When I was 14, in the ninth year of high school, I loved spending time with friends. The only problem was that I didn't really get along with many of my classmates or the kids in my neighborhood. I had to find friends elsewhere, so I traveled every day from my school in midtown Manhattan to Lower Manhattan where I made many friends who looked like me. I always ended up going out much later than I should have. My curfew was set for 9 p.m., which is probably later than it should have been at my age, but I thought it was too early. I stayed outside and didn't even keep track of the time. One evening I was leaving immediately after class to run downtown, it was around 3:30 p.m. when I hopped on the train. I couldn't wait to get to the park to sit and talk with my friends. I had a rough day with all the robots at my school, the picture perfect, two singing shoes hopping down the halls. They drove me crazy and I needed to rant to someone. When I got off the train and finally met up with my friends, it was around 4:30 p.m. We walked from 14th Street to Astor Place because there was a Starbucks that we liked to sit at to warm up. My friends and I were still broke, no benefits, no jobs, just drifting apart from society. After sitting for hours laughing, ranting and mostly messing around with my friends, I decided to check the time. It was already 8:45 a.m.! Not only was I going to be home much later than planned, but it was also too late to use my student metro card! I ran to the subway station hoping that would give me a long enough grace period to use the card. The deadline was 8:30 p.m., but you never knew. I swiped the card several times through the cold metal, but there it was, that horrible beep. The...... middle of paper ......angel window seat. I leaned my head against the window, relieved to finally be able to go home. I looked at my cell phone and saw that it was after 9:30 p.m. I was going to be over an hour late by the time I got home. I wasn't looking forward to being yelled at. Next time, I thought, I should set an alarm on my cell phone to let me know when I have to leave. I didn't want to find myself in this situation again. When I think back, I realize there were other ways for me to get home. I could have asked someone to help me on the train, or stopped one of those police officers who were passing by. I probably should have called my mother, but I didn't because I was embarrassed and scared. I don't think I made a particularly bad decision. At the time, I thought it was the only way I could get home. I probably would have been there for hours if I hadn't made the choice I did.