In school I forget. I do. It's easy to get caught up in what's going on, everybody talking, teachers telling you things like those things matter. I feel kind of split in two. When I'm not exhausted I can really get into it sometimes. I plan out these school projects I'm going to do and I make all these plans with my friends and for those hours in school everything is fine.

Then the dread settles on me when it's time to go home. What did I do wrong? I never quite know, but I do know it's something. It could be anything. Being late. A bad grade. A tone in my voice. Mentioning my mother. Sneaking around to see Angie. Hanging out with my friends. Whatever. Nothing I do is right.

Being rich doesn't make up for it. I'm not really rich, anyway. It's him. My dad is rich, and he gives me things sometimes. Expensive clothes and cameras and play stations and X-boxes and stuff like that. But none of it makes up for it. It doesn't make up for feeling my heart beat so fast in fear. It doesn't make up for not being able to sleep at night. It doesn't make up for feeling that kind of twisted hatred that I don't like to feel. Because my anger equals his in some ways. If I was older, stronger, I'd probably…I don't know. This isn't how I want things to be and sometimes I worry that he's not just ruining now, but maybe years down the line, too. Maybe he's ruining everything.

I'd rather live in some crappy apartment with hollow doors and worn out rugs and old T.V.'s. That would be better if everyone was fine, normal, if no one ever hit me and hurt me all the time, I'd rather live in that small apartment and be happy. Because I don't really need that much. I don't need this big house and all these expensive clothes and computers and flat screen T.V.'s and all of that. It isn't making me any happier. If my mother was still alive, if I could live with her and Joey and Angie, that would make me happy.

So I pretend to be this happy, normal kid at school and with my friends and at home I'm pretending that things are fine, too. I want my dad to think things are fine, too. There's no one I can be honest with. No one at all.

I can see my dad trying sometimes. I can actually see him trying to be nice to me, and normal. He's not normal at all. He's all stressed out and a control freak. Everything has to be just so. No rings on the table and nothing out of place. He never laughs or jokes or anything. I hate him sometimes, I really do, and then I hate myself for hating him. He's my father, no matter what he does.

My mom, though. I miss her. She was so nice, she never even yelled at me. She used to smooth my hair away from my forehead when I was little. Now I feel like I can't even remember her, not really. I can't remember what she really looked like. I've seen the pictures of her so many times that I can hardly see them at all.

I'm supposed to be home at six o'clock and I try to be, but sometimes I lose track of time. I can't help it, when the light is so perfect and I'm in that zone of taking pictures, and then the next thing I know it's seven o'clock or eight and I know I'm dead. My stomach shrivels and I feel that anxious kind of feeling. And it all depends on my dad's mood. Maybe he'll be cool about it, like he'll be upset but not that bad. It just depends. And I have no choice but to go home, to walk into that house late and see what I get.

I know what Joey would do. He might yell but that would be it. It wouldn't be like this terrible criminal offense, just being late, just losing track of time. What I really can't wait for is being old enough so that I can move out. That would be great. No rules. No more being late. No more being hit. Four years to go. I don't know if I can make it.

But I have to, I have no choice. It's not like I can kill myself or anything. Like anyone would care. Who would really care? I mean, in the whole grand scheme of things? There's like six billion people on earth, what's one less?

So the light is all faded out of the sky and I'm late, and I have my camera slung over my shoulder by the thick leather strap. I have to go home. I have no choice. It's not like I could run away or anything. It's not like I could just take off to British Columbia or somewhere good like that. Guess I'm stuck here.