When I get home, I see Trina with a bag. She says, "We're staying at my parent's house tonight. Let's go," tossing the bag at me.
"I'll be right back; I need something from my room," I reply, and she sighs.
I run upstairs to my bedroom, grab my hairbrush, makeup, and clothes for school in the morning, and pack my bag.
Trina says, "You drive your car, and I'll drive mine." I nod in agreement.
I open the back door of my car and toss in the bags.
Trina drives off, leaving me behind. I roll my eyes; my aunt and uncle live an hour away from us and thirty minutes from my school.
One hour later
I pull up in front of my aunt and uncle's blue two-story house. They adopted Trina when she was eight years old.
My aunt stands at the door as I get out.
"Wow, Anastasia, you look great! Taking no
