A Single Grain of Ash

You'd think at seventeen that life would be easy...

At seventeen, you see the world as yours and the only thing a girl with black tattoos around her neck and arms would have to worry about is school, right? She wouldn't have to worry about her abusive mother who spends all her money on booze instead of food for her three kids, or have to worry about the two jobs she works, not telling either boss about the other so she gets more hours in, right?
At seventeen, the world is open to any number of choices, right? Not blocked out like a colouring book that was owned by a four-year-old boy who only has a sharpie to colour in with and when his mother comes home from the bar at midnight or later, he's already asleep in his bed next to his favourite stuffed animal that his big sister gave him for his birthday. Not blindingly dull in the routine of "go to school; get home; cook dinner; go to work; get home; put siblings to bed; go to other work; go home; do homework; repeat." Not arguing with her mother every moment she is home.
At seventeen, you're graduating high school, going off without a care in the world, right? Not staying home on Senior ditch day to take care of the four-year-old, or constantly calling social services on her own mother.
At seventeen, you're free... right? Not for me.

I'm 5'7", black hair, blue eyes, and one hell of a temper. I live in a run-down apartment with my two siblings and the hellish woman from whom I spawned. I wear whatever I can find from places like Savers and Goodwill, more often than not, jeans and a band shirt. I'm not lucky, I'm not healthy, I'm not perfect....
but I am Rayvin.
Nice to meet you. Now buzz off.

Great. First day of the semester and I'm already behind. First hour was fine because it was creative writing with a teacher I've had for years, but after that was all down hill. I need credits, but the only thing I'm any good at is writing fiction. My sister got called out of class on reports that she was smoking in the bathroom, so that was my lunch period. As it turns out, she wasn't smoking at all, but she had pop rocks and she put them in a soda can. How does a nine-year-old girl get these ideas?!

"Kama, you can't do stuff like that at school!" we were walking home after classes had ended. "Where did you get the money for those things anyway? did you steal them?"

"NO! How could you think I would do that?"

"I don't know, but you have been getting in trouble a lot lately, and it's looking pretty suspicious."

"I'm not doing anything illegal, I swear!"