The seven o’clock train to Amsterdam blew its horn as the wheels began to move. I pushed farther into the darkness of the bush I was hiding in, making no effort to hide my smile. I was supposed to be on that train. I was supposed to be on my way to Madame Levkin’s orphanage at 1416 south Quirly Street. Instead I was hiding in a bush by the train tracks in the only not very well cared for train station in town.

Hiding inside this small bush I realized I have the power to choose what was going to happen next, I have the power to choose my future. A new thought occurred to me what kind of future is there for a 17-year-old girl with no parents? I pushed the thought away and stumbled out of the bush trying to look as casual as possible only to bump into an elderly man with a floor length rainbow scarf.
“Dear me! Terribly sorry about that!” the man said with a strong Scottish accent. I knew the polite thing to do was respond but instead I tried to bush past him. His hand caught my elbow with surprising speed and he spun me around so I was facing him again.
“Whoa there little lady! Didn’t your parents teach you anything about being polite?”
  My stomach tightened.  Who was this man to mention my parents? What right did he have to taunt me like this? What place was he in to question how I was brought up? Just one quick jab to the face I thought. Just one quick kick in the stomach and this man would be put back in his place. But then I remembered that I was being impolite and the natural response was to ask if your parents neglected to teach you that particular skill, it does not mean that this man knows anything about my parents.
“Yes.” I say yanking my elbow back and folding my arms. “They also told me about talking to strangers,” I shot back with as much venom in my voice as possible. This man was giving me a strange feeling and I wanted to be on my way as soon as possible to get my uncertain future started. He smiles a big toothy smile at my comment.
“You look like a responsible young lady,” he replies. “You at least obey your parents.” He pulls a small package wrapped in brown paper complete with a bow and a tag with a name on it out of his pocket and hands it to me. “Take good care of that,” he says winking at me before disappearing into the crowd.
I stumble back until my back hits the wall and slid to the ground. I didn’t know what to do or feel. I just clutched the package numbly to my chest. I didn’t realize I was shaking until the tag fell off the package. I glanced down and studied the card more closely. Callilla Mai Keating. Callilla, that’s my name. I got the feeling that this package was unique and special and dangerous all at the same time.  Yet I felt attached to it. I felt the need to protect it as if it were a best friend I’d known for years.
“Um, miss?” a security guard asked, his face full of concern.
One thought jumped into my mind when I finally saw the man knelling before me: protect the package. I jump to my feet and sprint past the guard down the hall. Looks like my first choice in my future is going to get me in trouble.  My simple act of protecting the package turned into destruction of a window and a full-scale police search of every person and train currently at the station.