Chapter Text
After sixteen years, she is finally seeing her father and getting rid of her mother. Peter Hale, her father is picking her up from her best friend's house. She supposes she should be glad that the Social workers let her finish up sophomore year at Saint Agnes and live with her best friend during the summer. But it is August now and Beacon Hills High and live with her father who apparently never left, he just didn’t know about her and her alcoholic mother didn't want to be pressed with statutory rape of a seventeen year old.
She supposes she should be happy to be to be away from her mother and not in the system. It wasn't that her mother was abusive, just neglectful and angry. Irrational at best. She would yell at Malia for running out of alcohol and say it was Malia’s fault she drank so much. It was hard for anyone to prove a thing, especially when Malia didn't think that was the case. She still loves her mom, it wasn't like her mom didn't love her either. She just wasn't good at being a mom. Malia remembers one year when she was nine and everyone had an Ipod- not the new touch ones- just an IPod with buttons. Her mom worked three shifts at the bar everyday except wednesdays to get her one. And she did- it was used and from a pawn shop, but she had one. But there is also the situation that got them into this mess, like her mother's drunk driving and crashing with Malia in the car. There was evidence of neglect and the emotional abuse that Malia’s teachers vouched for.
She doubts they would have taken her away from her mother and claim her unfit if it weren't for the fact they found her father- who neither knew about and he accepted her. She still hasn't met him, they talked on the phone a few times. But they still haven't met. She is also grateful not to be in the system. She would have ended up there if not for Peter. Her mom still was drunk driving and still is getting put away for sometime. She remembers her friend's foster brother. He was her age, and lived in a group home before living with her family for three months. He went to some ghetto high school before then. He wasn't rude or anything to her. Just closed off and cold, she heard his pouty mouth quite a few time under his breathe. He was also really scared of his foster dad, though he was nothing but nice to him. Molly, not one good with secrets sort of said that he came from a rough area and background. He was abused physically, that much she could tell. Probably emotionally and neglected too. Molly also said that she thinks the group home wasn't a safe place. Well duh, Malia thought at the time. But once Molly explained more of what she meant. Her boyfriend would tell about how weird he was in the locker rooms and would change in the showers. He never went swimming in their pool. He took his showers at the crack of dawn. She saw him at one of Molly’s parties once, a drunk girl tried to grind with him and he looked so panicked. He didn't really stick around later on. He went back to the group home three months later when Molly and her family got a little boy. Sweeter, happier, and younger. Less broken, Malia thought sadly.
Molly and her family were great, letting Malia stay with them for the summer. They probably would have kept her if the could. But they couldn't. Malia doesn't think she would say yes anyways. It would be too embarrassing. She wasn't unpopular at Saint Agnes. She was Molly Diamonds’ best friend, but now she is just the girl that was neglected. She just wants to start over. Beacon Hills is her chance.
Peter picks her up. She doesn't look like him. He is a little paler than her, they have the same hair color. Nothing outstanding.
“I’m Peter,” he says. Yeah, Malia thinks to herself, I know, we have talked on the phone on multiple occasions.
“Malia,” she smiles uneasily as she stick out her hand. He shakes it and helps her put her stuff in the car.
She only has one large suitcase and a duffel bag. She never had a need for too much clothing and wasn't girly like Molly who enjoyed shopping too much and her school was uniformed. Her suit case held her clothes and her duffel bag held her book, math notes (which she always has to look over again and again), her flask that Molly gave her, some old pictures, Make-up that Molly made her wear, and some other small stuff.
On the car ride there, she learned about who lives in town. She has an Aunt Talia and an Uncle Darren. She has three cousins, one of which is a girl in her grade. She is suppose to help Malia out at school. Derek lives with his girlfriend, Braeden. They talk about school and how she is involved in track at Saint Agnes- well, was involved. He ask about driving and if she knew how to. She says she has her tempts, she turned sixteen in December but her mom never took her. That is what she tells him. What she does not share is that she has known how to drive since she was thirteen. Her mom’s boyfriend (at the time) taught her how to sonshe could drive her and her mom home if she got too drunk at the bar instead of her mom passing out while looking for her keys and Malia hid with them in new spots everyday. Her mom never really fought her on her druving home until the fight in April, when she decided to run bith herself and Malia off the road.
After a two hour ride to Beacon hills, they arrive at his small townhouse. It's nice, not big. But still bigger than Malia’s old house. It is alot cleaner than her old house for sure. He gives her a tour. Her room is what was the guest bedroom. He seemed to try and clean it up. It is painted white with white curtains. White bedding on the full size bed. A desk in the corner, a black vanity suprises her. She always used a side table and some cheap mirror to get ready. There is also a TV hanging next to it and a stero on her dresser.
“Um my neice, Laura, helped me out. If you to change anything or hang stuff. Re-do the walls, we can go shopping this week. I know you went to a school with uniforms so my neiece said she could take you shopping and introduce you to some of her friends later so you know some people other than her in school,” Peter says.
“Uh yeah, sounds good,” She nods. He sort of stands there awkwardly. She pulls out her iPhone that he sent her this summer through the mail- bill paid and everything, “I should probably call Mr and Mrs. Diamond. Tell them I got here okay.”
“Oh um, yeah. We can go out tonight. I know a nice burger place? You like burgers?” he ask.
“Love them,” Malia nods.
He walks away and Malia immediately reacts. She doesn't know why she is this way. She isn't shy. She is loud and blunt, sometimes a little rude. Being raised in a bar can do that to you. She isn't scared of Peter. But this is her family as it turns out. Family is suppose to love you through all your flaws. What if they dont? What if she doesn't? What if she can't?
She dials Molly’s number and by the second ring, molly answers, “Malia!”
“Well hello to you too,” Malia giggles.
“Are you there? Is it safe? Is he rich? What does your room look like? How is Peter?” she says all at once.
“Calm down there. And um, he is nice. It's a normal sized house. Smaller than yours, but whose isn't?”
“Shut up. Not my fault my mom like to use our house as a mold house for her real estate company,” Molly laughs. Yeah, Molly is super rich but she doesn't go to the most prestigious school. She easily can afford Saint Agnes, Malia barely got by.
“No, but it is a nice place. My bedroom is cool. All white and stuff. Roomy. He hasn't done much. He said I could do it however I'd like.”
“Will you?”
“Maybe. Once I get all warmed up and stuff. It just feels awkward,” Malia mumbles.
“Well yeah. What high school are you starting again?”
“Beacon Hills.”
“I swear I've heard of it before.”
“Probably. I mean you've had like twenty something foster siblings since I met you,” Malia laughs. On top of being monstrously rich and humble, the Diamonds also are big time do-gooders, wanting to save every orphan that comes their way. Malia never thought she would be one of them.
“Like eight. But that is besides the point. Anyways, We're getting a little girl in like two weeks. She's ten and has the bluest eyes that I have ever seen.”
Since Isaac, they seem to keep getting kids younger. They're easier to help, Malia guesses. Isaac was their first ever actual teenager. The twelve year olds don't count, “What's her story?”
“Heroin addict mom. Absentee dad,” Molly list off, “She seems okay. I know she not. She was severely neglected. God, I just don't understand how someone could do that. It's lile they dont even loce their child,” she rants.
Malia has to breathe for a minute. Molly knows everything and she always held Malia. Her parents even got her a therapist. Molly never means things as bad as they sound, she just sometimes doesn't think. Malia does it too, which is why she doesn't correct Molly.
“Yeah. Parents can suck,” Malia says. The line goes silent and she can hear Molly’s breathing.
“Malia, I'm sorry. I did that thing where I speak before I think and-”
“Relax. It's cool. So, um, how is…” Malia wants to talk about someone with an awful life so she can feel good. Not someone with a little but bad life or a similar life, but someone with the worst luck, “Isaac? How is he?”
“Isaac? Foster brother from august to October Isaac?” she ask in confusion.
“Thats the one. How has he been?” Malia ask.
“I wouldn't know. Haven't seen him since the day he left,” Molly answers.
“Don't you guys keep in touch?” Malia ask, though she knows they don’t.
“I would, but considering the longest actual conversation we had was about how to work the dryer, No we did not keep in touch. Why?”
“Just wondering. Think your parents will ever take in someone your age again?” Malia ask. She doesn't mean take in like they did her but like take in like they did Isaac.
“Probably not. I hope not. It was too tense. Girls would fight and guys hide. Maybe it was just Isaac, but having them in some of my classes was weird. Girls asked about him alot too. He wasn't intrested. It was like talking to sad pretty wall,” Molly groans.
“He was not that pretty,” Malia laughs.
“He was a pretty wall,” Molly jokes. They're not even talking about Isaac now. They are just girls being girls.