Heh. And I thought writing essays for school was hard? Who was I kidding?! This is the worst idea presented to me that I can remember. Well, maybe some ideas the guys at Green Lake had were worse than this. Wait. Most of those ideas where mine. Oops.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, let me explain why I'm writing this in the first place: I've been seeing a counselor for the last few weeks, and she just now told me to write about something. When I told her I couldn't figure anything out, she told me to write about my early years. You know, as a kid? I told no, but she eventually forced me to. I guess I can't weasel out of this like I did my school essays, huh? Ah well, everyone has a slam sometime or other, don't they? My time was then. I guess it still is now, since I would rather be outside and cruising the streets on my bike.

So, yeah.

I'm a new person now. The other guys probably wouldn't even recognize me now. Well, maybe if they got a good look at me. My counselor always talks to me about my urge to steal. She talks about it as if it was a drug. But then again, maybe she should. I haven't stolen, broken, swore, or done anything real bad in the last few weeks now. It's amazing. Yet I can't help but feel that I'm slightly hollow somewhere inside, you know?

Okay, my counselor's name is Ms. Smeeth. Remember that.

I was told to start out with something interesting. Is this interesting? It's boring to me, but I'm not you, so you figure it out. Ms. Smeeth told me to say what my life is like right now. It's boring, normal, and there's nothing bad about it. To other people. To me, everything is bad about it. Since I get in huge trouble every time I step out of line, even by accident, my life has sucked. Really. It sucks. One little cuss word and I'm grounded. Accidentally bang a dish on the sink and I get sent to my room. As if I did it on propose! Yeah, right. My parents aren't allowed to take me in yet, so, you could say I'm living with a foster family. Fun? Sure. These people think I'm crazy and sometimes they make feel like I am. Can't anyone understand that all I want to do is go home? To my real parents? I mean, I do miss my mom and dad, here! Not even Ms. Smeeth seems to get it, and she's a damn counselor!

Okay, maybe that last part shouldn't have been put in there. It slipped out. She can't get mad at me, she told me to put my feelings and thoughts into this. So I am. Damn her.

Counselors suck.

I remember the day that weird girl came to me. It was so odd. I could swear in front of a Judge that the doorway had been empty, that's why I was running towards it, then she was there, and she stopped me. It was down a hall, so one could see me. I figured I was safe, so I just tried to sneak by. She allowed me to. That girls eyes were too freaky. It was as if she knew what I was doing. And then . . .

Well, I don't want to give it away.

Oh, and sorry if I sound real proper, I don't talk and write this way, but Ms. Smeeth is making me.

But, yeah. This story is before now, before Green Lake.

This is the other person none of the guys at Green Lake would ever call me. Ha, they're right. He's not me anymore.

This is about José.