those Bitermanns. I would actually like to peek in and look at the delicious bread, cake, cupcakes, cookies, and all the goodies in the shops, but it makes me more and more hungry if I do, because I don't have any money.
I'm planning to steal from the Bitermann's treasurer soon, who is dumber than dumb.
I swerved past 'Good Tastes' and '90s Baker' but stopped at 'Silvia Cooks'.
It was a cute silver and brown restaurant, but the Bitermanns only bought from it twice, I remember.
It was warm and pretty inside, with silver decorations and garlands.
I loved that shop. But I never got to touch any goody from it.
I took a deep breath and was about to move on when suddenly, there was a light tap on my shoulder.
I looked back and saw a middle-aged woman, who was very beautiful. She smiled at me.
'Hello, you need any help?' she asked in a kind voice.
I nodded, without meaning to. 'I-my foster family-er-they sent me on an errand, but I'm not allowed to-you know,- er- eat any-'
She smiled sadly. 'I know, my foster family treat me like that before, not teaching me English, or sent me to school, but I learn how to read and write when I was 14 and it was horrible because I not wanted anyone to find out my secret. I had a lot of friends. But they leave me, I know,'
Wow. This woman had pretty bad grammar.
'I-I could perfect your grammar for you if you'd like,' I suggested.
I don't know what I was thinking.
'No,' said the lady. 'It fine, it my accent anyway. Do you want anything?'
I shook my head.
'Then why you looking in my shop?'
'Your shop?' I looked at 'Silvia Cooks', the big sliver cafe I told you about.
'That's yours?'
'Yes,' said Silvia, smiling now. 'I open it when I was 19, it was a hard job, no one wants to employ me,'
I nodded.
'So you want anything?' she asked, again.
I looked at the delicious bakes and food lining the shop door. 'Yes, please,'
I introduced myself to Silvia and we walked into the shop together.
