Olivia’s Point of view
Three years later.
My alarm is set to go off any minute. I’ve been awake for half the night, shifting back and forth, counting the lines between the ceiling tiles and repeating the course schedule in my head.
Others may count sheep; I plan. My mind doesn’t allow a break from planning, and today, the most important day in my entire nineteen years of life, is no exception.
“Olivia!” I heard Aunt Rita’s voice call from downstairs.
Groaning to myself, I rolled out of my tiny bed. I take my time tucking the corners of my bedsheet against the headboard, because this is the last morning that it would be a part of my regular routine.
After today, this bedroom is no longer my home. “Olivia!” she calls again.
“I’m up!” I yelled back. The noise of the cabinets opening
