Clarke's POV
Today's the day. I'm getting out today. I sit up in my bed and look around my cell. Walking around my room, I glide my fingers along the drawings on the walls. When I reach the metal shelf on the other side, I start to pack up my belongings. There's not a lot of stuff. I pick up one of the pencils, after I put the others in the bag in the bag. There is a sudden buzzing sound, as the door opens and two guards come in. I quickly throw the rest of my stuff in the bag and close it.
"Are you excited?" one of the guards asks, trying to make conversation.
I don't say anything. Instead, I grab my small bag and follow them out the door. We walk down a long hallway, and up some stairs. The Skybox Juvenile Detention Center is one of the coldest places I've ever been in. I shiver in my thin uniform.
The following hour of processing, is long. When I'm finally done, I am sent into a small room. Like usual, my parole officer is waiting for me. She's not excited to see me. This is the fifth time I've been in juvie. Every time I get out, Ms. Reyes is waiting for me. She doesn't exactly have high expectations for me.
"Please take a seat," she says gesturing to the chair across from her. "Are you ready to get out of here?"
"Yes," I say eagerly. "You know, when I think about it now, stealing that credit card and impersonating that woman was stupid."
"I don't appreciate your sarcasm."
"I don't appreciate you throwing me in jail for something as little as violating my parole."
"That was three years ago, and you were caught trying to run away."
She runs me over basics of my parole. I try not to tune out, but I do anyways. I run my finger over my identification bracelet. "Clarke Griffin." I think about the countless hours I spent all alone. I remember the drawing I imprinted on the ground and walls of my cell.
I hear Ms. Reyes slam something on the table, and I come back to reality.
"You better not come back," she says, as she reaches into the bag on the table. "Here"
She dangles something familiar in front of me. I smile, and take the keys from her. I almost forgot about my bike.
"Thank you," I say, getting up to hug her. "I wouldn't."
She escorts me out of the room and to the parking lot. Surprisingly, my motorcycle is there waiting for me. I run to my bike, and put on my helmet. As I mount the bike, I give her a wave. I feel the engine start up, and then I'm gone. The wind feels so good on my face. I'm free.
I follow the road for what feels like hours. For some reason I can't wrap my mind around the fact that I'm here. A year in solidarity will do that to you. A flashback crosses through my mind. Only to be snapped back to reality, with the sounds of a blaring horn. I try to steer away, but it's too late.
