“These years will be the best years of your life,” said my study hall teacher on my first day of high school. But the “best years” of my life consisted of sleeping at airports or 24-hour restaurants, trying to get comfortable in five different stranger’s homes, attending five different high schools, and being forced to grow up at just 13. My first night in my college dorm was the first night in years that I was not in a homeless shelter or foster home.
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