Time is constant. It doesn't matter whether you're rich or poor, attractive or ugly, dead or alive, time doesn't stop for anyone. Sometimes time is on our side, where we're at the right place at the right time. Last year, Tai walked into Target and got a free iPad. He didn't know it was Black Friday that day. Tai just happened to be the 250th person to walk inside the store, but he didn't mean to be. He just wanted to get a carton of milk, but all of the convenience stores were closed. He's not complaining though; he instantly throws it in our faces how he can watch Fullmetal Alchemist (whatever that is) anywhere he wants, and in high-def too. Or sometimes you're at the wrong place at the wrong time, and that's when time really bites you in the ass. That happens to Joe a lot. There was that one time that the police tackled him because he looked like a wanted baby abductor, or that one time he was almost trampled by race horses, or that one time he went inside the wrong car, and bursted in on people having sex. I could go on, but it would probably take a lifetime to list all of the instances where Joe was at the wrong place at the wrong time. But what happens when you end up in the right place at the wrong time? Or how about being in the wrong place at the right time?

A couple of months ago, my mom was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I try to help out where I can, but sometimes I feel like we're going nowhere. I hate getting the mail, only to see that most of the letters are from hospitals and insurance companies threatening to cut off my mom's healthcare if she doesn't pay her medical bills on time. The rest of our mail are only eviction notices from the landlord and the occasional catalog from J Crew. My mom tries to distract herself with other things, like catching up on Suburgatory, but in the end, she's back to the same old reality...

"TK! Get over here!" my mom calls. I put my pencil down on the table and head to the living room.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing's wrong," she laughs. "I just wanted you to meet a special friend of mine. TK, this is my coworker, Charles Brown." Ha, coworker. That's what she calls every boyfriend who's walked through the door. Coworker.

"Nice to meet you," I nod my head politely. "I'm TK."

"My name's Charles, but you can call me Charlie. Your mom's told me so much about you," the guy says, wrapping his arm around my mom's waist. I'm not saying that I'm a psychic, but I have a feeling that this guy is intentionally trying to piss me off.

"Funny, she's never mentioned you," I smirk, trying to push his buttons.

"TK!" my mom scolds.

"No no no, it's fine," Charlie smiles. "I understand, Nancy. I can see that TK's still traumatized by the divorce."

"What?!" I gasp.

"It's okay, sonny boy. My parents divorced when I was young too, but I learned how to let it go. You're old enough to get over it too," that guy pats on my head, as if he was purposely trying to patronize me.

"I'm fine," I duck out of the way. "Mom?"

"I'm sorry I didn't introduce you guys earlier. Did you know that Charlie runs a tea shop downtown?" my mom laughs nervously.

"No, I didn't know that, considering the fact that you never told me anything about this guy," I point at Charlie.

"TK! Stop being so rude!" my mom says through her teeth.

"Well, sorry. What did you expect me to say? 'Hey Charlie, good to see you again?'" I know I'm being a jerkass, but Charlie started it.

"Come with me," my mom grabs me by my shirt and drags me to the kitchen. "What is going on with you? You never act like this! Please don't tell me you still want me and your dad to get back together, because it's not going to happen. He's moved on and I have to move on too."

"Okay," I shrug. Matt's the one who still really wants them to get back together; I gave up on that a long time ago. I slide my textbooks off the kitchen table and shove them into my duffel bag.

"Where are you going now?" my mom crosses her arms.

"To a friend's house," I struggle to zip up my bag.

"Which friend?"

"Oh, my special friend. You just haven't met him yet," I sling the bag on my shoulder and walk out of the kitchen.

You know how mothers tell their kids to look both ways before crossing the street? I look both ways before going to the bathroom. I know it sounds weird, but it's only going to get weirder from here. When the coast is clear, I open the door to the accessible bathroom and sneak in. I balance my duffel bag on the pole next to the toilet and dig through it. I take off my "civilian" clothes and pull my turquoise sequin dress out of the bag. I put on the dress and smooth it over. I put on my wig and stuff my "lady lumps" into my dress. My boss says that when I fix myself up, I'm a dead ringer for Beyonce. Personally, I don't see it considering that I wear a blond wig and well...my skin is a million shades lighter than hers, but since I'm the most-requested "girl" there, I'll just let that go. Before you judge me, just know I'm only doing this for my mom. I don't know of many jobs that will pay a 15-year-old more than minimum wage, so I lied and told my boss I was 18. Most kids use fake IDs to buy liquor or cigarettes, but I used one to get a job. Being a drag queen was my way of making a quick buck. A quick giant buck. Not only do I get paid twice the minimum wage, but I'm also off the books and I get to keep all of the tips I earn. Talk about employee benefits. If that weren't enough, I picked up a couple of real-life skills on the job. I'm almost an expert make-up artist, hair stylist, and I've shaped up enough of a fashion sense that could rival Mimi's, but don't tell anyone that. I don't need another reason for Matt to call me a fairy, even if he was joking. Unfortunately, this job's still not enough to pay off my mom's medical bills, but it's something. It's hard to work, and keep up with my sleep and schoolwork, so this job is the closest to convenient as I'm gonna get. I put on my finishing touches and I'm ready for work. I sling my duffel bag on my shoulder and casually walk out of the subway.

It's three in the morning and all I want to do is get to sleep. School starts at eight, and it takes me an hour to get home and cleaned up. I'm just thankful I remembered to install a door chain on my bedroom door, so my mom can't check up on me anymore. I look at my phone to check the time. I have five minutes before the next train home arrives. I'm usually running to make the train on time, but tonight I feel a little more relaxed.

"Somebody help me! HELP!"

Okay, maybe not.

"Please stop! I'm begging you! I just want to go home...," I hear someone cry.

"Well, if you wanted to be home so badly, why are you out in the middle of the night? Because you're asking for it. Don't act like you're innocent, because I know you want this," a gruff voice says.

"Please let go of me! I wasn't asking for anything! SOMEONE HELP! HE'S TRYING TO-" I hear some gagging sounds, and like that her voice disappeared.

"I don't have to try anymore," the man voice says. I follow his voice and find a man pinning down an unconscious girl.

"HEY! Leave her alone!" I scream.

"Who do think you're talking to, you fucking crack whore-faced hooker?!" the man gets off of the girl and stomps his way toward me.

I think I might be at the wrong place at the wrong time.