No Place Like... Home?

Paige

I sat on the end of a queen-sized bed in a room I was told was mine. The lingering scent of fresh paint in the air reminded me this room was new like the rest of the house. Instead of one big window, it had a lot of tall, thin windows with arched tops separated by pieces of metal that looked almost like the columns outside. A mural of the sky at different times of the day covered the ceiling, and the light slanted in right on the afternoon section, like the ceiling itself was some kind of clock. The sheets under my fingers were softer than I’d felt in months, maybe ever, and clean. I changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans from a duffel bag Mom had brought from home, though I had to belt the jeans, and the shirt hung loose. And still, I couldn’t stop looking at those thin windows and wondering if I could wriggle out of them.

I stood up and walked over to the windows. From here, I had a spectacular view of the huge, meticulously landscaped yard. It even looked like Tommaso