I open my eyes to my plain, white ceiling and sigh. Another Saturday. I get up to the squeaking con I get from having the top bunk on the bunk bed I share with my 8-year-old sister. Looking around at the walls I instantly leave my room. No offense to any pink lovers out there, but I hate the pink color of my walls. I tried to convince them of letting me paint the walls black or a deep purple and have a few friends pick some colors and help me splatter paint the room, but I only got grounded and had to compromise with having plain purple walls to match my curtains in March. The floor is freezing, but I’m used to it so I head to my parent’s room to grab my dad’s laptop. No emails today, but there never are anyway. Clicking on Firefox, I wait eight minutes for it to finally load and start researching those two new bands I heard on Pandora last night: Panic at the Disco and AFI. Waiting for that to load, I check my messages to find only one unopened message from Jena asking last night if I was at the orchestra concert yet. I sigh and delete it and think of texting Veronica at ten to see if she found one of the eight books she’s working on and how the ninth one’s doing. Panic at the Disco seems all right so I’ll buy a couple of their songs and maybe an album and I can just every AFI song ever written from my punk, vegetarian vegan sister. Now that my parents and three younger siblings are up, dread takes over my mood. I decided that soon I’m going to go off to a school somewhere in the summer, one of the ones that Teenink advertises but I can’t because I have no money. Oh well, I can dream. I check the alarm clock to see its ten o’ five and head outside and walk to the back yard. The grass is soaking wet and I probably should have worn more than my gold PJ shorts, a black T-shirt, and a pair of black Reebok socks, but I know if I go back now I won’t come back outside. I grab the rusted ladder and try to open it without squeaking loud enough for my family to hear. Luckily, it opens silently and I set it against the side of the house. I’m shaking because I’ve never done this before, but I’ve always dreamed of doing it. My left foot touches the first step and a wave of confidence surges through me. I grab the rails and haul myself up one at a time. My confidence diminishes when I reach the top though because the ladder falls over the deck railing and into a huge pile of leaves. The leaves did cushion the sound of the ladder, but now I’m going to have to drop from the roof onto my deck without breaking my legs. Oh well, that’s life. I always imagined the roof to be a perfect consistent temperature, but it’s freezing. Now when I sigh my breath hangs in the air before dispelling into nothing. Now I face another problem and it’s how to get across the roof without alerting my family. Whenever my dad goes up here to fix anything, you can always him walking around. I decide to sit down and slide across my roof. It’s harder than it sounds and the dew seeps into my shorts and makes me eventually stop right next to the middle of my roof. I can see everything from here, but my neighborhoods not much to see. I open my phone to text Veronica because now it’s eleven and she has to be awake. I write, “Hey V, wats up?” Instantly I get a message back saying, “Just writin more in the book. Wbu?” I smile because now I get to look forward to something on Monday. I proudly text back, “Chillin on the roof. It’s FREEZING and I’ll bet u I’m gonna fall off.” She texts back, “Lol, you dork. Hey I gtg finish writing chapter five. Text ya ltr.” I laugh and text back, “K, bye.” I look out over my roof and my fingers itch for a camera. I’ve recently thought about going into photography as a hobby and now I’ve confirmed it. My neighborhood shows perfect organized chaos that I want in a picture and its very abstract from this point of view. I space out about a piece I’m trying to compose for orchestra until I hear shouting from the street below. My mom is standing out there screaming at me about why I’m up on the roof. I keep my face blank and turn my head to see my father on the ladder telling me to come down right now. I solemnly follow him inside and am thrown down on the chair. I listen to them shouting at me and suddenly my face brightens because I know there will be other roof trips. I’ve also just proved my independence so even though they’ll be watching me double time, I’ll be able to go anywhere now without any fear. I block out my parent’s and finish the cello part of my composition. No matter what they say or do, I am free. Now I can walk down the street without feeling lost because I saw it all. I can do this and when I get my permit and a job in two years, anywhere is possible. My parents are done screaming now and are waiting for my usual response of tears and endless “I’m sorrys.” Instead I shake my head and head to my room with a passing glance at my parent’s growing fury. I will severely pay for it later, but now I could care less. I open my black three-subject notebook and flip to my quotes page. It’s full of quotes from Edger Allan Poe, Robert Frost, Lacey Mosley, and many more. Now I find an open space and write my own with my favorite purple pen. It is in a new handwriting that is electrifying. I smile when it simply states, “Saturday is Free.”