^“Elizabeth, come downstairs!” the angry voice of my foster dad shouts through the house. I groan and look over at my clock to see it’s five in the morning. I have four hours until school, and I’ll have to clean the whole damn house before I can leave. I roll out of bed to have a quick shower and throw on jeans, a vest, and hoodie before running down the stairs. I stop at the mirror in the hallway, pulling my long, almost-white hair into a ponytail and hoping it doesn’t look too messy. The two-bedroom house is a tip, despite the fact I cleaned it yesterday morning, like I do most mornings. Fred, my lovely foster dad, is passed out on a stool in the kitchen with his hand wrapped around a vodka bottle. I know better than to talk to him, it’s not worth waking him up. So, I start cleaning around him. They kept me up most of the night with their loud music and another party that didn’t stop till three in the morning. Let’s not mention the idiots who tried to open my locked door. I guess I should be thankful that they, at least, feed me for doing the cleaning. I know that if I didn’t get up and clean, there would be no food for a week. Finally, at eight, it’s all done. I grab my bag, slamming the door on my way out.

As much as I try to forget my living situation, I can’t, because every day is a reminder. I’ve lived with Fred and Vivian since I was fifteen. It’s been a nightmare from day one. Sure, they act all lovely and great when social services are around, but, in reality, they use me to clean the house. I just try to stay out of their way. I have six more months till I’m eighteen then I can leave. I’m not sure where, but honestly, anywhere would be better. I have no living family and no money, so I don’t have many options other than to find a job quickly and a room to rent. I walk into school thirty minutes later, a little hot from the warm weather we have been having. I glance around at the grammar school which I have to attend. It’s this or college, supposedly the grammar school is good for my grades. But, I have always felt it’s more like the better of two evils. 

The day progresses as I would usually expect it to, filled with art and history classes all day. I took a double-A level in art and one in history, which is surprisingly not that boring. Later that day, as I sit at lunch alone like every day, I think of my best friend Tilly. She moved to France two months ago and was the only reason I could deal with this crazy-ass school. It’s full of posh idiots whose parents paid to get them in, not like me and Tilly, who actually got straight A’s. Tilly really didn’t need to study hard like I did, but she did, anyway, and that’s why I like her.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by the intercom, “Would Elizabeth Turner come to the main office?”

When it clicks off, I look up to see everyone staring at me. I shrug as I try not to blush. I hate being the centre of attention. I walk to the office on the other side of the building after getting my things. I keep thinking of what the hell I’ve done or if Fred has called to say there is another family emergency at home. Which is usually code for ‘I have friends coming to get drunk, and I need the house clean again and didn’t notice you had already cleaned’. I roll my eyes and soon I’m at the office, where I’m told to go straight in by the snooty receptionist. 

I walk in the room to see my head teacher behind the desk and the back of a tall man with dark-brown hair tied in a loose knot at the back of his head.

“Come and sit, Elizabeth, there has been some news, and this man has come to talk to you,” says my head teacher, but I ignore him and watch as the dark-haired man turns to me.

“It’s nice to meet you. You wouldn’t believe how long I have looked for you, and it’s a little bit of shock to finally meet my sister,” the stranger says to me in a deep voice. Wait sister?

I turn and look at my head teacher, hoping he will help, but he ignores me and looks out the window. I guess this is as awkward for him as it is for me. I look back at the man, taking in his head of dark-brown hair and massive, muscular build to his expensive looking pressed suit. I finally look in his eyes and see the same bright-green eyes I have, looking back at me. I gasp and start to back away into a seat on the couch. I look down at the floor as I try to collect my thoughts. My mother never told me anything about my father, just that I wouldn’t want to meet him and left it at that. She passed away a few years ago, four days after my fifteenth birthday. I guessed she would have told me about him when I was older, but who knows? She never got the chance.

“Look, I know this is strange, but I am your half-brother, and I have custody of you until you turn eighteen. I’ve come to take you back home with me,” he says like it’s an everyday fact. I’m getting the impression not a lot bothers him, and I’ve only just met him.

I half listen as I’m still trying to take all of this in. A brother, if that isn’t enough to deal with. I’ve then got him adding on the fact that I’m moving. I should panic and run. Who knows what he wants or if he is even my brother, but, then again, it can’t be worse than where I live now. 

“Elizabeth, look at me,” my brother says as he picks up on my internal war.

I look up into those familiar, green eyes that show me some kindness. I try to think of more reasons to run, but it seems pointless. Well, I think I’m going to have to trust him.

“It’s Izzy, my friends call me Izzy. What’s your name?” I ask him.

I’m still looking at his face, trying to see the truth behind his words. I get the feeling he is a closed book as far as emotions go, but I can see some kindness, and that’s enough for me to try and relax. 

“I’m Harley King, nice to meet you Izzy.” He smiles, and it takes me a minute to realise he kind of looks like I do in pictures when I smile.

I stand up quickly, putting some distance between us. “What did you mean when you said you would take me back with you and custody?” I try to ask calmly and kind of fail when my voice is high-pitched.

“That you’re coming to live with me as you have no other blood relatives as far as I know, so I got custody of you. I have custody of my three younger brothers too. Well, your brothers too,” he scratches his head with a huff. I watch as he sits down on the sofa and straightens his suit jacket before saying, “I know this is hard for you to believe, and trust me, this whole situation is difficult. Our father is dead. I took over when he died. I was twenty, and the twins, Sebastian and Elliot, were fifteen. Luke was fourteen. It was difficult, but I made it work. I later found out–from a letter from dad’s will–about you. It had the results of a DNA test done when you were a baby, and an old address and number of yours. Of course, it’s taken me two years to find you due to all the moves you, and your mother, had taken. I’m sorry for your loss by the way.”

I nod and sit next to him, taking it all in. I have four brothers. I guess he is right about us moving when I think about it. My mother just liked to see new places, and I was taken along for the ride. Yesterday, I had no one, now I have a family, and I am moving away from my crazy, foster family. This shit seems unbelievable.

“Alright, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve done everything I can to leave my crazy, foster parents. So, this could work for me. I mean moving to your place, and then we can see how things go. I guess I would like to meet the rest of you and learn about you. How old are my brothers now?” I ask looking at Harley, who looks around twenty-three. So, they can’t be that old.

“The twins are seventeen like you and Luke is sixteen. I’m so glad you’ll come. I thought I’d have a massive fight on my hands with getting you to come with me,” he says with a grin, which makes me smile too. He stands up, claps his hands together, getting the attention of my head teacher, and starts talking to him about sending my paper work over and the school switch. I notice he makes a very a large payment to the school to help hurry up my paper work. I look at him now in his perfect suit and frown. I glance down at my baggy hoodie and shabby jeans then finally to my worn trainers that I have had for at least two years. I’m not going to fit into their world.

As we head to my house in his massive, black SUV–that’s shinier than most of the cars in my small town–I sit wondering what Harley will think of my foster parents or their home.