Hesitantly the fifteen year old girl dragged her pencil to the first question, and tried desperately to remember where to begin on this sort of problem. With the base of the triangle? One of the angles? She began to scribble down rough lines, bits and pieces coming back to her, as she tried to ignore the ticking of the large wall clock, audible even over the scratching of pencils in the otherwise silent classroom. Mr. Stevenson patrolled up and down between their cheap plastic desks slowly, glancing from paper to paper, eyes sharp for any signs of cheating. She lowered her head as he passed, hyperaware of how much time she had left.With only two problems left to solve she was snapped out of focus by the shrill ringing bell, swearing under her breath as she scrambled to write down something, anything, for the remaining questions, shoving her long black hair out of her eyes and back over her shoulder. Someone bumped into her desk as the other students all tried to squeeze up to the. I couldn't return the book if it was bloody. I was trying to wipe the blood off the book using his shirt when a teacher came running over. I claimed it was an accident. He claimed it was on purpose. I got a three day suspension that I spent in the woods. After that no kid picked on me. I was invisible again.I always made sure my clothes were ready for the next day before setting my little wind-up alarm clock. In the morning I'd take a quick shower, crossing my fingers that it wouldn't wake Mother, dress, grab my bookbag and be at the school bus stop fifteen minutes early like my bus driver said we should be.That was my life until I was eleven. Or maybe I was ten or maybe twelve. I could never find my fucking birth certificate to make sure! In the summers I'd hit houses for money, jewelry and food. In the winters I'd go to school. No matter the season, I spent as much time as possible away from Mother and Uncles. I was doing okay. And then I was maybe eleven, maybe ten, maybe.
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