I'm finally out. I'm free. I take a breath of the crisp morning air. I smile as they release me from my handcuffs. A white car glides across the wet black pavement. The officer grabs my wrist and drags me toward the vehicle. I don't resist even though he is being rough. I don't want to go back in there. I am now eighteen, so I can make my own decisions. My 'parents' had the option nearly two years ago to let me come home and just be on probation for these couple of years, but no. They decided that they didn't want to watch me all the time, and that they couldn't handle having a 'criminal' in their home. So they told court that I was 'too bad and dangerous for their feeble hands.' So I had to spend the last 19 months in jail. After 2 previous years in a correction facility. My 'parents' still aren't ready for me to come home, so they got a restraining order against me. I have never done anything to them, except being born. They have hated me since the day I came into this world. And I'm not one of those girls who just can't tell if people love her. My parents always say they hate me. Never once, in all my 18 years of life, have they said they love me. But I don't care. Since I have such a large criminal record, I'm being sent to a camp for community service. It's in frigging New England. My parents want me as far away from their dwelling in Arizona as possible.
I am not going as a camper, I'm going as a counselor. How stupid is that? I mean, really, who sends a delinquent ,who just got out of prison, to a camp full of kids, as a counselor? Stupid people.
I look at my reflection in the dark window of the car. The girl I see isn't me. She died when my clean record did. I see tangled black hair, a pale face, and purple eyes. I haven't seen myself properly in 2 years. My figure isn't bad either.
The officer opens the door and I slide into the seat. The officer slams the door shut and I smirk. There are bars separating me and my driver. I lean towards him.
"How are you?" I ask. He doesn't reply.
"You know, it isn't very good etiquette to ignore someone, regardless of their class." I continue. "I haven't had a proper conversation with someone in two years. Everyone in the prison either has missing teeth, a very poor vocabulary, or slang. Some even speak Spanglish." I tell him. Still no reply.
"I had a girl there who had the most extensive knowledge of the English language, so we played a game. I would say a phrase, and she would say it back to me, not using a single word that I used." I explain.
"But then she got relocated." I say sadly.
"But oh well, she was a murderer. A bloody nice one though." I say. "Maybe that was a wrong choice of words." The dang guy still won't talk to me!
"What is your name?" I ask him hopefully. No reply.
"I'm Morgan." I tell him. "My middle name is Amy, and I don't have a last name." That isn't quite true. I just don't want to associate with my birth people.
"Are you a robot?" I ask him sarcastically.
I honestly don't talk this much. I am just really trying to bother him. We pass a park, and I see two little boys and their Golden retriever playing Frisbee. They stop and point at the car with the bars in it and whisper to each other, as if someone could hear them.
"Are we going to stop off anywhere before I go to this camp place?" I ask. The dude nods. So he can hear me.
"Would you mind telling me where?" He takes a deep breath.
"We'll be stopping off at your house to collect your things and so you can get ready." His voice is gruff and sounds a bit annoyed. Mission accomplished. "Thank you." I say with a triumphant smirk. We drive for about 20 more minutes and then I see my house. It is yellow and ugly but it is in possession of my things, so I must go retrieve them. We pull up in front of the house, and my driver gets out. He walks over and opens my door. I step out and hold my hands in front of me. He gives me an almost apologetic look, and puts the handcuffs around my wrists. We walk up to the front door and he knocks three times.
