I squint behind my super-trendy (at least they were in Chi-Town) black Coach sunglasses that hide my sleep-deprived eyes from the blaring Georgia sunshine. Our Toyota Sienna is parked in front of this extremely aged, brick building with Radisson High School chiseled in the top cement in a very Times New Roman way. It's a three-story building that looks old as dirt. The American flag out front flaps crazily in the strong breeze. To the left is a student parking lot full of pickup trucks, SUVs, and the random Jeep. I wish I had my own car and didn't have to be carted in like ... well, Kaitlin. Sure, I expected Mom to drive her to school, but a junior like me just should not be seen in the family minivan. Especially when it still has Illinois plates that scream Look at me! Look at me! "I can walk from here," I say. "But Kendall—" Quickly, I unclick the seat belt and feel the kink in my back from sleeping on the sectional sofa in the living room. There was no way in blue-blazing hell that I was going to sleep in my room—even if I could have—after that raspy-whispering-from-the-noise-machine incident that nearly made me have a frickin' embolism.
