Everything has a story.

         No one understands me. No one knows my life. People may think they do, but they never will.
Are they homeless?
No.
Do they struggle with depression, but can't afford medical attention?
No.
Are their parents dead?
No.
Can they actually trust people?
Yes.

That's the difference between me and other people.

         I go to school at Franklin High School in the Bronx, New York. I'm in the tenth grade and I get really good grades. I live on the streets at night, but I'm always clean by morning. I work in a little boutique on Descher Street. I hate dealing with people because they think they know me.
                    They don't.
         As I went into school on Thursday, I was ready for battle. I knew Kerry Edwards was going to ask me why I didn't come to his party that weekend.

         "Hey Dayna." Kerry said with a melancholy look on his face that made me swoon, "Where were you this weekend? I missed you."

         "I missed you, too. I just had to...deal with some things." I said.

         "If you need to talk to someone, I'm here for you. You know that, right?"

         "Okay." I left and walked to class.

The truth about this weekend is I ended up having to stop a man's death. I had tried to make it to the party, honest; just on the way a man was choking on a piece of lamb that had been shoved down his throat by a robber who stole his money. He thanked me by taking me to dinner. He even tried to give me a ride home.But I declined, explained my situation and then left courteously.

         Because it's perfect for me.

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