Ava: Final Countdown

There's nothing to pack. The few clothes I have are courtesy of Mom shopping for me, and I have no interest in keeping them when I leave.

I'll go with a ripped pair of jeans and a shirt that I took scissors to, cutting off its holey hem until it looks tattered on purpose instead of because it's been washed too many times.

The only shoes I have are the heels I wore when they brought me home. Those, I put in a backpack Phoenix gave me from his old school days. Despite a decade of sitting in our attic, it smells like marijuana mixed with the cedar our home is built with.

Big brother was a bit of a rebel, I guess.

I have a pair of sneakers that are a half-size too small. I'll have some blisters, but I can buy a new pair somewhere. It'll be easier to run in them than heels.