First 10 sentences of one vignette
The sun is in my face and I can feel the beginning of a sunburn on my skin as I pull my sleeves down. I rip the name-tag with 'AILLY' scribbled in messy handwriting off my new shirt as I trudge down the road to my new home. Pulling my bleached blonde hair back into a ponytail in frustration, I go over all the bad things that I'd done. The only problem is, I'd done nothing. I was perfect. The perfect, typical, American teenager. I'd gone blonde, I got braces and now have perfect teeth, I'm more tan than I've ever been, and my fingers graze my thighs as my arms swing at my sides. My thoughts, however, are rudely interrupted as a white ball collides with my face.