[Chapter 1: Good Morning]

Opening chapter. Short, yes, but that would be because it's the first one :P 

     "Hey!"

     I jump at her outburst and smack my head on the top bunk. What now?

     Olivia screams and shakes her Wii-mote rigorously at the television. She sticks her tongue out, and I swear I see a little of sweat on her itty-bitty forehead.

     She screams again, "Rud! Ruddy wake up!"

     A groan escapes from my lips. I don't know how many times I've told her to stop calling me that.

     "It's Rue, Olivia. Rue," I sit up, carefully, still rubbing my aching forehead. My clock reads 6:33 a.m., and the emotion (My alarm clock has a legit face, and can change colors depending on its mood) on my clock looks purple and tired. Well, that was projecting myself right back at me.

     "Ruddy!" Olivia screams at the screen.

     She's only five, I don't blame her... Too much, anyway. I still love her, even if the nickname she has for me describes me as "red."

     I'm not the least bit "red."

     "Calm down!" I cover my ears with my hands, exasperation drawn on every inch of my face. "Calm down,Livy, it's just a game!"

     Livy throws herself at the ground right after her car is blown up by the evil dragon dude off of Mario Cart... And starts tearing up.

     "He... He killed me Rud!" She whines and starts sniffling.

     "Hey," I open my arms for her, even if the angle my back is bent is killing me. "C'm'ere Livy. It's okay, c'mon."

     She buries her face into my shoulder, and I carry her out of my room. Even though she isn't facing me, I can tell she's sucking on her thumb. It's a horrible habit I still have to break her of, but I'm getting to it. Right after she stops eating crayons.

     The smell of pancakes, or waffles, and sausage throws a rope over Livy and I, pulling us to the small kitchen in my apartment. Tate must've woken up early to make breakfast... That's a first.

     Tate's my uncle, well not really, but he took Olivia and myself in. He's only about twenty-six, single, and feeding three mouths will just a bit of help from me. His hair is brown, thin, and fluffy (some times). His attitude.. Well his attitude depends on if he's been drinking or not. Don't worry, he doesn't drink often.

     Olivia and I are, to put it bluntly, orphans. We're related, by our mother, I think, but I can't seem to find any resemblance between us. Tate always says we have the same nose, or ears, or composer. I don't think Tate knows what he's talking about.

     We ran away, well, I did. But I took Olivia with me. All the other orphans bullied her, took her things and put her down. She was only three, and I was fifteen at the time. We lived in an old musty car for about a month until some city department came into the alley and took it away. Tate took us in, then, but I've never had the nerve to ask why. I still feel like it's too good to be true.

     I adjusted Livy to my left hip and pulled her booster chair-thingy onto one of the wooden chairs sitting around the pale table. She held onto my neck until I set her fully down into the seat, and I scooted her chair gently up to the table.

     When I turned around, I nearly ran into Tate, and his pan nearly burned my face off.

     "Rue!" He clinched his teeth and twisted around, holding the pan up, and did some weird balance adjustment that finally settled him. He glared at me with wide eyes.

     I bit my lip, "I-- Sorry." I grip my left arm with my right hand, averting my gaze to the floor. We learned at the orphanage to not make contact, and to take our beatings like adults. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting.

     I hear Tate sigh, "Rue, you know I won't hit you. Stop that and sit down."

     Not realizing I'd been holding my breath, I exhale sharply and sit next to Olivia quietly. Tate had put her blond curls up into pig-tails this morning while I was sleeping, and she looks adorable. I playfully tickle her tummy; she giggles and grins at me.

     "Ruddy stobbit!" She keeps trying to grab my hands, but I pull them back and tickle her again before she can grasp them. "Ruddy!"

     "Yeah, Ruddy," Tate chimes in, scooping a pancake from his pan onto my plate. "Stobbit."

     I stick my tongue out at him, but mouth the words, 'Thank you,' and offer a smile. He returns it, winks, and mouths back, 'Eat. Now.'

     My stomach rumbles as my nose smells the chocolate chip pancake in front of me, but my brain keeps floating around like I'm forgetting something.

     I shrug inwardly and cut Olivia's small pancake before I cut my own and shove pieces into my mouth. Olivia sloppily stabs pieces of her's with her pink plastic spork and almost misses her mouth, causing me to smile. She just furrows her eyebrows and chews.

     After I set my plate into the sink, I thank Tate.

     "You better get ready for school," he says, drying a glass.

     Of course.That's what I'd been forgetting!

     "Oh God!" I cry out and run to the bathroom. "Tate, what time is it?"

     "Seven thirty," he calls. "You'd better hurry up."

     I brush my teeth quickly, "Are you seriously making me do this?!"

     Tate chuckles, "You're going to school, Rue. I can handle the bills. I'll let you take up a job in the summer, I promise."

     Rinse, strip, clothe, deodorize, eye-line-a-fy, one more quick brush. I sigh, figure what I'm wearing now will have to work, and walk out of the bathroom

     Olivia grins up at me from the table, "Good luck, Ruddy."

     I smile, "I'll be fine, kiddo. Be good for Uncle Tate." I plant a kiss on her forehead.

     "Is this okay?" I ask Tate, gesturing at my outfit.

     "You look..." He pauses, then clears his throat. "Everything checks out okay at headquarters, chief."

     I laugh and hug him, "Thank you so much, T. I.. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

     He chuckles, and lets go, "Hurry up, Rud. Take the Jeep today." He tosses the keys to me.

     "Really?" I beam at him.

     Tate nods, a lopsided grin on his face, then he ushers me out.

     Reality hits me when I get into the white Wrangler Jeep.

     High school. People. Shit.