As I said before, I'm fifteen. I just turned the big one five on November 17th. I'm "homeschooled" aka, I'm dumber than a rock because they never actually taught me anything. When I would get those standardized tests, Greg would do them so nobody would suspect that I didn't know anything.
Believe you me, though, I do know how to read. My dad taught me when I was three, which was impressive. But beyond that? Nothing. Nada. Zip annnd zilch.
That doesn't mean I'm a total moron though. The whole running away thing though. I think I'm gonna go through with it. Tonight.
****Twelve hours later****
I packed a backpack, and its eleven pm now. I'm gonna go downstairs, grab some food for another bag, then go. I've had enough of this.
I've also saved up enough money that I've found in the washing machine (yes, I also do all the chores around here) and generally coins and bills I've found around the house.
Shit! Someone's coming downstairs!!
I've been hiding in the Tupperware cupboard for an hour now, and apparently Harry, the one who came downstairs to fetch a snack, isn't leaving anytime soon.
Have I told you about Harry yet? No? Probably because I like to talk about the 11 year old shit as little as possible.
He is my mother and Greg's son together, and they seem to think the sun shines out of his skeevy little ass. He only torments me when they aren't paying attention. So when I bop him one on the head, I get 'punished' by Greg. So I stay away from the jerk.
Thank god, he finally went back upstairs, little fuckin chubster.
I took one last look around. It would be the last time I ever saw this place.