I looked down at the photograph in my trembling hands with frustration. It was one of the only things the firemen could save from the rubble of my trailer that I'd lived in for 15 years.
   The frame was cracked in one spot in the corner, and the glass was broken in a spider web form. In the photo there was a woman with the same red brown hair as mine. But instead of turquoise eyes, a pair of green eyes stared back up at me. The woman held a younger girl, me, in her arms and was laughing with her, smiling up into the camera. Her pale skin had no flaws. Her body bore no cuts, no marks of distress or pain. No marks of suffering. None. My eyes shifted from my tall mother, to the 12 year old version of myself. My skin was a mix of my mothers and the man I will never meet. But apparently his name was Joshua Sven. My body had his Italian American skin tone, ending at my forearms where my mothers pale Irish side came into play. Joshua had blue eyes and mine were both blue and green, making a sea turquoise. In the photo, like every day, I was wearing skinny jeans, converse, a random tee shirt, and a warm jacket to cover my arms. My mother wore a purple blouse and her signature forest green miniskirt. She also wore her stripper stilettos. She was so happy that day. I would never know why.
   I tore my eyes away from the photograph and looked to the other contents of the box. All that was left there was my old sketchbook and my birth certificate. It wasn't a very large box. Thankfully my creations were in the treehouse several yards away from the trailer. The phone I had made for myself was hidden away in my back pocket, while my camera was stashed in my inner pocket of my jacket.
   It was the middle of spring, almost summertime. And Manhattan weather was brutal and unforgiving. The highest temperature was 95. And here I was in jackets and jeans. People look at me funny. Ask why I wear such clothes. I just keep walking. Never look at them. Just keep walking. And it's all I can do.
   After all, my mother was an abusive alcoholic. Since I was 3 I've had to take care of myself. Everyone was shocked to hear me speak full sentences at that age. But then again, I've always been smarter.
   I look up to see a police officer walk past the medics to talk to me. He knelt down in front of me as I moved the ugly orange shock blanket on my shoulders. Shifting slightly, the man looked into my turquoise eyes. He hesitated before speaking, clearly trying to think of how to say what he wanted to. He pulled out a notepad, probably to take my statement.
   "Can you tell me what you saw tonight? You can write it on this notepad if it makes you feel better."
   I nodded my head and took the paper and a pen. Clicking the pen once, I started to write exactly what I saw.
   "There was a man that was tall. About 6'5. He was blond and had a dark tan with brown eyes. He shouted to someone outside. Something flew through the window and the next thing I hear is the man shouting 'this is what selling your body gets you. Not a family or a relationship, but death.' I tried to wake up my mother but nothing I tried worked. The trailer filled with smoke. For some reason, the smoke alarms didn't work. I don't know why they didn't. But she didn't wake up. I made it outside, just barely, when the trailer exploded behind me. I don't know how I'm still alive to be honest."
   I handed the officer the pad back and clicked the pen down. He looked up at me and sighed after reading what I had written.
   "Thank you for your statement miss. We have to take you too see a government official to be able to further help you."
   The officer stood and gently helped me stand from my spot on the back of the ambulance and took my arm, bringing me to the police car. He motioned for me to sit in the passenger seat, which I quickly did. He placed the box of my recovered belongings in the trunk.
   "Anything else you need? You won't be coming back here for a very long time."
   I pointed to the treehouse behind the ashes of the trailer. He nodded and went to retrieve my technology. A few minutes later, he returned with a larger box, with all my projects carefully stacked inside. He placed the new box next to the smaller box and closed the trunk, sliding into the drivers seat. He turned the car on and I slowly fell asleep, watching the night traffic on the highway whiz by assisting me in sleeping.
   A few hours of driving and napping later I felt the car come to a stop and heard the police car engine shut off. The officer beside me shook my shoulder gently and walked out of the car, waiting in front of the driver side for me to leave the car. I unbuckled myself and stepped out of the car, looking around at my surroundings. We were in front of a white stone building.
   "We will need to give your statement to this office. They'll handle it from here. You're also going to need a legal name change. In the event that another attack like this happens, because they happen to find out that you survived their attack, we can at least prevent them from being able to find you as easily."
   I nodded and walked into the large building, walking back to a separate office. A woman with straight blonde hair, and brown eyes, hidden behind thin rimmed glasses sat behind the desk. She looked up from her computer and gestured to a seat in front of the desk. I sat down in front of her like she wanted me too. She smiled and took the file from the officer. After looking it over, she looked at me over the top of the folder. She narrowed her brown eyes at the contents of the file.
   "So. Abusive ex boyfriend. Tell me about that."
   "His name was Brandon Cornelius. He had brown eyes, and dyed blue hair. He was fair skinned and had the most amazing dimples. His skin was so clear and beautiful. He was really sweet at first. Then we went out for a while. A year and a half. Then he got rough. He started telling me what to do. Bossing me around. Then he started hurting me. After another year and a half, I'd had enough. We'd been together since we were 13. So it was earlier in the year that I decided I had to leave. So I did. I dumped him. He wasn't happy about it at all. He knocked me out with a bottle and left. I was bleeding from the head. Mom didn't care about it. Never did."
   The woman behind the desk, Leslie Jenkins, her name tag read, nodded and added some notes to the file. I could only assume that the file was important to whatever case she was forming. After all, she was a lawyer. At least, it's what the officer told me before he went to stand outside.
   Over an hour later, and basically a game of 20 questions, she led me into another room.
   "It's time to legally change your name. I guess just pick the first name you can think of. Then we'll get you settled in, at an apartment in Queens. You'll be attending a high school of course. Midtown High, I believe it's called. You will enter with the rest of the 16 year olds. However, since it's already spring, and the school year is coming to a close, you do not need to worry about classes."
   I nodded and was brought a paper that said I needed to put my birth name and another line for my new name that I pick for myself. I signed my birth name, Sarah Argate, and hesitated at the second line. This may be one of the most important things that I'd ever do. It's a new beginning for me. A fresh start. I had to just go with my gut. Trusting my hand, I wrote the first name I could see. There was nothing to think about. I didn't need to think. Looking at what the pen had left behind on the paper, clearly reading Amanda Sapphire. I smiled at the name I had given myself. I guess I had to get used to being called Amanda Sapphire.
   The lawyer smiled and took the paper, making two photocopies for me to keep. Then I was escorted to another room, a garage. The officer that had brought me to the building was waiting by a car. The car was an undercover police car, and my belongings were already in it. I moved into the passenger seat once more and buckled in. The lawyer got into the driver side and dismissed the officer.
   "We have an apartment prepared for your arrival. It's not ideal and you will have to work on it, but I'm sure you'll be able to make it work. I've seen your work so I know you'll put the place to good use. You live a floor directly below a family, the Parker's. The woman's name is May. She lives with her nephew, Peter. He works with his hands as well."
   I nodded at her words, showing a level of understanding. I would have to live really close to a fellow student. Being so close it was obvious he would go to the same school. But I had no choice really. I mean, they just gave me an apartment and they did just legally change my name.
   We got to the apartment and the lawyer led me in, showed me around, and left. I made my way to the bedroom, which was a large room, probably one of the biggest rooms there.
   It had a large, queen size bed pressed up against the wall, where a window leading to the fire escape was. The window was less of a window and more of a flipping sliding glass door. I finally have a balcony and a full on kitchen!
   After inspecting the rest of the place, I looked at the clock on my phone. It read 10:11 pm. Deciding, screw sleep I never get any anyways, I rushed to the large box of my projects. I heaved the damn thing into my arms and speed walked into the office room. I let the box give a satisfyingly dull thud as I set it onto the desk. I pulled the devices out of the rough cardboard and placed them strategically through the room.
   Bringing one of the projects in front of the desk, I looked it over to see what was left to do. Turns out, a hella lot of stuff. Then again, a hover board, that actually hovers, like the one Silver Surfer has, isn't easy to make. Like, at all. Especially with tech from old devices and things I scavenged in the scrapyard. So I decided to continue to work on it. Turns out I worked on it so long, next time I looked at the clock, it was 3:56 in the morning. I put my tools away and left the hover board where it was.
   I walked into the bedroom and changed into shorts and a tank top. I pulled my hair into a low pony tail and plugged my phone into the custom charger. Then I turned my radio on and turned the volume down, just loud enough to hear, not loud enough to disturb my sleep.
   Two hours later I woke up, and began my morning routine. Chug down some milk, shower, brush my teeth, wash my face again, brush my hair, grab an outfit, put it on, pack my book bag for the day. I chose a black tee shirt with "I don't get it" printed across my chest in white, and "I still don't get it" printed across the back. Pairing it with deep blue, skinny jeans and a red flannel long sleeve, tied together by the bottom. I tucked my reading glasses in a spare pocket in my purple galaxy backpack.
   I walked to the front door and locked it behind me as I plugged my earbuds into my phone, playing whatever songs came on my Pandora radio. I bobbed to the beat of Fall Out Boy's I Don't Care and began the walk to Midtown High.
   By the time I got to the school, I was informed to go to the councillors office. As I walked in, I began humming Injection by Rise Against and occasionally singing to the song. The woman behind the counter asked for my name, to which I proudly said "Amanda Sapphire". She handed me my schedule and my locker information. I knew I'd never use it. But it'd be nice to know where it is and what the combo was.
   I navigated my way to my locker and opened and closed it a few times. The song in my ears changed to Papercut by Linkin Park and I smiled just a bit, walking to the beat. Suddenly I felt two hands press against my shoulder blades and a foot jut out in front of mine, causing me to tumble to the ground, knocking a binder, my camera, and two books, to fall to the ground. A boy with brown hair and brown eyes knelt down to help me pick up my supplies. He fixed his jean pocket and handed me my books. I stacked them I too of the binder and checked my camera to make sure it was okay. Before I could thank he boy, he was gone. And the girl who shoved me smirked behind me.
   "The names Samantha. Samantha Kate. You should know my name. My parents are rich after all."
   I grumbled and loaded everything that had fallen into my bag again and stood up, walking away to the new tune of Hero by Skillet. She stomped her foot and mumbled something along the lines of me regretting walking away from her.
   I walked into my chemistry class and was assigned my seat next to the boy who helped me in the hallway. He extended his hand to me and smiled shyly.
   "I'm Peter. Peter Parker. And I guess you're my chemistry partner."