This is why I need to go out more. I grimaced at the reflection in the mirror, making a mental note to stay away from scissors for the rest of my life. Because apparently for me, boredom plus scissors equals disastrous self-done haircut. Luckily, I had stopped myself after chopping my bangs off and had spared the rest of my hair.

I couldn’t even bring myself to imagine my parents’ reaction to my new hairstyle. Appearance was incredibly important to them, and while my sister had easily met their expectations with her blue eyes, tanned skin, and shiny black hair, I had never been able to mimic her natural attractiveness.

I sighed and reached for a bobby pin, pinning what was left of my bangs back against my scalp. My phone beeped and I reached for it, glad for a distraction. It was a text from Addy, my best friend, I had sent her a picture of my hair hoping for some sympathy and maybe a solution. I opened the message.

“HAHAHA! Well, maybe it looks better in person?”
So much for the sympathy.

“It doesn’t.” I replied and dragged myself back into my room.

Books, clothes, and various useless items, an empty beach bag, an old water bottle, were carelessly strewn around my room. I shut my eyes, blocking out the clutter, hoping that when I opened it the mess would be gone. I hated mess and disorganization, which always clashed with my laziness and lack of motivation to clean my room.

I started making my way to my bed when I saw a thick, fat, SAT book sitting on my pillow. I recalled my conversation with my father earlier that day. We had been sitting in the kitchen, he working on his laptop and me reading some cliché, teen romance novel I had picked up from the library, when he suddenly spoke in a harsh tone, as if I had already disappointed him.

“You need to do SAT work.”

I looked up at him, nonplussed. I had been so absorbed in my book I had almost forgot about his existence.

My disorientation seemed to make him even angrier, “October is your last chance to do well on your SATs. You must get a 2100, at least.”

I rubbed my eyes, I’ve heard that speech before, “Yeah. Okay. I know.”

“Have you done any SAT work today? I said I wanted two hours each day of work.”

“It’s the first week of summer!” I protested.

“So?”

I stared at my father. He was looking at me over his laptop, his brown eyes boring into me as if every move I made could never impress him. He was tanned, he tanned easily like my sister, and muscular with black hair, emitting confidence he gained from growing up in India in a family richer, smarter, and a higher caste than most of his neighbors. He had brought that same confidence over to America, though he also had an easy-going, humorous personality that made everyone adore him. Obviously, none of these people had ever seen this side of him.

I rolled my eyes, slammed my book shut, stomped upstairs to my room and tossed my SAT book on my bed, where it still remained, untouched.

Now, just the sight of the book made me feel trapped and claustrophobic. I grabbed my iPod and headphones off my desk, threw on an old gym shirt and sneakers and ran downstairs towards the front door.

“I’m going on a run!” I shouted and slammed the door behind me before my father could protest.

I turned the volume up all the way, drowning out everything except for the upbeat, slightly rebellious music pounding in my ears.

I ran down the familiar streets and houses, the same things I’ve seen every day of my life for 17 years. I was so sick of this town it was painful. I hated the trees, the parks, the downtown and all the flashy, overpriced stores in it. I hated how everywhere I turned there was a maroon and gold “S” displayed in windows, on cars, in houses, because everyone had to show their support of our beloved town, Summit. And I hated, absolutely hated, the people. They were all peppy and polished, hanging out in town or driving around their Mercedes Benz convertibles in their expensive Urban Outfitters or Anthropology cardigans and jeans, laughing about the kids that didn’t fit in and complaining about their perfect, untroubled lives.

Addy and I became friends only because we shared a hatred of all things Summit. While our classmates cheered for our local lacrosse team, everything in Summit revolved around lacrosse, or went shopping for a new wardrobe, Addy and I sat at home watching movies and downloading music, talking about how our lives can finally start once we get out of this forsaken town.

I was about a mile away from my house, running up a particularly steep hill ignoring the increasing pain in my legs. By the time I made it up the hill, I was exhausted and sweaty, but quite pleased with the fact that I had made it to the top without stopping. The hill plateaued, I was hoping for a downhill run, when I saw two boys in the distance. At first, I ignored them, passing them off as some young, seventh or eighth graders who I would gladly run over if they didn’t get out of my way. Upon running closer, however, I realized they were actually two guys in my grade.

For the year when I had experimented with having a social life, I had become somewhat friends with these two guys. Sam and David. Both pleasant enough, however, I realized how fake that was when they immediately stopped talking to me one the lovely group of girls I had called my friends phased me out.

We passed each other, me well aware of how sweaty and gross I was, and exchanged awkward hello’s before I ran away. I shook my head, it was sad that just last year we had all been friends. We had hung out and joked around, and just one little incident could change everything. I increased the volume of my music and pushed myself faster, drowning out my emotions.

With every step I repeated the same three words to myself. The only words that have kept me going, the reason why I haven’t broken down yet. One more year. One more year, and I’m free. One more year and I can finally leave this town forever.