’Start fresh next semester’.

Your mom’s words echo through your head as you mindlessly stroll down the dark streets, still carrying your backpack on your shoulders.

You swear school is just a taste test of what you could hate less.

Your gaze is fixed on the yellow dashes in the street. You prayed those lights would take you home. Wherever home was. But then you heard:

“Hey, kid, get out of the road!” Someone yells from their car.