LANCE
I wake up in a small room bathed in bright sunlight, the warm rays streaming through the sheer white curtains and creating playful patterns on the wooden floor.
Stretching my arms overhead, I reach for my black rectangle-framed glasses resting on the bedside table and slide them onto my face, instantly sharpening the world around me.
Turning my gaze toward the window, I can't help but admire how the sun transforms the trees outside, each branch glistening as if dusted with diamonds.
The leaves shimmer in shades of emerald, dancing gently in the light morning breeze.
I toss aside my striped blue and white blanket—a cozy, familiar weight—and hop down from the top bunk of the wooden bed.
My feet touch the warm oak floor, and I take a moment to stretch my body like a cat, feeling the muscles awaken.
Glancing over at Leo on the bottom bunk, I see him still lost in the depths of sleep, his chest rising and falling softly.
He'll probably sleep for another half hour, no rush for him, I think with a smirk.
I navigate my way through the maze of packed boxes that fill the corners of our room, carefully pulling out the outfit I had laid out on the dresser the night before—a simple, comfortable pair of jeans and a vibrant blue button-down shirt.
Ready to dive into my morning routine, I step out of the room and into the brightly colored hallway, walls painted in cheerful shades of yellow and orange.
I approach the last door on the right and knock lightly, the sound echoing softly in the stillness.
"Using the bathroom!" comes a loud voice, unmistakably youthful and exuberant.
"Jerry, is that you? Don't forget to flush and wash your hands!" I call out with a mixture of playfulness and authority, knowing my eight-year-old housemate often needs reminding.
Living in a group home has its challenges, especially when it comes to cleanliness.
Jerry, with his boundless energy, often forgets to pick up after himself. But what can you do with a kid at that age, right?
After hearing the toilet flush, I lean against the wall beside the bathroom door, tapping my fingers against my arm as I wait for him to emerge.
The door swings open, revealing a tall, lanky kid with messy spiky hair sticking out in all directions, still clad in his cartoon-themed pajamas.
He gives me a sleepy smile and announces far too loudly for the early hour, "All done, and I washed my hands too!"
"Awesome! Now hurry up and get dressed for school," I reply, trying to instill a sense of urgency as he bounces down the hall, his energy palpable.
I step into the bathroom, bracing myself for the chaos waiting for me.
Toys are scattered around, towels crumpled on the floor, and the sink—oh, the sink!
I take a deep breath and set to work tidying up, knowing that with eleven of us—four teenagers and seven younger kids—mess is just part of daily life.
Turning on the shower, I step under the hot water, feeling it wash away the remnants of sleep.
As I stand there, droplets cascading down, I mentally run through my day's to-do list: making sure we catch the bus on time, getting the last of our things packed, and ensuring we're ready to go.
By the time I finish showering, I anticipate that most of the kids should be out the door, leaving just those who are not school-age yet.
I make a mental note to wake Leo; he's crucial for helping load our belongings into Shelby's van.
After a quick breakfast, our plan is to drop the boxes off at the UPS store for shipping and then head to the bus station.
Once I finish my shower, I turn off the water and grab a clean towel, wrapping it around myself as I step out.
I quickly dry off and slip into my old, comfortably worn jeans and that bright blue button-down shirt.
After brushing my teeth, I gather all our bathroom supplies—Leo's and mine—into a clear plastic tote to keep things organized.
Heading back to our shared room, I carefully pack the two totes into the box labeled "bathroom" before pulling on my trusty old sneakers, which seem to always be just slightly scuffed but still fit comfortably.
We've been living in this group home for three years now—the longest we've ever stayed in one place since entering the system at the age of seven.
We owe a lot to Shelby, our foster mom, for caring for us, but it's still a relief to be moving on and taking control of our own lives again.
I've taken on the role of organizer, managing schedules, cleaning duties, and even cooking at times, while Leo often steps up as the babysitter, chauffeur, and handyman.
Staying together has been a blessing, and we recognize that this place has been one of the better homes we've experienced.
As I start organizing the boxes to move them down the stairs more efficiently, I glance over at Leo.
I give his shoulder a gentle shove.
"Leo! Wake up or there won't be any strawberry pancakes left!" I shout playfully, leaning closer to tease him.
He jolts upright, eyes wide with disbelief as he blinks at me, still caught in the haze of sleep. "I'm up, I'm up!" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
"Get moving! We need to be at the bus station by 9 AM, and it's already 7:30!" I remind him, trying to usher some urgency into our morning.
He swings his feet out of bed—bare and not wearing socks—and leans forward, propping his elbows on his pajama-clad legs.
Ruffling his tousled brown hair, he squints at me, as if trying to see through the fog of sleep.
"Lance, there better be strawberry pancakes downstairs. You know they're my favorite! Especially if there are chocolate chips too." His attempt to sound fierce falls flat, his grogginess painting him as more adorable than intimidating.
I can't help but laugh at him, knowing how irrationally attached he is to those pancakes.
"There really are strawberry pancakes waiting, but I can't promise how many. I haven't gone down yet."
"Damn! I made a special request to Shelby for my last breakfast here, and if Ashley has eaten them all just to mess with me…"
He quickly jumps up and dashes out the door, racing downstairs with the energy of a kid who has just remembered his favorite treat awaits.
I shake my head at his eagerness, chuckling because I know Shelby probably saved a stack of pancakes just for him.
As for me, I'm not too fussy about breakfast—cereal will do just fine this morning.