The crisp autumn wind tugged at Dallas' dark auburn hair, whipping the locks around her face as she sped down the highway. The sunroof of the nassau blue Corvette she drove was opened to allow the stars to gaze down on the car and the girl driving. Not her car, but she was only borrowing it. What Mr. Shumway didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Besides, the old man never actually drove the car. He just displayed it in his driveway as a show of wealth. More accurately, he hid it beneath a car cover instead of keeping it in the garage, so when people walked by, they'd notice the cover and wonder what vehicle warranted such treatment.

The road was empty, as most roads were at three in the morning, so she had all four lanes to herself. Dallas whooped aloud, even though her voice was drowned out by the roar of the wind and the speakers blasting AC/DC's Highway to Hell.

Anyone unfortunate enough to live in one of the many apartment complexes that lined the road would probably be tossing in their beds, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from and which of the many neighbors was responsible so they could complain to the landlord once dawn came.

Dallas signaled right and pulled off the nearest exit, grudgingly turning down the music as she entered the neighborhood containing her high school. The last thing she needed was to announce her arrival with AC/DC, even though the security guard could surely use some rock in their lives. Honestly, who couldn't use some rock in their life? Mr. Shumway sure could. That man needed to loosen up.

As the beige bricked building came into view, Dallas flicked off her headlights and put her foot on the brake pedal to quiet the purr of the vehicle. She parked about a block away, shouldered her backpack, and headed towards the school.

The spray paint cans in Dallas' bag jostled against one another, clinking obnoxiously as she walked, but it was worth it to Dallas. She could already imagine the possibilities, even better, Dallas pictured the looks on everyone's faces when they woke up to find the masterpiece she created.

The girl scrutinized the school's exterior in the stale glow of the streetlights, shaking up a can of white paint, and selected the east wall to be her canvas. Dallas guided the mist in a blob shaped path, leaving artful drip streaks here and there as she created a background.

Everything faded to the background as Dallas painted, each stroke piecing together the image trapped within the girl's head and bringing it to life. Her pent up anger melted into the cherry red paint--a testament of all the things society told her to be--and then she buried it beneath the black of her rebellion.

Dallas stepped back to admire her work. Over top the white background, a red monarch butterfly stretched out its wings, fighting to gain purchase against the stormy winds pulling it this way and that. Inside the desperate insect, Dallas had painted its twin, but in black. The second monarch dropped its beautiful wings, no longer caring to fight against the world. Instead, the butterfly wilted, crumbling to nothing more than black streaks of paint at the bottom.

To top it all off, she'd titled the masterpiece, in looping scrawl, "Drowning." That had become like her signature, titling each one of her artworks with a singular word starting with the first letter of her own name; D. It was a game by now, leaving hints as to who the vandalist was, but still staying perfectly anonymous.

Satisfied, Dallas capped her paint cans and started off towards the Corvette. The car chirped in response to pressing the unlock button on the key fob Dallas held. She'd taken the liberty of having her own set made after nicking Mr. Shumway's original keys at the beginning of sophomore year and had been taking the car out for a spin ever since.

Blindingly bright light burst into existence. Dallas stumbled backwards, squinting against the burning glare.

"Hey!" A voice shouted from the porch of the apartment Dallas had parked in front of. The man was nothing more than a dark silhouette burned into the searchlight. "What are you doing?"

Dallas, gathering her bearings, pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and jumped into the car.

"Hey! Stop!"

The Corvette's engine roared to life. Dallas stomped on the gas pedal, jerking the wheel to the left. The car answered her and streaked into the road without a second thought. Metal collided with metal as the Vette smashed into another car that had the misfortune of being on the same road at the same time as Dallas who was too busy trying to get away to properly headcheck before darting onto the road.

A sickening scrape rang through the air. The other car's horn blared at Dallas. The man behind the wheel, a nurse of some sort judging on his scrubs, yelled something unintelligible at her and pulled off to the side of the road. Rather than doing the same to exchange insurance information, Dallas swerved around him and shot down the street.

Her heart pounded so hard, Dallas feared it might leap right out of her chest. The car still moved so obviously it couldn't have been damaged too badly. She'd just park it like regular, maybe fix up the paint job, and throw the car cover over it. Mr. Shumway would be none the wiser.

The adrenaline set Dallas on fire. She felt as if electricity was coursing through her veins.

Dallas glanced over her shoulder to make sure the angry nurse wasn't following her and turned onto her street. Her breath came in short, fast puffs of air and her head was as light as a balloon. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel, whiter than usual anyway, as she turned the key and turned off the Corvette's engine.

Still reeling from the adrenaline, Dallas sat in the Shumway's driveway for a moment in an attempt to catch her breath and tame the dizzying excitement that sent her heart racing much faster than it should.

Dallas' vision blurred. Okay, it'd be nice to be able to breathe now. Spots danced in front of her eyes and just before blacking out entirely, she heard the honk of the horn as her forehead slammed into it. And then, she was out.

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"Again, I'm very sorry. I just don't know what's gotten into her!"

Dallas moaned. It was never a good day if the first thing she heard when she woke up was her dad's voice.

"Do you know how much this cost? This is a limited edition 2000 Chevrolet Corvette! Three-forty-five horsepower! Your kid steals and wrecks my car and all you have to say is 'I don't know what's gotten into her?' Pretty words aren't getting you out of this one, Baird. The only words you'll be hearing are from my lawyer!"

Mr. Shumway's words brought the night's events back to her in an instant. Dallas rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand shuffled out of the Vette's driver's seat. She saluted the two men standing in front of her and muttered, "Morning gentleman!"

Her father's nostrils flared. "Dallas. Inside. Now. As soon as I'm done with Frank, we need to talk."

"See, I'd love to, but I really ought to be going to school," Dallas turned to walk away and finally got a glimpse of the damage she'd done to the car. The car's paint was chipped by deep gouges. The left headlight had cracked and the dented hood was ajar, threatening to crumple in on itself entirely. The mirror had been torn clean off, probably left behind at the scene. Dallas winced. "Now if you don't mind-"

"Dallas," her dad warned, voice dropping dangerously low. When his ears turned as red as his hair, Dallas knew she was in for it. "Don't make me ask twice."

The girl smiled sweetly and said, "No need to waste your breath!"

Dallas skipped over the hedge fence that separated her house to the Shumway's and mentally braced herself for her dad's wrath. This was a touch more serious than sneaking out to a party so being grounded from her phone was probably out of the question, not that it'd matter anyway. She already had two burner phones, courtesy of her father even if he didn't know about them. He'd never dared punish her physically and Dallas didn't think he'd start now, but that was a possibility.

She shoved the door open and marched into the house. If she was lucky, Dallas anticipated she'd get a firm talking to--AKA have a lecture screamed in her face--and she'd be forced to pay for the repairs on Mr. Shumway's car. That seemed like the most likely punishment.

"Dally?" Dallas' mother appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Her doe eyes were red and bloodshot, a clear sign that she'd once again been crying. She did that a lot and almost always in self pity because of her failure as a parent. Dallas was far from what her mother wanted her to be, a carbon copy of young Amanda Baird. Thank goodness for that.

"What now?" The girl huffed, closing the door behind her. She kicked off her combat boots, discarding them on the hardwood floor, and leaned against the stair railing at the entrance's immediate right.

Tears welled up in her mother's seafoam green eyes. "I- I want you to know that I really do love you, darling. If it were up to me-" She choked on her words, fighting back sobs.

"What are you talking about?" Dallas's eyebrows furrowed as she scrutinized her mother's face. This was weird. Even for her.

Instead of answering, Dallas' mother reached out to her daughter for an embrace, but Dallas ducked beneath her outstretched arms.

"Mom, I asked you a question. What's going on?"

The woman opened her mouth to answer, but the door swung open, rather aggressively, and cut her off. Dallas' father stomped into the house, slamming the door behind him, and pointed to the couch. "Sit down."

His usually pale skin was now flushed in anger and his mouth was set in a thin line. Neither of the women dared to object, though the command wasn't directed to the elder of the two. Dallas, arms crossed, dropped into a black leather armchair while her mother took the sofa, squeezing her hands together between her knees.

"This is the last. Straw. Stealing a car? Really Dallas? And wrecking it? What is wrong with you? Do you know how much that is to repair? Frank Shumway is asking seven thousand!" Her father paced through the room as he shouted, running a hand through his graying hair. "I don't believe it. I wish I could say I didn't expect this of you, but quite frankly, I'm not even surprised!"

He laughed wryly, bordering psychotic, and threw his hands in the air. "Your mother didn't want to, but you've left us with no choice. Pack your things. You leave tomorrow."

With that, Dallas' father stormed out of the room, leaving his daughter stunned. She looked to her mom who rocked back and forth in her seat, silent tears streaming down her face.

"A boarding school. In Oregon. It's supposed to be good for teens with behavioral issues. Crestview Boarding: School for Troubled Teens," she stuttered in response to Dallas' questioning glance.

"A boarding school?" It was Dallas' turn to stutter, but once her words got going, they spilled from her mouth like Niagra Falls. "In- in Oregon? How- when did you even have the time to find it? It was literally last night! How long have you been planning this? You want to send me away? To Oregon?"

Dallas shot out of her seat and took her father's place in pacing the room. "You have got to be kidding me! What kind of sick joke is this? I'm not going to a boarding school, especially not once for troubled teens! I'm not a troubled teen! I don't have behavior issues!"

Her fingers curled around a book discarded on the side table and Dallas threw it at the wall, making an impact with a framed picture of herself in grade school. She was so innocent back then; straight A's, pigtails, crooked toothed smile. Everything she did was to make her parents proud. The picture shattered as it made impact on the ground, a cruel parallel to how the perfect child in Dallas had been destroyed beyond repair.

"I'm not going," she declared as if she had a choice. "You can't make me."

But her parents could, in fact, make her go and so they did. Dallas barely had time to throw her clothes and art supplies into a suitcase and slip her burner phones into the pocket of her gray sweatpants before her father practically threw her into the car the next morning. A few death threats later and the Bairds were tearing down the highway, beginning their seven hour journey.