The bad news is that the cops immediately tell my mother and father. Knowing my parent’s wrath, I would rather go to jail than deal with them. My mother starts to cry as soon as the cops show up with me at the front door. She bawls profusely until the officers leave, then her sorrow quickly falls away. She glares at me in disgust, and we argue loudly. It is the first time that I’ve raised my voice to her. My father won’t have it. Instantly, he is on the phone, and discussing with someone from the church about sending me away to a program for troubled young adults. I need to get out of here as fast as possible. For the next few days, I stay locked away inside of my room. I emerge to eat meals, but I avoid my parents’ disapproving glares. I don’t have a job and no plans for college other than a community school. My parents refuse to pay for anything that wasn’t a religious university, and I don’t want to conform to them.
