Robyn
I shut the door and leaned back against it, taking a few deep calming breaths.
I looked around the bland room that was now supposed to be my home, and suddenly I hated it so much. I hated the bouncy bed and the stupid ocean-themed watercolor prints. But most of all, I hated that I didn’t belong.
I tried to pretend that this business of moving every six or eight months didn’t bother me, but deep down, it was like a raw and exposed nerve. I spent the first fifteen years of my life in one house. It was just an ordinary ranch on an ordinary street in the suburbs. My bedroom had the ugliest brown carpet, but at least it was mine. My walls had been decorated with posters from my favorite movies and my own drawings. A string of ribbons from my days in 4-H and photographs with my p
