I arrived at the agency at about noon that day, the sun directly above, burning right through me.  I stepped out from the limo and was greeted by a snotty looking lady, looking me up and down, eyebrows raised.  I couldn't help but smile at the fact that she had a big mustard stain on her sweater.  The mustard lady, I thought with a laugh.   She raised her nose in the air and nodded, signaling for me to follow her.  I brushed my black hair out of my eyes, and followed her up the steps.  With each step the butterflies in my stomach became more and more wild, the intensity of the situation rising.  A rush of cool air brushed passed me as the mustard lady opened the door that would lead me to the rest of my life.  The mustard lady glanced back at me and pointed to one of the many seats scattered throughout the room.  She sure had a way with words, I thought sitting down.  After she had a small conversation with the man behind the counter, she came back and handed me a manila envelope.
    "These are all your personal records; it includes your birth certificate, your medical records, and such.  And inside is also a picture of your new family, the Peterson's." She continued to tell me the other contents within, but my mind couldn't help but wander as I looked at the picture, of what looked like, the perfect family.  I have been to family to family, but never content with any of them but one.  But there was no chance of me ever being with them again.
    A loud snap, that sounded like a whip, caused me to about jump out of my seat attached to my desk.  I looked up, startled, to see my first grade teacher holding her ruler to my face with a glare.
    "Isabella, did you hear anything I just said?!" she snapped.  I looked down at my little shaking hands and and slowly shook my head.  "Thats what I thought, you are nothing but a mountain of trouble." She began again, "Your next assignment, class, is to find something that starts with a W and bring it in to class tomorrow morning.  If you don't, or it does not start with a W, you will fail the assignment, understood?"  The class silently nodded, and a few "Yes, ma'am's!" were heard.
    When I got home that afternoon, I frantically looked through my drawers to find something that started with a W.  After just minutes of searching, I found the perfect thing.
    The next day at school, I anxiously sat through the kids showing what they brought.  Someone brought in their toy windmill, someone else brought a whip their dad let them borrow for the day.  When it got to my turn, I grabbed one of my markers, a black one, and wrote a big W on my item.  I walked up to the teacher's desk, and handed her a picture.
    "What is this?" she asked.
    "It's a picture.  Of a family."
    "Isabella, the assignment was to bring in something that starts with a W.  This is a picture. P.  And its of a family. F.  There is no W other than the big one you drew on here.  I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to fail you for this assignment."  Tears welling up in my eyes, I decided not to argue with her.  She didn't understand what the W meant.  How about W for wish, or W for want, or W for 'Wouldn't it be loverly,' like the song the music teacher had taught us? A family.  Thats all I wanted, and thats all I wished for.  Wish. W.