It's Pronounced Mrotek, Baby

For some reason, after our 29 hours in jail, no one took away Andy's license.

They took my baggie, though.

It was Sunday, 8 o'clock AM. I know we were both extremely tired, having stayed awake all night to keep our eyes on the our cell mates. One police officer drove Andy's car and a squad car followed. Great.

I had absolutely no way to get into my house. My parents were at church. Thats where the police officer took me, because an adult was there. A lot of adults were there.

I snuck in quietly, though it was loud in the sanctuary. Too many faces turned to watch me enter, including theirs. The officer followed me inside.

Offering began then, brothers standing and gathering tithes. My mother and father stood and came towards the back of the church, they're faces serious.

"Arrested. You. Got. Arrested!" my mother hissed at me, her hands balling into fists.

"I think it would be better if you just left, Tatianna. Late at night, speeding with some drunk boy, and you had drugs. Go stay with one of your friends for a while." Why did my dad always have to be all business? He handed me a spare house key, then grabbed my mother's elbow and turned back to the sevice.

I turned away from him, from them, from all of their shit.

The only place I could think of to go was Zach's.

He was there.

He didn't care.

He had a lot of white boy left, and he was so high he didn't mind sharing.