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    I don't want to.
    That's what I told my foster mother when she asked if I wanted to go dress shopping. I don't care if I'll have a great time. I don't want to.
    The door shutting between us ended the conversation after that.
    She was a great person, but I didn't like shopping. Besides, I'm not going to the dance this year. It was so uncool now.
    I found my self staring out the dark window looking for her. I had hoped I would see her sneaking to my window like she always did. But she wasn't there. I sat on my bed. The clock told me it was 11:02. Three more minutes and I would fall asleep. I could never stay up past 11:05. I guess it was my mom's way of making sure I fell asleep on time. She wasn't here and she still take cares of me.
    I lay on my bed counting the ticks.
    ...56...57...58...59...60. 11:03.
    The ceiling was bare. I was promised a poster for it, but never got one. Anything to cover the vomit stain would do. I don' t know how old this house was, but I think they did an exorcism here.
    ...56...57...58...59...60. 11:04.
    I want to cry. Her picture is sitting on the night table. I don't know why I keep it there. I can't bring myself to throw it in the box with the others.
    ...56...57...58...59...60. 11:05.
    Goodnight.

    -BW