I hate school. I've always hated school and not for all the reasons that kids my age normally do. I don't mind getting up at the crack of dawn and having to wait in the freezing Minnesota cold every morning. I really couldn't care less how much homework I'm given. I don't care that our school has eight periods a day. In my opinion, the longer the day the better.

I hate school because of the questions.

The constant, ever present questions.

Everyday whenever me and my older twin sister are walking down the hallway, we see their stares. We even play a game sometimes, seeing how many pairs of eyes we will notice, how many seconds will pass before someone asks the same questions they always, always do.

"What happened?"

"Where did you get those bruises?"

"Did you fall?"

"Did you run into a pole?"

"Did you get in a fight?"

The last one always makes me laugh. I know that when this happens, everyone thinks I'm crazy. Maybe they're right. I'd believe them if it weren't for the fact that that comment is almost accurate. I guess you could say I did get into a fight. Even if it was one sided.

However, my sister and I never thought our lives were bad. Not really. Up until two years ago, we thought everything that goes on inside the privacy of our house is normal, that this happens to every child our age. It wasn't until high school started that we found out just how wrong we were.

Turns out not all children are beaten and neglected.

And if it weren't for the questions, we'd never have gotten a clue. I mean, why would people ask questions about bruises if they were normal? In this way, I don't mind them because of what they showed me.