I woke up early the morning the world went to shit. I felt the need to get a head start on the shittiness of the life to come. Not really; no one could have predicted what was going to happen to me or everyone else that fateful afternoon.

I rose from my bed, as my mom yelled up the stairs to me. My bed suddenly felt a thousand times more soft, warm, and all around comfortable as I remembered the pain-in-my-ass Spanish exam I had to take today.

Damn school.

Damn tests.

Damn dog! "Shut up!" I yelled to my mother's German Shepherd, Donkey, who was barking his head off downstairs. Yes, my mom has a dog named Donkey. I named the dark-ish brown and black dog when I was just 4 years old and he was a puppy. I thought it hilarious at the time, seeing as the dog was quite obviously NOT a donkey.

I threw my thick purple comforter off my body and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

My feet hit the wood floor with a small thud and I walked over to my closet, pulling open the door and inspecting myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside. Ugh… I hate Mondays. My hair was all over the place and I think I was starting to get a zit on the left side of my forehead. Sometimes I hate being a teenager.

I know you may be thinking "wow, this girl is really cynical/pessimistic/any other word describing a negative attitude toward anything and all," but let me set you straight before we delve any more into the day my whole world turned upside down: I am. I am very distrustful of human nature and have a sarcastic sense of humor, biting back twice as hard at anyone who barks a command, sneers an insult, or even mutters a word behind my back. But I was also very immature and found many things funny that I really shouldn't. People looked at me oddly when I laughed at stuff I knew was inappropriate and immature to laugh at, but my close friends understood the irregular thought process.

I sighed and tried to smooth down my crazy black hair. When I realized the attempt was futile without a hair brush and some hair product or another, I stomped grumpily away from the mirror and into my bathroom. My hair was really long, coming down to my rear. I sometimes sat on it by accident which really hurt. I decided to pull my hair up into a high ponytail, shortening its length the tiniest bit so it only came down to my lower back. When my hair was decent, I went to my closet and chose a black T-shirt I got from a concert my dad took me to for my birthday about two years ago and a pair of blue jeans. I fastened my belt around my pants and pulled on a pair of black skater shoes. They were the most comfortable shoes in the world, my Vans. I loved them to death and wouldn't trade them for any other pair of shoes ever.

I didn't bother putting on makeup. 1) it was only a half day of school today for exams and 2) I didn't normally wear makeup anyway. It was a pain in the ass and who was I trying to impress anyway? Any guy who liked me with makeup should like me just as well without it. There were quite a few guys in my Sophomore class who made their affections for me very obvious, but they were all creeps.

"Kaiya! You might want to leave soon!" my mom called up from the kitchen.

I sighed heavily and stood, yanking my bag off of its hanging spot around my bedpost in a terrible display of teenage angst. I trudged down the stairs and turned into the kitchen where my mom was wearing a white apron and an oven mitt over her hand, pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven.

I sniffed the air, loving the chocolate scent the cookies gave off. I ripped a paper towel off the roll and grabbed two scorching hot cookies up into it, pecking my mom on my cheek before a hasty retreat to the door.

"I've got work today after school!" I threw over my shoulder.

My mom nodded as I grabbed my car keys out of the tin on the stand by the door. I waved one last time before running out to my black truck.

It was a nice big '99 Chevy Z71. The tires didn't necessarily have to be that big, but I liked surprising the boys admiring my truck when they saw that the driver was a girl. It looked like it was new still; I took good care of it. I had helped my dad work on it since I was 10 and when I got my driver's license, my dad handed me the keys with a large smile on his face. It had always been my dream to drive that car and I was ecstatic.

I was 16 with everything besides a stupid Spanish exam and a zit on the left side of my forehead going right for me when the world went to shit.

Where were you?

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