I can’t stop trembling. I haven’t been able to stop since I got off the airplane. I’m not sure if it’s simply the weather, either. I’ve started to think my father is enjoying hearing me complain and try, futile, to get a hold of the air conditioner in the car. Every time I try to turn up the heat, he slaps away my hand and insists that the heater broke days ago. I want to call him a liar, but I don’t want to start fighting on the first day of seeing him in more than three years.

He would deserve it, though. He would deserve having a spoiled bitch in his car rather than the relatively quiet, passive aggressive seventeen year old I have become over time. I can’t blame myself for wanting to pick a fight with him. It’s been three years. Not a single phone conversation. Not a single letter written for the sake of staying in touch. No, just missed calls with short, reluctant messages left for me to discover on my phone on birthdays. He never even left me valid phone numbers most of the time; whenever I would try to call him, the person who answered was never my father.

But, out of nowhere, he came down to Texas and demanded he regain custody of his only daughter. After he threatened to take my mother to court—and waste valuable money we all know she can’t afford to lose—she agreed to let him take me away for at least a year, until I’m legal to go wherever I want. What I want to know is why he never tried this when my two older brothers were still minors. If he had done it just two years ago, I could have at least had one of my brothers with me. I would have preferred that. I would have at least known one person. But, now, I don’t know anyone—not even my father.

To be honest, I shouldn’t be complaining. I was the one who convinced my mother to let me go. She was more than willing to fight my father at the expense of a few bills. I told her that I wanted to go and, if I wasn’t happy, I would come back in a year. I told her that twelve months would fly by and I would be back in no time. I have to admit that I leaped at the chance to get away from everything. I have to admit that I was starting to wish I could move and start over again.