Sometimes, I think I lead a double life. At school, everyone thinks I am this super happy girl whose only problems consist of the occasional bad hair day or a broken nail. I'm a generally easy-going, giggly person, but how other people see me is totally different from how I really can be: lost.

When I was 15, I ran away from home for two days; my parents were worried, I assume. At least I wanted them to be worried. That was the whole point, after all. I've been hiding this fact for about three years now, and even though that wasn't the only time I have run away, it’s the secret that eats at me the most. I guess you could call me a quitter, someone who picks up and flees when the going gets tough, but that’s not the whole story. When my parents punish me or scold me for an action I deem justifiable, I don’t have the energy to talk sense into them. They are set in their ways and refuse to be enlightened, so I need to cool off for a bit before I can resign myself to the draconian status quo once again.

I have to keep this secret. I don’t want people to judge me as someone who just runs away from my problems. I don't want people to look at me as if I'm impulsive or unstable. 

So, what is it like to “run away”? You leave because you’re sick and tired of being blamed, of constantly doing work, of being stressed out. You think distance is the answer. You know how everyone has a hidden, perverse desire to attend their own funerals and see who actually cared? Running away lets you experience that, to a certain extent, because you find out who is worried about you, who looks for you, who notices you’re even missing. That’s why running away actually made things worse for me. You know what my parents didn’t do after I was gone for over 48 hours? It didn’t occur to them to call the police. Or maybe it did, and they just failed to follow through because they were busy with fundraising gala table assignments or figuring out how to cash in their Platinum American Express points on a weekend getaway. I don’t know which is worse: not noticing or not acting. I bet that if my brother ran away, they would have called the FBI and the National Guard within twenty minutes. Maybe I’ve just run away one too many times and they see me as the girl who cries wolf. They called my bluff, I guess, since I did end up coming back. When I walked into the kitchen, I expected a confrontation or a relieved hug, but my mom was busy baking oatmeal cookies and humming.

To be honest, I wouldn’t have lasted out there much longer, anyway. I didn’t want to run away; I wanted to be looked for. First of all, I was dumb enough to pull this whole stunt in the dead of winter when my town was blanketed in thick, pillowy snow. Secondly, I didn’t pack provisions, because who thinks of throwing together an overnight bag when you’re trying to make a statement? When storming out, time is always of the essence; logistics are an afterthought.

What would others think if they knew? I’m scared that whenever I’m stressed or upset, they’ll joke that I should just scamper off into the woods. On the outside, I overcompensate: I’m the happiest, most carefree person you’ll ever see. No melodrama here. Perhaps if I had gotten over this fear and revealed this secret when I was fifteen years old, it wouldn’t be a big deal now. My friends and I could joke about it, or even better, they wouldn’t even remember I had told them. They would have seen my parents attend my water polo games and sit dutifully through my orchestra concerts and would write the whole episode off as a squabble, not a result of their failings. I don’t want anyone thinking they’re the type of people who would let a fifteen year old sleep in a snowy park. Even though they are.

I think I’m going to keep this secret, though. It’s what keeps me going: a double life. I’m quite an accomplished actress! To think that Deighna didn’t believe I had the chops to play Isabella in Measure for Measure! To think that I can trick everyone, including my family! To think that even now, I walk down the hallways and wonder if anyone among my classmates would lift their noses from their books long enough to raise the alarm if I turned up missing for a day or two! I guess I’ll never find out.

I don’t want anyone’s pity, and I don’t want those sad, patronizing looks people give when they suspect something is wrong. Most of all, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m not the perfectly put-together girl I have worked so hard to manufacture for them.