Cinnamon Roll||Adopted By Lin-Manuel Miranda

seven - belle

I wake up in my foster hole, and open all the pantries.

Oops. I forgot.

They threw out all of the food before they left.

However, I managed to hide a box of Frosted Flakes in my room.

I sprint up the stairs at this thought.

I unravel the rolled up bag, and tilt it up against my lips, letting the sugary taste infiltrate my mouth.

How did I forget about these?

I put my stash away, and go back downstairs.

I look at the microwave.

8:47 AM...

Day 17...

So here I am, awake at 8:47 AM on day 17, a dreadful day like always.

Day 17.

18 more days until my foster family returns.

A rough $80 dollars.

At this rate, it's never happening.

And I knew that. Almost from the get-go.

But I also knew that, had I not even tried, I wouldn't even have zilch.

I would be sitting in my room, doing nothing, pondering, coming to terms with my fate.

I wouldn't have had the opportunity to see the Rodgers.

I wouldn't have had the opportunity to see true happiness.

And, I wouldn't be walking out with, give or take, $150.

So, I'm happy.

But not happy enough to smile.

Not happy like I was yesterday.

-=+=-

I don't go to the lottery today.

Or the next day.

Or the next.

It's a vicious cycle for a while.

Only until two weeks after day seventeen at 8:47 AM, where I find myself walking to the Rodgers, this time only thirty minutes before the lottery.

There is no lottery show today. Good.

Today.

Today...

My eyes widen. The gates of my personal hell open, and my soul floods itself with fear as every bad thought I have ever escorted out of my brain returns with vengeance.

I have four more days until my foster parents arrive home.

I need to win. Today.

With $180, thanks to a kind man who gave me a $20 yesterday, and another woman who gave me a $10, I put my name in the basket.

Well, I call ten's Hamilton's.

But that's besides the point.

Continuing on,

I think to myself...

It won't happen.

It never has. Never will. So now I begin to ponder why I even showed up.  Was it because I was hoping Lin would come out? Was it because I actually believed I could win? Was it because I wanted to merely see the theatre again? Was it because I needed a stretch break from my spot? Was it because I had nothing better to do? Was it because I could have possibly run into the kind woman with angelic eyes? Was it because-

"Belle Stalkman!" I hear.

My world goes silent for a moment.

However, I waste no time, as I raise my hand in shock.

Everything moves in slow motion, and I'm happy as I wish to cherish this moment.

Other pedestrians make way for me, clapping.

They ask me to line up on the wall.

I do so as I turn to see that every other winner is an adult. Just an observation...

Wait.

Fuck.

This isn't really as great as I suppose...

I hear My Shot playing in my brain.

That voice... that voice is Lin's voice.

Why had I assumed that he wasn't a character, even when I saw his dressing room full of costumes?

Why did that not click?

I couldn't tell you.

But I knew a few things.

One. My ticket was one of the centermost in the theatre, which I noticed as I handed them my bill and they handed me said ticket.

Two. There's no way Lin won't see me now.

But my mind seems to drift away from this thought, as we all leave the Rodgers until the show.

I sprint back to my apartment. I grab the key from under the ugly fake plant and jog upstairs. Winded, I sit on my mattress for a moment. I throw on my forgotten-about Hamilton shirt, some old Nike's that turned brown about three months ago, and brushed my hair.

I sat back down, and thought about what was happening.

I'm seeing Hamilton.

Hamilton.

People are fucking rich and can't even get tickets to this show.

I smile. I smile for real. I was going to walk into that theatre, take my seat, and enjoy that damn show.

Why?

Well, first of all, who wouldn't? It's Hamilton.

More importantly, however, this was probably going to be the last happy moment I'd share with myself for a while. Because, in a few days, my ugly ass, ratchet-lookin' ass foster family would be back. Of course, I would never tell them what happened. I'd merely hide my money, hide my playbill, hide my ticket. I'd hide the bill Lin drew on, and hide the memories as well. I couldn't bear to think about it all the time.

This is my moment; I'm living in it.

But before I do, I sleep.