Ever since I was young, my mother taught me that if I found myself in a situation I didn’t feel comfortable in, get out. It didn’t matter if it was a stranger or a close friend that put me in an uncomfortable situation, just get out.

I always thought that I’d be able to tell people no and when to stop, my mom did it with ease. The year I turned six, I found out that telling people wasn’t always easy, especially when they are so persuasive.

Winter in Lakewood had started, and we had just been hit with a snowstorm a few days back. The last step off the school bus was icy.

I was wearing my favorite yellow scarf that covered just the tip of my nose. When the bus door opened, I felt the cold breeze hit my red little nose.

The kids in front of me got off the bus without any hassle, but I slipped on the ice on the finale step, busted my knee on the curb, typical. It didn’t hurt that bad, just stung a little.

Luckily, my snowsuit damped most of the fall. My face laid flat down in the snow, too embarrassed to get up.

The bus driver asked me if I needed any assistance, I didn’t want to trouble the poor old lady that had to drive a bunch of loud kids around for a living, so I just gave her a thumbs down and a wave goodbye.

She drove off and I got up. When I walked in, the warmth hit me like how I hit the curb, stung me a little, but didn’t hurt.

The heat prickled over my body since it was colliding with my ice-cold skin. Michael had had a fire going since he got home. He was home an hour before me since I went to school in Seattle.

I told him about my incident outside but said not to stress over it because it didn’t hurt, but he insisted that we should still check my knee to see so he could clean it, otherwise, I’d have to go to the hospital if it got infected.

I hated the hospital, and he knew that. I took my snowsuit and boots off, kept my scarf on though because I usually wore it around the house.