"Wait!" I struggle to say due to my complete consternation, "Repeat that"

"Repeat that please," Linda, my mom's best friend says. This is not the time to get all polite. I hate living with her. I miss the Mathews.

"Please!" I practically yell.

"You have three sisters who live in San Francisco." She says calmly as if that wasn't a complete shock to me. As if it wasn't something that would obviously change my life.

"Whoa," Is all I can say. Up until a few weeks ago I didn't even know I was adopted. The Mathews told me about a week before the crash, it was as if they knew they were going to die. Creepy.

"How did you find out?" Is the fist question that pops to my mind.

"I am a social worker, I have these connections." Linda says. Oh, I guess that was slightly obvious.

"So, am I going to meet them?" I ask, suddenly a lot more questions are rushing to mind. "Well," She says putting her hand on my arm. I look down at it. The white plaster cast is filled with signatures, all of which I've read so many times that I have memorized.

'Paige, I'm so sorry, and I hope you feel better soon. Call me if you wanna talk. Friends Forever, Lisa' Yeah, right we haven't spoken since. All my friends avoid me as if suddenly I'm contagious. As if losing my parents wasn't hard enough I seem to have lost all my friends too.

"They want you to move in with them." Linda finishes

"Did they know about me?" I ask

"The Grandmother did, but not the girls." Linda says.

"Why would I be given up for adoption, and not them?" I ask. I suddenly don't feel so good.

"Wait what about my real parents?" I add. Before she answers I feel a sense of dread. Probably because she's looking at me with the exact same face she used to tell me my parents died.

"Honey, let's not get into all of this now. You'll meet them tomorrow and I'm sure you need your rest." She says with a contrite smile.

"Alright," I say with a tired sigh. While she turns around in her chair I pick up my file from her desk and go across the hall. The room I'm staying in was there daughters before she moved out. It's sickeningly pink with posters of Madonna on each different wall. The room almost makes me want to move in with my sisters.

"Half sisters!" I almost yell. Linda neglected to mention that, and I can see why. Our mother was married to their father and had an affair with my father. Their father, Victor Bennet, filed for divorce, and then she died in childbirth. Now they live with or grandmother. I bet they know this too. The oldest, Prudence, is five years older than I am. Five may be young, but it's old enough to remember that your father left and your mother died.

Oh, great. When I meet them tomorrow how am I supposed to face them. What am I supposed to say? "Hi I'm the illegitimate child that caused your parents divorce, and your mother's death," I'm sure that will go over well.