I was silent during the car ride. There was a bad feeling in my stomach. The same feeling I had exactly five years ago today, the day I was kidnapped. My stomach knotted. I let my brain go blank, to avoid any more of those painful memories creeping into my head.

"You're awfully quiet today," my foster mom remarked. I thought I was quiet every day. What's different about today?

"I guess I'm just tired," I lied. In reality, I genuinely felt like something bad was going to happen today.

"Are you sure?"

"And I have a lot of homework."

"I see. Well, we won't be gone for long."

Only a few years ago, someone else had said that to me. We won't be gone for long. Well, I guess "we" were gone a little too long.

"We're here!" My foster dad said. "Do you want anything to eat? cotton candy? Ice cream? Hot dogs?"

"I'm not hungry." That was probably the only thing I said today that wasn't a lie. I mean, I ate breakfast like less than an hour ago.

"Well, you'll get hungry later, then we'll get something to eat. For now, which rides do you want to go on?"

"How about the roller coaster?"