The social worker terrified Amara, even the parole officer behind her as they escorted her to the front door of her new foster home. She sucked in a breath, her eyes downcast upon the warm pavement and uneven stepping stones. Her hands held tight to her duffel bag that carried all of her belongings, as if for support. Her worn Converse sneakers patted against the stone as she looked down at herself, almost worried if she looked presentable to her new foster parents or not. She noted her worn, loose floral dress and her tight brown jacket as her medium-length brown hair curtained around her in a protective shield.

"Let's hope this is the last stop for you," said the parole officer behind her. Her voice had come back in a tough, low almost-groan and it made Amara sigh.

Anger bit at her as she held her breath and her tongue. Apart of her had hoped the very same, while the other part of her knew this was just another temporary home. There was no doubt this couple would want to keep her when they figure her out.

The social worker knocked on the door, which soon opened to reveal a young couple dressed in khakis and button-down shirts. So they were that kind of foster parents, she noted. But where was the foster sibling that her social worker had told her about? Her eyes trailed up and down the couple, reading them like an open book. They reeked of naivety.

"Welcome to our home!" said the woman, her new foster mother, a bit too cheerily.

Amara forced her lips into a small stretch of a smile. She wanted to be as polite as she could possibly be, but if her new foster mother will always be this peppy, there will definitely be a problem.

"Why don't I show you the room you and your foster sibling will be sharing? Then you can unpack," started the woman as she gently grabbed Amara's forearm and nearly dragged her across the threshold. She noted how the woman didn't specify if the sibling was a brother or a sister, but she assumed it was a sister being that she was sharing a room with them, "unwind, make yourself at home, and dinner should be ready by then!" Th foster mother turned to the officer and social worker, thanking them as the foster father shook hands with them and signed a few papers quickly before Amara was left on her own with the two.

Amara was led to a room that looked divided to act like a makeshift set of two rooms. Two twin-sized beds sat on opposite ends of the room and she eyed the boy near the window at the end.