My dad told me that I'd have to finish high school since I was 17 and was in eleventh grade. After this weekend, I'll have to enroll at a high school and get my records transferred. My father usually wouldn't make me do this, but he assumed my mother had done enough damage and I don't blame him. Monday morning came around; that meant registration day. For the first day, I put on the prettiest clothes I had put in my backpack from when I ran away. I pulled out a pair of light-wash skinny jeans along with a red T-shirt that had a white outline on the neck and sleeves, and all tied together with a pair of red flats. I looked in the mirror. I felt ready so I walked out of my room and into the living room to leave for my first day of school. "I'm ready." I said to my father as he gets his keys and wallet and puts them in his pocket. "Alright. Load up." He said. I always knew what 'load up' meant. It was the exciting feeling that we were going on an adventure. So I got my backpack that I had emptied out onto my bed and went out the door to school.
