Creative Melting Pot

I quickly step around the various toys scattered across the living-room floor and make my way up the staircase. Once at the top, I’m surprised to find that the hallway is practically spotless; save for a pair of pink rain boots in the wide-open doorway of the first room on the right. I decide to glance in as I walk past, and my stomach instantly fills with a nauseating sense of deja’vu The room itself isn’t particularly spectacular, with a twin-sized bed nestled in one corner and a desk cluttered with various art supplies next to an easel in the other, but its colors are what command my attention.

A delicate, powder blue covers all three walls while puffs of white and gray clouds linger around the ceiling fan. It’s a scene that resembles the sky of a deceptively warm December afternoon. A kind of afternoon that makes your parents decide to do some last-minute Christmas shopping while you stay at home with a sitter, all of you unaware of the bitter snowstorm surging in from the neighboring county.

I shake the memory from my consciousness as I reach the end of the hall and stop to take in the entrance to my new room. The door is painted completely black with a red anarchy symbol and the words Real Punks Punch Nazis written around it. A smile spreads across my face, but it fades as the doorknob begins to turn.

The door opens to reveal a girl around my age and height with intense brown eyes and an agitated expression. She has on a plain black t-shirt with several tears near the bottom, ripped blue jeans, and black boots that go up to her calves. Half of her head is shaven while the other half has thick, brown hair that goes to her shoulders. I assume that this is Marley, but I don’t get the chance to ask before she starts to speak.

“Let me just make one thing perfectly clear.” Marley says as she crosses her arms. I momentarily think that her attitude could be a joke at my expense but, as Marley continues to stare me down, I quickly realize that she’s being completely serious. I decide to glare back to show I’m not intimidated by her but, unfortunately, this only seems to agitate Marley even more. “I never agreed to a roommate. So, even though we’re sharing this room, this is still my space.”

“Marley, be nice!” Nikki shouts from downstairs.

“Just establishing boundaries, Ma!” Marley yells back as she leans her body out the doorway. I openly roll my eyes at this comment just before Marley shifts her focus back to me. “So, yeah, just keep to yourself and we won’t have a problem. Got it?”

I decide to cross my arms and ask, “Are you done? Can I come in now, or are you just gonna bark at me some more?”

An expression of surprise comes across Marley’s face, but it fades into a smile as she lets out a dry laugh. “Haven’t decided.”

I openly roll my eyes at this and walk past Marley. Inside, half of the room is painted the same shade of red as the anarchy symbol on the door while the other half is painted white. On the side painted red, there’s a twin bed with a fuzzy black comforter and numerous posters of bands I don’t recognize handing on the walls around it. On the other side, there’s only another twin bed with bright-blue sheets that have prints of cartoon llamas in scarves on them and two pillows.

“Ma figured you wouldn’t have any sheets, so she just put some of our old ones on the bed for you.” Marley explains as she falls back onto her mattress, swinging her legs as they dangle off the edge of the bed. She then reaches into her jean pocket and pulls out her phone as she says,

“By the way, she’s really looking forward to taking you shopping. So you might wanna start thinking of stuff to buy now or you’ll be out with her all day.”

I plop my duffel bag down on the end of my bed as Marley says this and give an uninterested shrug in response. Marley rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the screen. I catch a glimpse of her feed as she begins to scroll through it, but I can’t tell what said posts say or what sites she’s currently on.

I slide out of my shoes and kick them under the bed before crawling onto my own bed. I flounder onto my back and stare up at the white ceiling – the room completely silent aside from an occasional chuckle from Marley. My eyes eventually slide over to the section where white fades into red and, for a brief second, I’m actually jealous of the color. However, the sensation leaves as fast as it comes.

After all, I know what will happen here. Despite the warm welcome, these people will eventually decide they no longer want me. I’ll either say or do something that offends them and, just like that, I’m off to my next foster family. So, really, it makes sense that there’s no color on my side of the room. It accurately reflects just how little impact I have on both this family and the world at large.