I stifled a moan as Erykah and I briskly walked along the concrete floor, avoiding cars who had enjoyed making my journey a living nightmare. From red convertibles to silver gray vehicles, I had Erykah avoided them back away from the middle of their parking space.

As we safely stormed across the chaotic parking lot, Erykah and I entered J.F.K International airport through a two-sided glass door.

"Holy shit, " she murmured.

We are standing in the midst of an unusual planet: the color of white make up the walls, floors, ceilings, and practically the lights. On either side of the airport, are restaurants, gift shops, and other small establishments.

Hell, it was like wandering through a mall on Saturdays.

But as Erykah and I continued further, a fresh cold wind rushed over us as several people tread their feet along the icy white floor. While some dragged on their suitcases, others were carrying luggage inside duffel bags. In the meantime, announcements buzzed the arrival and departure of the airplanes as bright lights and signs hung from the white ceilings like chandeliers.

Grabbing ahold of my hand, Erykah scurried past tired men, women, and children until I tell her to slow down.

"Why?" she asks, frowning.

I give her a warning glare. "Because you are going to trip and fall flat on your face."

Erykah blushed then slowed down.

"Sorry," she says in a quiet voice.

"It's fine," I replied, "just don't create attention like that."

We continued heading straight when Erykah asked: "Am I really going to Saint Adam's?"

I nod silently.

"Why can't I come with you guys?" Erykah whined.

Avoiding the subject, I searched around for the bathroom when I noticed one in a restaurant.

It was a Panda Express restaurant where a line of hungry customers stood in front of a glass case, shielding the steamy food from any unwanted hands.

Behind the case, were four chefs communicating with one another in Chinese. In the meantime, the light brown tiles make up the floor as small green chairs and tables are pushed away to make room.

Exotic menus hung above bobbing heads, filled with a selection of steamy fried rice, vegetables, and spicy meats.

While everyone was distracted, I pulled Erykah close then scurried into the women's washroom.

Dreary gray walls, dark brown stalls, white tiled floors, and matching white sinks make up the bathroom as Erykah and I ushered inside.

Up against the wall is a large, thick piece of glass which sticks above the row of unused sinks. Next to the mirror is a white dispenser, which spits out brown paper towels.

Underneath it is massive trash can completely full of wet, crumpled paper towels. Although the smell was faint, I can easily detect a hint of lavender, damp toilet paper, and nail polish.

In fact, traces of glittery red slime splashed against the gray sink countertop-appearing as if someone ate a bad lobster.

Ducking my head, I released Erykah's hand and pushed my hand against the brown stalls to find no one sitting on the toilet seat.

"Thank God, " I sighed in relief. "No one is here."

After locking the women's washroom door, I set my backpack down on the tiled ground.

Quickly, I unzip it, take out five menstrual pads, a bundle of clothes, and handed them to Erykah.

"Here," I offered. "Take these."

"Thanks." she smiled, collecting the items.

After that, Erykah waddled over to one of the bathroom stalls, shuts the door, and begins to undress.

Rrrr-ip!

Rrrr-ip!

Sounds of a pulled zipper filled the quiet bathroom, as Erykah slithered out of her old clothes and wriggled in her fresh ones.

While the sound continued, I first head over to the stall beside Erykah's, where I remove my dirty clothing, reached into my bag, and put on a dark gray tank top, black ripped jeans, and a pair of matching black sneakers.

After stretching the tank top over my dark blue bra, I then unfold my pair of jeans, pulled it over my bright orange panties, and fastened my zipper and button.

Taking a deep breath, I finally squeezed my feet into the indigo blue sneakers, tied my shoelaces, and looked into the mirror.

Like Austin's, my eyes are tired, my hair is chaotic, and my face looked as if I had just woken up from a terrifying dream.

Sighing, I rummage my bag until I found a gray beanie and put it over my head. Minutes after concealing my identity, I looked at myself again in the mirror.

But instead of a sixteen-year-old girl, I look like an eighteen-year-old rock-obsessed chick.

The gray beanie, the dark-tinted sunglasses, the dreadful black clothes, and the small stud sitting on my nose made me realize how much I yearned for black clothes and silver piercings.

Growing up, I was going through my "goth" phase.

Black leather boots ripped jeans, and gruesome makeup was all I could think about when I was twelve.

With Jacob's permission, I used his dark blue t-shirt, black jeans, and matching black leather boots. I had my hair straightened, my lips in dark purplish color, and those washable tattoos Isadora had in her makeup bag.

As I parade around the living room, it felt good expressing myself.

I loved the way Jacob's boots squished against the hardwood floor; how my straight hair swished in the wind. To most people, they think I was some kind of rebel.

To me, I feel like Michelle Obama parading down the street with her loving husband in her arms. Whenever I wear something daring, I would feel bold, courageous, independent, and spunky.

But now that I look at myself in the mirror, I look like a goth Lenny Kravitz.

Marching back into my stall, I stuffed my old clothes in my backpack, carried it over my shoulder, and headed to the sinks, where I once again searched inside my bag, but this time I was looking for Austin's makeup box.

But when Erykah was almost finished changing in the bathroom stall, she called my fake name.

"Hey, Josephine." she begins to say.

I glance at the stall behind me.

"Yeah?"

"So why can't I come with you guys?" asked Erykah.

"Because you can't," I said flatly, pulling the wooden box from my backpack and setting on the gray sink counter.

Opening it up, I found an assortment of lipsticks, wigs, fingernail polish, makeup paint, blush, eyeliner, fake eyebrows, and other fake items.

Looking at it for a second, I picked up a tube of black lipstick, opened the cap, and rubbed its blunt tip gently across my lips.

But as I continued to disguise myself, Erykah's voice started pestering me.

"I want to go to Australia," she whined. "It's better than living in some orphanage."

I rubbed my lips together then parted.

"Erykah, you have no choice," I said. "You have to stay in Saint Adam's."

"Why?"

"Because your parents might be looking for you."

"That's not a good reason."

I groan. "We're complete strangers. You don't know anything about us."

"And yet, you are sending me to a place filled with random strangers?" Erykah retorted.

I sigh in disdain, sticking a fake stud on the right side of my nose. "First of all, they are good Christian people, and second, Saint Adam's has games, food, kids your own age, soccer-"

"But I hate soccer."

I roll my eyes. "No one likes soccer, Erykah. I am just giving you a reason on why you should go."

"But what if the kids are mean to me? " she piqued.

Putting my sunglasses back on, I frown.

"You want some advice on how to survive?" I ask, propping my butt on the sturdy sink counter.

"Yeah, " said Erykah.

"First things first, never take shit from anyone," I explain. "Whenever you meet new people, you have no idea who they are: they could be assholes or manipulative bitches."

"Okay, " responded Erykah. "Do you want me to fight them?"

I shake my head no.

"Don't fight them," I insisted. "That's just what they want. But, if they annoy the crap out of you, don't ask for their respect: earn it."

"And what if that doesn't work?"

"Then get even, " I replied. "Make sure that you are taken seriously."

"How?"

"Improvise," I smile. "That's all I can say."

"Oh, okay." Erykah zipped her pants back up. "So just be mean to everyone in general?"

I shake my head. "No, just be mean to those who deserve to get punched in the face."

"Yes, ma'am." Erykah beamed in a happy tone.

After flushing the toilet seat, she came out of the bathroom stall, carrying her old clothes in her two arms.

She wore my small, white blouse and skinny jeans. But because I didn't pack another pair of shoes, Erykah wears her old sneakers.

And although there were some noticeable tears on the sneaker's dark purple fabric, she looked adorable in her new outfit.

Cute enough to be my little sister. I think to myself, grinning.

Turning around, Erykah smiled at me.

"These clothes feel very nice." she complimented.

"Thanks, " I say.

Just then, Erykah studied my choice of clothing.

"Why are you dressed like that?" she asked.

I simply shrugged my shoulders.

"I wanted a new look, " I answer.

"Oh," said Erykah, bobbing her head. "Nice lipstick."

My cheeks grew red. "Thanks."

"So, what do your parents do?"

I bit my bottom lip then studied my hands.

Memories of neglect, abuse, and tears flashed through my mind, like a television screen.

With Joseph yelling, Isadora sobbing, and Jacob shielding me from the beatings, it became too hard for me to tell Erykah the truth.

So without looking in her way, I told her that my parents are bankers.

"Really?" asked Erykah in surprise.

I nodded.

After putting a good amount of lipstick around my mouth, I covered it with a golden cap and tucked it back into the wooden box.

Erykah nodded. "Cool."

Shoving the wooden box into my backpack, I zipped my bag up, and sling it over my shoulder.

After getting ready, I glance at Erykah, who is busy tossing her tattered clothes in the trash can, then asked a question about her mother.

"So, what's your mom's name?" I eventually asked.

"Serendipity," answered Erykah, washing her hands in the sink. "She is one of the best singers in all of the New York."

I raise my eyebrow. "Really?"

Erykah nodded, shutting off the sink.

"I mean, she was one of the greatest singers in the world." she went on, yanking three, brown towels from the dispenser.

After drying her wet hands with towels, Erykah formed them into a massive ball and tossed it in the trash can.

Seeing her blank face, I ask: "How did she die?"

"She got hit by a car," Erykah replied. "Either that, or she died in a car accident. I was nine when it happened."

Oh, God... I thought, regretting my question.

"I am so sorry, " I murmur. "I didn't mean-"

But Erykah laughed.

"It's fine," she says. "My mom would always say that 'stress and sadness makes a person insane'."

I frown in surprise. "You seem so calm for a fourteen-year-old girl."

Erykah smirked. "Mom always says that stress and pain can make a person insane."

"Oh, " I said, nodding.

Nervous, Erykah slips her hands into her pockets.

"Yeah, " she agreed. "Most people would mourn and grieve, but I believe my mom is in a better place-not like New York."

I smile a little, almost relieved by Erykah's reaction. Somehow I thought she would get sullen by my question—maybe sad.

But then again, Erykah was optimistic; not like me, I guess. 

Lifting up my backpack,  I said to Erykah, "We should find a phone somewhere. See if Lisa is still in business."

Reluctant, Erykah did a solemn nod then wandered behind me.

"Okay, " she says, feeling glum. "I guess I can come along."

Happy of Erykah's response, I unlock the door, turn the knob, and held out my hand in front of her.

When Erykah didn't take it, I give her a patient look.

"Come on, " I reassure. "As soon as you get to Saint Adam's, I will make sure Lisa will protect you."

Erykah wrinkled her nose.

"But I barely even know her, " she snorts.

"It's okay." I give her my earnest smile. "Soon, you will."

After thinking it over, Erykah released an annoyed sigh then eventually grabbed my hand.

"Fine, " she grumbled. "I will go to the fucking orphanage."

I smile widely. "Good, now let's go. Lisa is not a patient woman."

Bobbing her head, Erykah followed me as we finally left the women's washroom and out of the Chinese restaurant.