Mistaken Identity | Teen Ink

Mistaken Identity

January 8, 2011
By Writergrl96 BRONZE, Claymont, Delaware
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Writergrl96 BRONZE, Claymont, Delaware
4 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
Be not afraid of greatness. So are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.


“Brooklyn hurry up we got to get to Grandma’s house before it gets too dark.” I walked into the kitchen and packed up coffee and doughnuts for the ride over. Brooklyn came in to the kitchen. “Mom I’m ready to go, but why do we have to go to Grandma’s house now? Derrick and Kathryn are waiting for me at the mall.” I didn’t know what to say to Brooklyn. A teenager what do you say to a teenager? ”Mom, are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Now hurry up and put the phone away, stop texting all the time. And tell Derrick and Kathryn that you guys are going to have to go to the mall so other time. And what are you wearing, a belly shirt! Oh no not to your grandma’s house go upstairs and change.”

“Okay Mom, but what’s that on your wrists.” I looked down and saw the scars on my wrists. I knew this day would come, the day that I would have to tell the story of my childhood. “Brooklyn come with me it’s time I tell you a little story I think that you’re old enough to here the story of how I received theses scars.”

Hulled off to jail, like a common criminal for a crime that I did not commit. The cold, metal handcuffs against my warm flesh sent a chill up my arms. It felt like someone hand threw my arms in a bucket of ice. The handcuffs pinched against my boney wrists. The sirens were so loud that my thoughts were scrambled. All the people and police cars surrounded the scene I couldn’t even see what had happened. Everything happened so fast just as I was there, I was soon In a cold, dark room with a single dimming light. My hands were cuffed to the rusty table in the middle of the room. The slight stench of blood and molding milk filled my nose. I looked around the room to find anything that I could use to escape. All I have seemed to find was a mirror along the front wall, three chairs (including the one I was sitting in), a table, and a window covered with bars in the rear of the room. As I was finally getting my thoughts together two detectives walked in.
One of the detectives was a woman the other a man. The female detective had dirty blonde, shoulder length hair. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties. She wore a black pant suit with a purple shirt. There were grease stains on the edges of her shirt. Her eyes looked tired and her hair looked unwashed. Her partner was a short, bald man. He was in his late thirties or earl forties. His shirt wasn’t tucked into his black pants and a couple buttons were undone. He had food crumbs stuck into his five o’clock shadow. They headed towards me and threw a folder on the table.

The female detective asked me, “Do you know why you’re her Samantha?”

I was confused with who they thought I was, but all I could say was, “My name is not Samantha its Jasmine…Jasmine Anders.” I pleaded with them I tried to convince them that I wasn’t the person that they were looking for.

The female detective seemed to not believe by the look on her face. It went from bad to worse. She threw down and gold, metal object and said, “Do you know what this? This is a badge, a police badge. I’m a detective, Detective Jennifer Sosa. I’ve been doing this job for ten years, that means I know when scum like you lie to try and get out a charge. It’s not going to work we got you this time.”

I didn’t know what was going on before I knew it I was screaming, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR TALKING ABOUT. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GO. I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG.” I started crying. At that moment Det. Sosa and her partner left the room. It felt like days until someone came back into the room. This time Det. Sosa came in alone. She looked at me with a pathetic look in her eye. I looked up at the mirror and noticed I looked a mess. My eyes were blood red, I had bags under my eyes from being sleep deprived, and my hair was dull and lifeless.

“Here Eat.” Det. Sosa threw a burger and fries my way.

I lifted up my hands slightly and jiggled the cuffs. Det. Sosa came over and uncuffed my wrist from the table. As my wrists were being released from their prison I noticed that they were red with blood. There was a circular gas on each wrist. Once Det. Sosa noticed called in the ME, medical examiner. Within the next hour I was back in the room with the detective. “I’m sorry about the handcuffs.” She spoke timidly. I looked up at her with pain and sadness in my eyes. “Jasmine……is that what you said your name was.”

I said nothing.

I could feel that she wanted me to answer her questions and to tell her everything about me but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to make nice with this lady but I knew she wasn’t planning on leaving me alone until I answered her questions. “Yes, my name is Jasmine.” As I spoke I was stuttering over each word.

“Well Jasmine do you know why you’re here?”

“Honestly I have no idea.” I tried not to scream at her but as each word passed through my lips I developed more and more anger.

Finally Det. Sosa said, “We have arrested you because you are our lead suspect for a spree of serial robberies.”

I couldn’t contain my feelings any further; I jumped up and screamed, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR TALKING ABOUT. YOU HAVE THE WRONG GIRL.”

Det. Sosa was shocked at my sudden and uncalled for outburst. Just as fast as she was shocked she snapped back, “We have been looking for a 5’2”, African American female. Between the ages 14-17 with a scar on her left arm. We have a character sketch and you are a dead match for the drawing.” She threw down the sketch; it sat before me mimicking my every feature. As I looked down at the sketch a bone chilling vibration shot up my spine.

“I’m sorry but that’s not me.”

“How is that not you. It looks just like you.” I could tell that Det. Sosa was getting frustrated with me. She was so sure that I committed those crimes she was just waiting for me to admit it. I didn’t know what to say to her, she had a drawing that looked just like me. She caught me on the scene of a crime. All the evidence was pointing to me, but I knew I didn’t do it.

“Det. Sosa I don’t know what to tell you,” I started to stutter again, “I know the sketch looks like me but I didn’t commit those crimes.”

“SAMANTHA…………JASMINE……….whatever your name is, you and I both know that you committed the cri-“
Before she could finish her thought a tall, Caucasian man walked in. He was wearing a very expensive Prada suit with gold cuff lings. Under his arm was an Italian leather briefcase with the letters DJ embroidered on the top. This man looked to be in his mid-thirties. He had light brown hair with tints of gray in it from working late nights. Det. Sosa was annoyed and fed up with all the interruptions, however before she could get another word past her lips the man said, “My name is Daniel Jackson and I’ll be representing Ms. Tassey.”

I looked up at this man with confusion and relief. Millions of questions raced through my mind. ‘Who is Ms. Tassey?’ ‘Who called this man?’ ‘When will I be able to go home?’ Nothing seemed to be making sense anymore. It’s like my life had been switched with someone else’s. I wanted to run, scream, and cry. I wanted to do anything that would allow me to leave. However before I was able to contemplate what was really happening Det. Sosa and this man were arguing.

The man yelled at her, “You have no right to talk to my client without her lawyer present, Detective?”

Det. Sosa didn’t back down she simply snapped back, “It is Detective Jennifer Sosa. Besides we had every right to talk with Ms. Tassey because she forfeited her Miranda rights by talking with us. She didn’t have to talk with us, she chose to.”

“Ha!” The man giggled slightly. “You must be out of your mind if you think that will stick in court you have nothing no evidence just a bogus character sketch.”

“A witness gave us that character sketch, how might you begin to explain that? Please tell me I would love to her this.”

“Apparently your witness must have seen my client that day or maybe even the day before her house was broken into and gave my client’s description by mistake. It was an true mistake and we are willing to forgive the witness and help with your investigation in any way we can. So if you don’t have any more evidence against my client that will suggest that she did these crimes I will be taking her home so that she could be with her family.” Daniel looked quite pleased with himself. He motioned for me to stand up and he started walking towards me. As I started to stand Det. Sosa pushed me down.

“She is not going anywhere. She is a suspect, Ms. Tassey will be incar-“

Before Det. Sosa could finish her sentence a medium built, African American man walked in. He looked to be in his mid to late fifties. He was wearing a semi expensive suit. He had gray hair and was in dire need of a shave. He stood by the door and said, “Let her go.”

Det. Sosa was so shocked by yet another interruption. Her top lip started trembling as she said, “But chief she’s a suspect we can’t let her leave.”

“Let her go. We don’t have enough to hold her so let her go.” This time as he spoke it was with more depth and force.

At that moment I stood up. My legs felt like jelly as all the blood rushed back into them. I started walking towards the front door, when Det. Sosa stopped me. She pulled me in close and whispered in my ear, “This isn’t over yet.”

As I walked out of the police station the fresh air felt good on my face. It was early spring so the cold, bitterness of a Brooklyn winter was over. Daniel showed me to his car, a black mustang with full leather interior. As I sat down in his car the warm leather stuck to my thighs. The smell of McDonald hamburgers intoxicated me. I didn’t know how hungry I was until I smelled the hamburgers. We drove for about 20 minutes until we pulled up in front of this rustic apartment building. There were 15 floors in this apartment but we went up to apartment 9-D. Before Daniel could even knock on the door it swung open. Out walked an African American woman in her mid-forties. She had long, black, curly hair and she was especially thin for her age. She was slightly taller than me and wore a cross around her neck. The minute she looked at me tears swelled up in her eyes. I could tell that she wanted to say something but the words just weren’t making their way out. She grabbed me and gave me the biggest hug ever. I felt her warmth and love for the first time in my life. As she pulled away from me she whispered, “My angel from heaven above, the light of my life you are home, safe with your family. My sweet and dearest Samantha.” I wanted to tell this lady that I wasn’t who she thought I was. But I loved the warmth that she gave me. “Mrs. Tassey I’m afraid this problem isn’t over yet. Samantha here is still the prime suspect for the robberies. They arrested her on the scene and better yet they have a character sketch that looks just like her.” Daniel looked very nervous as he spoke. “What do you mean, Samantha hasn’t done anything wrong. She is a sweet girl.” Mrs. Tassey looked exhausted and upset I wanted to comfort her but I knew I shouldn’t. For a few minutes Mrs. Tassey and Daniel talked. That whole conversation was a blur except for the occasional ‘Samantha’ and ‘criminal’. After they finished talking Daniel started to leave. When he reached the elevator he pressed the button but turned around before the doors opened/. He said, “Goodbye Mrs. Tassey, goodbye Samantha.” At that moment I lost is again, hearing another person calling me Samantha felt like a slap to the face. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “MY NAME ISN’T SAMANTHA ITS JASMIE MOI=NIQUE ANDERS!!!” Daniel and Mrs. Tassey looked at me so shocked at what I said. They exchanged looks with each other. Daniel back out of the elevator and moved closer to me. Mrs. Tassey came towards me, she put her hand on my arm. “Samantha what are you saying?” I snatched my arm away from her. “Like I said before my name is not Samantha. It’s JASMINE ANDERS,” I wanted these two, to believe me. However I noticed I was getting nowhere. They probably thought I was crazy. I tried to think of how I could prove that I wasn’t Samantha. “You guys don’t seem to believe me. I’m not Samantha, I’m not her. See?” I lifted up my shirt to reveal a scar wrapping around my stomach. Mr. Tassey looked at my stomach with pain in her eyes. “H-h-how did th-this happen?” She was crying and it was hard to hear what she was saying. She put her hand on my scar; I felt her compassion and her love. She was so emotional and I didn’t want to hurt her but it was the only way. I couldn’t go to jail for a crime that I didn’t commit. “Mrs. Tassey, Daniel, I’ve had this scar all my life. When I was a baby my horrible mother, my birthmother knocked over a cup of hot cof-,” It was hard to tell this story. I cried and cried because of the painful memories it brought. I knew I was opening up old wounds but it had to be done, “My birthmother knocked over a cup of hot coffee, I was sitting on the floor in a diaper. The coffee fell on me and burned my stomach. Unless this happened to Samantha I’m not her. I don’t know who Samantha is. I ran away from my foster family 5 days ago. I’m sorry I just want to go home.” Mrs. Tassey closed her eyes, she looked very faint. Daniel walked closer towards me; he put his hand on my shoulder. I turned around and gave him a hug. He was shocked and confused but still warm and comforting. Mrs. Tassey showed us into her apartment. The smell of baby powder and freshly baked brownies filled my nose. Her apartment was newly furnished with antique furniture. She had a baby grand piano in the living room. Next to the piano was a handcrafted oak couch with red cushions. Mrs. Tassey motioned for us to sit down on the couch. As I sat down on the red, cotton cushions it felt like I was sitting on a cloud. The couch was the softest anything I have ever touched or sat on. Mrs. Tassey and Daniel disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later they reappeared. Mrs. Tassey was carrying a plate of double chocolate brownies. The smelled of those brownies possessed my senses in a way that I only craved brownies. AS Mrs. Tassey and Daniel sat down next to me I grabbed a warm brownie. The moment I bit into the chocolaty brownie was the best moment of my life. The velvety smooth chocolate slid down my throat. The moist cake texture of the brownie was only something you could dream of. However before I could fully enjoy the brownie I had to snap back into reality. Mrs. Tassey and Daniel had the questions and I knew that I had the answers. Mrs. Tassey turned towards me and put her hands on top of mine. She sad in the softest voice I’ve ever heard, “Jasmine, please share with Mr. Daniel and I who you are and how you ended up here?” I wasn’t prepared to share the hardship of my childhood with complete strangers, but it was the only way. The only way to clear my name from any wrong doing. The only way that I could be able to have a better life and people who love me. “Okay, Okay. Well it all started when I was about five or six years old. Social services toke me away from my mother. My mother was a drunk and we lived in this awful apartment in south Philadelphia. I was so young when they took me that I can’t even remember her face. Nevertheless I remember her smell and the way we lived. She smelled like booze and death. Our apartment was a room with a dingy, bloodstained mattress in the middle of the room and needles on the floor. I remember cutting my foot on a broken beer bottle when I was three. When they took me away I was put into foster care. I bounced around from family to family each one using me for a petty paycheck. Over the next 11 years I’ve had over 25 foster families. I remember being abused by at least ten or eleven of my foster families.” At that moment I started crying. The pain that happened to me I never shared with anyone ever. I felt scared but I knew the good that I was bringing to my future by sharing the hardship that I have overcome. “I just couldn’t take it anymore; I was going to be kicked out in two years when I turn eighteen. So what’s the point? Nobody wants me; they all just used me for a lousy payday. They threw me aside like garbage and tossed me back when they were threw. My birthmother didn’t want me. She never even knew I existed. They took me from her and she didn’t even fight to get me back. I had to leave; I couldn’t stay any longer and be abused and forgotten. I ran away, I ran away from my foster parents, from my past, and towards a future that I can be proud of. I left all of the pain but entered a new world of sadness and loneliness. I was just minding my own business, walking back to the motel where I was staying. I just had a job interview. I was walking past the pizza shop on Washington Avenue, when I saw tons of people and police cars. I stopped to see what had happened but before I knew it two police officers cuffed me and read me my rights. They put me in the back of their police car and drove to the police station. I was cuffed to a table and was interrogated for hours and hours. Finally Daniel came and saved me. He took me here and that’s what happened. I’m so sorry for leading you own but you have to understand. Please, please, please don’t hate me.” I felt good to get this off my chest; I just hoped that they would understand me and what I was telling them. Mrs. Tassey seemed to understand she gave me a big hug and said, “Darling it’s okay. No one hates you, you did nothing wrong. You’re just a child who’s scared and been through a lot of pain.” She started crying with me and I felt something I never felt before. I felt like I belonged. “Jasmine, I want to show you something, you stay right here and I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Tassey arose from her seat and retired to the back room. When she returned she was holding a book. “This is a scrapbook of Samantha’s life.” She started flipping through the pages. Each picture of Samantha resembled me. Mrs. Tassey was quiet for a while, as we were looking through the scrapbook. Finally she said, “I have been taking pictures of my sweet Samantha since the day I…..adopted her!”

At that moment my jaw dropped. It felt like someone punched me in the stomach. I didn’t know what to say. Questions were circling through my head. However before I could ask a single one Mrs. Tassey spoke. “Dear I know you have many questions that you want answered. I know I can’t give you all the answers, but what I do know is that I can tell the information that I most precious in concerns to the situation at hand. When I adopted Samantha, it was the happiest day of my life. You see I can’t have children I’ve tried and I was never able. So when the doctors told me I was going to be able to adopt a beautiful and healthy baby girl my heart just stopped. Although it was the happiest moment it came with a sad story. You see Samantha was abandoned by her birthmother. I was told that Samantha’s birth mother had twin girls but only took one home. Samantha’s birthmother was Allison Anders. Your mother is Samantha’s mother. Jasmine I know this Is hard to hear and truly unbelievable, but I think that you and Samantha are twins.”
“NO,” I shouted at the top of my lungs, “NO, it can’t be. I don’t have a sister; my mother would have told me. Social services would have told me. Why didn’t anyone tell?” I was crying hysterically, I was hit with a hurricane of emotions. Anger and sadness took over my heart. I didn’t know what to do, I wanted to cry, scream, and break something. How could I have not known I had a sister, a twin sister? I wasn’t alone in the world I had family. Someone who shared the same DNA as me.
As I was calming down Mrs. Tassey led me to the back of the apartment. She opened the last door on the right a motioned for me to go in. “This is Samantha’s room. Maybe if you look around you can get a better sense of who the real Samantha is. She is a good girl you just have to look beyond the surface. When you are done we can all go down to the police station and straighten this whole thing out, Okay?”
“Okay and thank you Mrs. Tassey for understanding.” Mrs. Tassey nodded her head and left the room. I looked around Samantha’s room. It was huge; it had three doors, not including the front door. Behind two of the doors were closets and behind the last was a bathroom. Samantha’s room smelled of propane and cigarettes. She had a different taste in clothing then her mother. Instead of bright pretty colors she had dingy, dark colors. Her room was painted dark blues and she had many posters up in her room. Some were of music bands or of inappropriate language and items. I didn’t dare to look any further into Samantha’s world of hate and pain. She was obviously a disturbed child even though she had a mother who cares for her. I walked back to the living room where Daniel and Mrs. Tassey were waiting for me. ‘I’m ready to go to the police station.”
We all walked out of Mrs. Tassey’s rich smelling apartment and into the cruel and filthy world. As we stepped outside the cool breeze from earlier turn into a hiss. The beautiful, blue skies were now gray with clouds and smoke. The sun was being suffocated by the gray, dinginess of a laugh less day. When we arrived at Daniel’s car the black seemed to have faded from the shininess it had before. The leather seats no longer stuck to my thighs. The delicious smells of McDonald’s hamburgers were no longer there. We drove for what seemed like forever even though it was only twenty minutes. We pulled in front on the police station. The brown and red brick building seemed much smaller than it did yesterday evening. We walked in as quiet as a lion hunting for its prey. Daniel asked one of the detectives if could speak to the chief and Detective Sosa. Two detectives showed us to an available interrogation and left us there alone. I looked around the room and noticed it was the same one I was in early that day, but it was nicer in a way. The dimming light now was shining brighter than ever. The temperature of the room was cool instead of hot and damp. The smell of blood and molding milk was replaced by the sweet smell of Febreze air fresher. As I was sitting there examining the room I had a feeling that things were about to go from bad to worse. A few minutes after sitting in the interrogation room Detective Sosa and the chief walked in. Det. Sosa looked at with a smirk on her face, as if she knew something that I didn’t. She sat down in the chair opposite of mine. The chief remained standing but was holding a brown folder behind his back.
Daniel stuck his hand out and said, “Hello my name is Daniel Johnson. I’m Mrs. Tassey and Ms. Ander’s attorney.” When Daniel let the words Ms. Anders pass his lips the attitude in the room shifted. Det. Sosa went from looking smirk to looking angry and confused. The chief had a blank look on his face as he tried to contemplate who Ms. Anders was.
The awkward silence was killing me I wanted someone to say something. Anything, just as long as I could clear my name. The chief moved closer to the table he was very timid and cautious with his movements. “Excuse me I must be confused, but who is Ms. Anders?”
I stood up and said, “I’m Ms. Anders, Jasmine Anders.”
“Are you serious again with this nonsense?” Det. Sosa was furious with people actually believing me. “I can’t believe you people are actually buying that this manipulative girl isn’t Samantha Tassey. Ha, you guys must be really stupid to fall for something as stupid and idiotic as this.” Det. Sosa slumped back into her chair; she seemed pretty pleased with herself.
“Detective you will watch your tone. Now I apologize for Detective Sosa’s rude behavior, but I have to agree with her. How can this not be Samantha? You guys share the same DNA.”
When the chief said DNA my heart stopped. My body felt instantly heavier like someone put rocks in my stomach. I wanted to get out of the police station. I wanted to wake up from this terrible dream. I wanted answers, I wanted freedom. I was confused, but yet very aware of what was happening. Everything seemed backwards, but yet all the same. “DNA……WHERE DID YOU GET MY DNA? I never gave you my DNA. You have no right.” I was crying and screaming and was making a big scene. I just lost it; it was like a switch went off in my head.
“Ms. Anders is it? We obtained your DNA off the handcuffs you were wearing.” The chief put the folder on the table. Inside was a piece of paper with two colored bars. One was label ‘UNKNOWN DNA’ the other ‘SAMANTHA DNA’. They were a perfect match. “Ms. Anders we extracted the UNKNOWN DNA from the original robbery, we were just waiting for a sample to run it against. How do you explain your DNA matching the UNKNOWN DNA? Unless there is someone else running around with your exact same DNA you can’t get out of this.”
I was completely dumbfounded; it seemed I was out of options. Trying to convince them would be harder then convincing Mrs. Tassey and Daniel. “Okay, okay. It’s time to tell the truth. I didn’t lie to you before about whom I am, I really am Jasmine Anders. I don’t know Samantha, but I was told that we are sisters, twin sisters. I know this is unbelievable but it’s true. I ran away from my foster parents in Staten Island five days ago. I didn’t commit those crimes, you can call them. Their names are Gregg and Sandra Welling. Their listed in the phonebook, I don’t know their number by heart. I am not Samantha, Samantha is somewhere out there. I’m sorry but you have the wrong girl.”
Mrs. Tassey stood up, she was crying. Her warm spirit seemed to have faded away. “Samantha is my daughter and this girl is not my daughter. My daughter has committed serious crimes but we have to find her. She is missing, I know she will be prosecuted and sent away to jail. However do not punish this girl here for looking like Samantha. She is not Samantha.”
As Mrs. Tassey spoke the chief and Det. Sosa nodded. Once Mrs. Tassey was done the chief whispered into Det. Sosa’s ear. Det. Sosa left the room and within the next fifteen minutes she returned. She looked at the chief and nodded her head. I wanted to know what was happening. Did they believe me? Was I going home? Was I going to go to jail? It was nerve racking and scary all at the same time. Finally the chief spoke, “Ms. Anders we were able to reach your foster family, they told us everything and that you were living with them for the past month. They told us before that you lived in New Jersey during the first ten robberies and that you couldn’t possibly have done them. We are sorry for the mistreatment and we will be happy to pay any medical bills or help you in any way possible.”
That was it I was free, free to leave almost untouched. But I would have to go back to my foster family and be abused and used for money. Starved and treated like an animal rather than a person. I didn’t want to go back, “Excuse me, sir. If you could, I would like to be discharged from foster care, if at all possible. I can’t go back to being used for a paycheck. Being mistreated and forgotten. I’m better off by myself, anyway. I’m going to be kicked out of foster care in a little over a year so why do I have to stay. Please don’t have me go back to the Welling’s, please.”
The chief looked at me and I knew that he was going to do everything in his power to help me. Over the course of the next three weeks he fought for me to be discharged from foster care. I was awarded ten thousand dollars from the Brooklyn Police Department. I rented out my own place; I received a job and lived my life. They never seemed to find where Samantha went, it was like she disappeared or something. Mrs. Tassey and I remained like family; she was the only one who cared for me. She was like a real mother to me.

“That’s it that’s my story.”
“Mom are you serious, that’s really what happened? You were falsely arrested for a crime you didn’t commit. Wow that is so cool.”
“Well I’m glad you think so. Now come on we have to go to Grandma’s house.” We stood up and walked to the kitchen. As I turned around I noticed my husband, William, was standing there.
“Honey you know that’s not what happened, stop filling her head with nonsense.”
“Nonsense, it’s not nonsense if it’s enjoyable.”
Brooklyn looked at us with confusion written all over her face, “Wait what are you guys, talking about? The story? You guys are talking about the story. What is it not true or something? Mom please tell dad it’s true, that the story is true.”
“Brooklyn I can’t tell your father that because the story isn’t true.”
“So, mom you lied to me.”
“No Brooklyn I didn’t lie I just exaggerated.”
“Okay then mom, what really happened? How did you receive those scars?”
“Alright, well it started when I was sixteen years hold. I met your father at a local pizza shop in Staten Island. He was two years older than me and was drop dead gorgeous. He came up to me and my friends and said, ‘Is it hot in here or is it just you.’ It was the cheesiest line I’ve hear, but I decided that he was cute so I would give him the benefit of the doubt. He asked us if we wanted to this awesome party that night. Even though I knew I shouldn't go, I said what the heck and went.
We got into his car a drove to Brooklyn where the party was. We arrived in front of the ugly warehouse in the bad part of Brooklyn. Inside was a different story. It was the best party ever. There was beer, tattoos, music and black lights. Unfortunately for us the cops crashed the party. Since we were all underage and there was alcohol there we got arrested. The handcuffs were too tight and created cuts in my wrists. I got medical attention but spent the night in jail. The next day my mom picked me up and I was grounded for a month. There you go the real story, not as exciting is it?”
“No but it’s still pretty cool. You were a wild child, now you seem more human.”
“Well thank you Brooklyn. Now come on we got to get to Grandma’s house.”



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on Dec. 3 2018 at 7:12 pm
TheSapphireQuill, New York, New York
0 articles 0 photos 9 comments

Favorite Quote:
Be the change you wish to see in the world.
-Mahatma Gandi

It was good but it moved WAY too fast.


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