Study hall is the last period of the day. I entertain myself by looking at Tumblr and Pinterest, but when only fifteen minutes remains until school gets out, I find myself bored. I have no homework to do, and after absentmindedly reading thirty pages or so of The Feminine Mystique, I come to the conclusion that it is not relatable to modern day life and therefore not worth reading. A dull, frustrating anger builds in my chest. I keep checking the time on my phone but the minutes move by too slowly. I look up and observe the others in the library. All the other kids are absorbed in their computers and have earbuds in. Mrs. Jackson sits with perfect posture at a desk in the corner, eyeing anyone who nears the door like a hawk. The environment feels heavy and oppressive and wrong, and I adamantly do not want to be here any longer.

The familiar questions start buzzing in my head. It seems impossible to stop them once they begin. Why am I forced to be here? Why can’t I leave early if I don’t have any work to do? Why do they make me stay inside? Who are they to tell me how to live? I consider walking out, listening to Mrs. Jackson call after me in her passive aggressive tone, “We still have ten minutes, where are you going?” and completely ignoring her.

But of course I don’t. It wouldn’t be worth it. Because in the end if I don’t want to seem like a crazy person or an a**hole or someone on the path to expulsion, I have to follow the rules even if I think they are stupid. If I want to stay at Lincoln Prep*, which I know deep down is better than going to public school or homeschooling, I have to do what they say. Really, it’s not even the teachers or Lincoln that I am mad at, but society in general that forces this one-size-fits-all education on me. There is no one place I can direct my anger. I don’t know what to do with the tension in me. I don’t know what to do at all because everything is complicated, and so subjective, and there is no right or wrong way to look at things.

I end up walking out two minutes early and Mrs. Jackson doesn’t say anything. As soon as I get outside a wave of relief rushes over me, but is cut short when I see Kyle* and his friend, about to pass me walking on the road to the parking lot.

I get one of those urges to have a cigarette in my hand. Not that I like cigarettes, but they remind me of those femme fatales in old fifties films who seem emotionally impenetrable. If only I had a cigarette in my hand, I’d look nonchalant and cool and like I couldn’t care less about the fact that Kyle was passing me.

I make do with looking distracted by my phone, pretending he doesn’t exist, and trying to ignore the memories of laying in his bed that are bubbling up inside.

I had decided earlier that I was going to be an obedient student for the day, and not leave campus in the forty five minute break between school and sports like I’m supposed to. Yet now I can’t fathom the idea of not leaving. If I don’t get a reprieve from being on school property I’ll break something, or cry, or go crazy.

I get in the car and put all the windows down so I can feel the breeze and put Hurt by Johnny Cash on repeat. I drive down the service entrance and it’s all I can do to not press down on the gas so I can get out of there faster, but of course that would bring attention to the fact I was leaving school without permission and get me in trouble.

I drive to the nearby Shell station. Of their own accord, tears well up in my eyes. Everything seems hopeless, even though it’s a beautiful autumn day and I got into my top choice university and I basically get everything I want. I reprimand myself for being so ridiculously self-pitying but that doesn’t compel me to stop.

I think of all the things I could do instead of going to sports. I could get ice cream and go to my grandparents’ house even though they aren’t home and sit on their lawn. I could drive to town and go to the teahouse. I could go on a hike, or have a latte at Starbucks, or take pictures somewhere, or sit on the edge of a bridge and look down at the flowing water.

But in the end none of these ideas seem worth it. I go to the gas station and buy fudge and a strawberry kiwi drink and drive back to school and consume my purchases in my car while I listen to a couple flirting not far away. When it’s time for sports, I plop down in the chair next to Kyle to make it seem like I don’t care that he faded on me out of the blue. I laugh during Ultimate Frisbee and listen to what our instructor says as I catch occasional whiffs of Kyle’s familiar cologne. I put up with it because it seems like the only thing there is to do.

When sports ends, I put the top down in the convertible. I drive past a cemetery, and something in me makes me turn around and go back. I find a shady place among the tombstones to park my car and I start to write. I write to get the demons out, so they are someplace other than my head. I decide I will come here every day between sports and school from now on, at least until the principal catches me again and takes my keys away.

*Names changed