Three weeks ago I tried to run away from home. Now all I want is to go back.
With my thumbnail I etch my name—TAYLOR—on the blue vinyl seat in front of me, over and over in the exact same spot, because the impression lasts only as long as it takes to get from T
. I try to keep my mind blank, but I keep thinking about the last time I saw my mom. It was two days ago in the courtroom, where she sat, silent as a turtle, while my father asked the judge’s permission for me to carry out my probation in a “maximum-security facility” where I could receive “intense...