I sat in the window sill in admiration of the snow falling gracefully to the ground. A cool breeze entered through the cracks of the old window frame. I ran my fingertips along the cracks to feel the cold air. I thought about telling my mom that the old dusty windows were letting air sneak into our home, but I felt peaceful by the cold window, so I kept it my secret.
“You know Ivy,” my father said as he walked into the livingroom, “I used to be a professional hockey player. Weather like this always reminds me of my golden days”.
“Oh quit your lying!” my mother stomped her foot down. “You did not! We have been together since sophomore year. You did not play hockey!”
“You know, sometimes you can keep your mouth shut?” My father clenched his fists and his breathing became heavy. He laughed it off. Whenever he gets caught lying he laughs as if it didn’t happen. I continued to run my fingers up the window. I never understood when I was little why my mother would get so angry at my father for telling fibs, but as I grew older I began to catch on to the lies. Some were small. He would tell me things like, “I can’t take you to the park. I’m stuck at work,” when he was actually out with other people that laughed with him, and believed every lie that made its way past his lips.
The worst thing he has ever done was lie to his boss. He told his boss, “I can’t make it into work, my wife is going to the hospital, she is in labor.”
His boss gave him permission to go to the hospital, but little did he know my mom wasn’t pregnant. Later that month his boss was invited over for a family dinner. He asked “How is the baby? boy or girl?”
My mom was puzzled, “who had a baby?”
I could see my dad starting to feel uncomfortable. I knew this whole dinner was about to come crashing down. His boss was angry, and gave him a week notice to get his things out of his office.
I don’t hate my dad. I almost pity him.
Everyone is afraid of change. Everyone has an underlying fear of the possibilities behind change. I was afraid of this change. I understood the divorce papers were in place but it didn’t become real until my dad was packing his things in cardboard boxes and old duffle bags we took on vacations. He made it apparent that he was depressed. His eyes were empty, and his face looked as if it aged 10 years over night. My face was flushed. I was hot from the anxiety of my dad leaving. It took him hours, but it felt like minutes. He dragged himself in and out of the house carrying a bag each time. I did not move, my body was numbed. Finally the last bag left the house, and my dad re entered. He gave me a hug,
“I’ll see you soon kiddo.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He laughed, and was out the door.
I held onto a shard of hope that things would go back to normal, but that shard was like glass, sharp and rigid. It kept cutting me, and every cut got deeper, so I had to let the shard go. I gave up the bit of hope I had left to avoid further damage from the glass shard.  I have never been an angry person, but my anger was overwhelming, my hands are sweaty from holding such a tight grip. . I asked my friends Jonah and Coveyn to come over. We have been friends since 1st grade, and we would play four square at recess together. Our days together aren’t that simple anymore. We are older, and life is more challenging.
“Where do you want to go to college?” Coveyn left the question open for anyone to answer,
“I don’t think I’m going to college. I would rather travel.”
“Ivy, you don’t have that type of money.”
“How do you know that?” my voice was tense.
“Maybe I do.” I knew I should have stopped but I couldn’t.
“I have lots of money, my dad left me with enough for a few years, at least.” I laughed, and smiled, but I knew it wasn’t true. My dad promised to come back, but he hasn’t shown, and he left without leaving me anything.
“You don’t need to get so defensive,” Jonah piped in “but it’s late, and I should get home.”
“Me too.” and we went our separate ways. In the city you usually don’t see many stars, but tonight the sky was clear, and the white stars were scattered through the sky, like tiny paint splatters. The sky helped me collect myself, and I went to sleep that night knowing I messed up.
I’ve never faked sick before, and I decided today would be a good day to do it. 
“I don’t feel good.”
“What’s wrong sweetie?” my mother gently placed the back of her hand on my forehead.
“My stomach hurts, I don’t think I can go to school today.” I caught myself laughing.
“Okay, well go lay down, and I’ll make you some soup.”
I went up to my room and began thinking of all the things that were going on at school. I became bored quickly, but my stomach actually began to hurt. My thoughts were racing, and the room became a blank space. I was zoning out deep in thought until I heard a voice in the background
“The bowl is hot so be careful.”
“Thanks, I think I’m going to take a nap.” I scooped soup into my spoon and blew gently on it. The soup splattered on my blanket. I wiped it in attempt to get it off, but it smudged further on the blanket. My thoughts were scattered but all I could focus on was the way the soup splatter looked like a perfect brush stroke.
The next day I walked to school, and the pale morning sky kept me tired. I could see my breath in the air, and my nose was dripping. When I got to school I approached Jonah,
“Is Coveyn angry? I didn’t mean to snap. I don’t know what’s with me lately, I just get so angry so fast.”
“Ivy, things would be a lot easier if you didn’t lie, Ivy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means what I said.” He walked away irritated. I’m not a liar, I’ve never been a liar. Maybe apologizing is the best thing to do at this point. But I couldn’t find any reason to. Jonah, Coveyn, and I sit together at lunch, so I decided to wait until then to make my apology.
“Look guys I’m sorry.” I truly did feel guilty.
“It’s fine Ivy. I know you’re going through a lot.” Coveyn smiled. Things were normal for the day, and when the end of the day bell rang I went home, ate dinner, and went to bed early.
“I’m not out of control,” I told myself laughing “I’m happy this way.” I would tell myself this everyday, so I was aware that this is the life I should be living.
I asked Jonah and Coveyn to meet me in the park that night, and they agreed to come. It was raining that night so we sat by the picnic tables under a roof.
After a few minutes of conversation I asked,“Do you guys think I’m out of control?” I already felt as if I needed to defend myself.
“Honestly, you are not the same anymore Ivy, you act out, avoid the plans we make, constantly try to cover your mistakes up, and it’s kind of out of hand.” I knew Coveyn would be the one to say it.
“Yeah, what she said,” Jonah added.
“Fair enough.” I laughed trying to distinguish my anger. How could my bestfriend’s think that way of me? How could they betray me this way? After all I’ve gone through, they won’t let me have any happiness? I knew what I had to do.
“Meet me back here tomorrow, same time?” I smiled.
“Sure,” they spoke in unison.
The next day I made my way down to the park, my chest felt heavy, and my stomach was turning. I saw people around me happy with their families, but it was a blur to me. I saw Coveyn and Jonah. I gestured for them to follow me. They ran towards me to catch up, and without a word we walked. We walked for a long time, I can’t remember for how long exactly.
“Where are we going?” Jonah asked.
“You’ll see.” We continued walking, until I led them to an alley. The alley had a tall, dark brick wall with graffiti painted up and down. It reeked of sewage, and food remains. The sky was no longer different shades of blue, It was black, and the air was cold. We made our way towards the end of the alley where a grimey dumpster stood surrounded by trash bags. Clouds of bugs swarmed the air, but they did not faze me. I motioned my finger so my friends would come to me.
“Ivy, this is weird.”
“Trust me.” I smiled, and they inched closer. I drew the blade from my pocket.
“Am I out of control now?” I trashed the blade down at my friends without looking, and their screams echoed in my head. It worked as an adrenaline booster. I kept swinging with the blade in my hand with great force, and when I no longer heard screaming, I stopped. My hands were sweaty, but my fingertips were cold. Everything was a blur, except the rusty red colored blood that fill the creases of my fingernails, and drip down my hands.
“I’m happy this way.” I laughed, and I kept on laughing.