The Day My Life Began Read online

  “Rammstein?” he asks, scratching his head.

  My mouth falls open. “Please tell me you’ve heard of them.”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s a German band,” I say, pulling headphones out of my pocket. I turn on my favorite song by them, Amerika. I put one of the earbuds in my ear and he takes the other. I turn on the song. He smiles from the first beat on.

  I knew he would like it.

  After the song is over, he hands my headphones back to me.

  “They’ve got an amazing sound. What is the song about?” he asks.

  “About how America pushes their beliefs off on other people,” I say. “Not everybody wants the same things America does. It’s just their way of saying they wish America would stay in America.”

  “Interesting,” Micah says, standing up. “Okay. I’m going to go talk to her.”

  “Break a leg.”

  He trips over somebody’s purse.

  “I didn’t mean literally,” I say.

  He keeps walking towards the girl and I smile, proud of myself for encouraging him.

  I watch the exchange between the two of them. The brunette girl has a huge smile on her face the whole time she’s talking to Micah. I don’t know what they’re saying, but they both laugh. I can tell she’s into him.

  I watch the girl pull her phone out of her back pocket and type something in.

  He’s giving her his number!

  A few seconds later, he walks over and sits by me.

  “How’d it go?” I ask.

  “Marisa wants to hang out,” he says.

  I knuckle bump him.

  I am good.

  …

  After the game, I am at a crowded bonfire. Everybody is celebrating because of the victorious win against Alabama. Apparently they are one of our rivals, but I could care less about it. I am glad we won though. It’s good to know I still have a little bit of school spirit.

  I hold my red cup in my hand, not putting it down. It’s just soda that Micah got for me, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ve heard enough stories to know what happens to your drink if you set it down at a party.

  “There’s Marisa,” I say, pointing her out in the crowd. “You should go say hi.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone,” Micah says, looking torn.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “If I get lonely I’ll text you.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  I nod. “Positive.”

  “You’re the best, Isla,” he says, walking toward Marisa.

  I grin to myself, satisfied with the potential match that I helped create. Someday, if they get married, I’ll get to make a speech about how I was there when the whole thing unfolded. How I basically set them up. It’ll be great.

  While I’m standing there, sipping my Dr. Pepper, I watch the crowd, because that is what I do best. I see a lot of people acting crazy, reminding me once again why I don’t drink. I am not even sure I like being here. If it wasn’t for Micah, I probably wouldn’t be.

  I’m about to turn and walk away from the crowd, feeling a bit claustrophobic, when somebody bumps into me. I spill my soda all over them.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say.

  “You ruined my dress!” a very high pitched girl yells at me. “This is a…” she rattles off the name of some designer. “Do you have any idea how much it costs?”

  She may as well be speaking Spanish. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “Like you could afford it,” she says, looking me up and down, like I am a piece of gum she stepped in while wearing her designer shoes.

  “Whatever,” I say. “You’re the one who bumped into me.” I point to her heels. “If you can’t walk in those shoes, you probably shouldn’t wear them.”

  She gasps. “You… you… you…”

  “Giggi,” a boy says, walking up to us. “Is everything okay?”

  I look at the guy. He’s tall. Like about six inches taller than the girl in heels. Who is about three inches taller than me. Though, in my defense, four of her inches are from her shoes.

  The guy, who I am now looking at instead of the crazy girl, has curly brown hair and eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day. He’s kind of gorgeous. Of course this girl is his type. I probably spilled my drink on his girlfriend. I will officially be the outcast of the school.

  “No, I’m not okay. This… thing… ruined my dress,” she says.

  “I’m a girl,” I say, reminding her that I am still here. “Not a thing. And I’m standing right here.”

  The boy turns and looks at me. “Hello.”

  The girl he called Giggi turns and stomps off. I hear her yelling at her friends about me when she’s twenty feet away.

  “Is she always that whiney?” I ask him. Maybe I shouldn’t call his girlfriend whiney, but I can’t help myself. Certainly he knows that his girlfriend is a loser.

  “Unfortunately,” he says. “I am ashamed to say that she is my sister.”

  Sister.

  Not girlfriend.

  Interesting.

  “I will buy her a new dress,” I say. “It was an accident, but I didn’t mean to spill my drink on her.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Giggi never wears the same outfit more than once anyway,” he says.

  “That’s… kind of sad. Her and my mother would get along great,” I say, thinking I’ve never seen my mom wear the same outfit twice either. She’s scared she’ll take a selfie in the same outfit more than once and her followers will stone her.

  “I’m Camden,” he says.

  “I’m Isla,” I say.

  “Isla!” I hear Micah yell as he runs towards me. “That girl is totally into me. I so owe you.” He stops when he sees Camden in front of me. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. I’m Micah. Best friend of Isla.”

  “I’m Camden,” he says. “Isla’s… um… knight in shining armor.”

  “We just met a few minutes ago when I spilled Dr. Pepper all over his sister,” I say. “It was an accident, but I’m pretty sure I ruined her life. At least, she seems to think so.”

  Camden laughs.

  Micah looks confused. “Right. Well, I just wanted to tell you that Marisa and I are going to go somewhere less noisy and talk. Are you cool getting back alone?”

  “I’m fine. I drove,” I say.

  “Okay. See you tomorrow,” he says, then runs off.

  I turn to Camden. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Camden.”

  “Cam,” he says.

  “Cam,” I repeat. “I should probably get going to. I only came here because Micah begged me to. This isn’t really my kind of thing.”

  “You should stay,” he says. “Hang out with me.”

  I look at him, and notice something familiar in his blue eyes. But it’s gone almost as quickly as it comes.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to hang out with the girl who ruined your sister’s dress. I’m, like, the enemy,” I say. “Besides, I’d just be in your way.”

  “I insist,” he says. “Besides, I don’t care what my sister thinks.”

  Huh.

  He’s defiant.

  Maybe he’s not like her.

  “What year are you?” I ask him.

  “Freshman,” he answers. “You?”

  “Freshman as well,” I say. “I thought maybe that Giggi girl was your younger sister. I mean, you’re way more mature.”

  “Twin sister, actually,” he says.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “You two don’t look anything alike,” I say.

  He has brown hair where hers is blonde. He has blue eyes, she has brown. He has a soul, and she doesn’t.

  “We have different fathers.”

  It takes a second for my brain to register his comment. “Wait, what?”

  He laughs. “I’m kidding. That’s biologically impossible. Though, if it were true that would explain a lot.”

  He is funny.

  I like him already. />
  “What does your shirt say?” he asks.

  “It says Liberate North Korea,” I answer. It’s written in Hangul. I repeat the phrase in Korean. I am not fluent in Korean, but I can read it. I’d like to learn it someday, but I’ve never had anybody to practice with.

  “You like Korea or something?”

  “I’m obsessed with South Korea’s culture. This might sound weird, but I listen to Korean rap, like, all the time,” I say.

  “I like Korean rap,” he says. “It’s rare to find somebody who listens to it.”

  What are the odds of meeting two people who like Korean rap at my college? This is crazy.

  “Isla, what is your last name?” he asks, studying with me an intense gaze.

  “McAdams,” I answer.

  I can’t read the expression that flashes across his face. But it’s gone almost as quickly as it comes.

  “Isla, you and I should be friends,” he says.

  Friends.

  I like that.

  SIX

  Do you always call your friends beautiful?

  That Monday, before my meeting with Dr. Sanchez, I pull out my computer and check my email real quick. I didn’t have time all weekend to email Lonerguy279.

  From: Lonerguy279

  To: Pinkstar737

  Subject: RE: RE: Alive?

  Dear Pinkstar737,

  I would pay money to see your new friend driving your pink convertible car. He sounds like a good friend. I’m glad you found him… Are you two more than just friends? (Maybe I don’t have the right to ask that, but I’m curious).

  I’m glad you’re alive. You have made the past year and a half good. Without you, I would have probably gone crazy. Don’t ever wish you’d be better off dead, because I promise you deserve to be alive.

  College is good for the both of us. Making friends in high school was hard, but here, nobody knows me. I get a fresh start.

  Have fun at your game and bonfire! And don’t wait so long to email me next time! I thought I was going to have to hire a P.I. to find you. I thought you were kidnapped or something.

  Sincerely,

  Lonerguy279

  I reply quickly.

  From: Pinkstar737

  To: Lonerguy279

  Subject: Me date??? LOL!

  Dear Lonerguy279,

  Micah and I are just friends. Trust me, nothing more! We bonded over our mutual weirdness. I like him because he challenges me to not be stuck in my little vanilla bubble. And he likes me because I introduce him to cool music. And I helped him get a date. True story.

  The game was fun. I got to people watch, which is always fun. And, you know, football. Guys in tight pants. That’s always nice. ;) The bonfire was interesting. I met some more people. I spilled my drink on this high maintenance girl. She yelled at me. But her twin brother rescued me before she was able to yell too much. And he’s my friend now, too. And, NO, I’m not dating him either. But he is hot. Like super HOT. Which means he would never be interested in me. I know you’ve never seen me, but trust me, I’m very average looking.

  Anyway, I have got to go meet the shrink. So I better get off here.

  Sincerely,

  Pinkstar737

  I hit send and shut my laptop.

  Then I met Dr. Sanchez at our usual spot.

  …

  After class on Monday, I fall asleep as I’m studying.

  Sometimes, I have nightmares. Always about what happened the day of the… incident.

  It feels so real.

  I can smell the gun powder.

  I can hear the screams.

  And the overwhelming fear inside of my stomach is so strong that I can hardly breathe.

  I know that I’m next. The last few seconds of my life are going to be spent here in this small room. I’m never going to grow up. I’m never going to…

  I am awoken by a loud noise.

  My phone is ringing.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  I didn’t realize I was crying until that exact moment.

  “Isla, are you okay?”

  It’s Camden.

  “I’m fine,” I say, wiping the tears off my face. “I was just having a nightmare. I fell asleep while I was doing homework.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “Not really, no.”

  That is the last thing I want to do.

  “Are you busy right now?”

  “No.”

  “Good,” he says. “I’ll be there in like two minutes.”

  Before I can ask questions or respond, the line goes dead.

  Okay, I guess I’m hanging out with Cam.

  I take a quick peek in the mirror to make sure my clothes look all right just as somebody knocks on my door.

  That was so not two minutes.

  I open up and see Cam standing on the other side.

  Cam has both of his hands in the front pockets of his dark denim jeans. His curly brown hair is wet and he smells like soap. He’s wearing a pair of black dress shoes, a blue button up shirt that matches his eyes and a dinner jacket.

  And he is hot.

  I swear, every time I see him he gets more attractive.

  And more out of my league.

  “I suddenly feel under dressed,” I say, looking down at the clothes I wore today.

  “How do you feel about a road trip?” Cam asks me.

  “Okay,” I say, loving the idea. If I could go on a road trip every day, I would be happy.

  “But we’re not taking your car,” he says. “Micah already warned me that it’s pink.”

  I laugh.

  Cam walks out into the hallway. I grab my purse off the hook by the door and follow him.

  I don’t really know much about Cam. I just met the guy Saturday night. I know that he has an evil twin sister. I also know that he likes Korean music. But’s that’s it. I could be following him to my death.

  “By chance, you’re not a serial killer, right?” I ask. I’m joking. Mostly.

  He flinches at my question. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Kidding,” I say.

  “Oh,” he says, letting out a breath.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m a paranoid person.”

  “Why?” Cam asks. “Did something bad happen to you or something?”

  I ignore his question. “Are you sure you don’t want to take my pink car? You’d probably look pretty sexy riding in it.”

  He laughs. “You think I’m sexy?”

  “Absolutely,” I answer, not denying it. I’ve always tried to be honest about how I’m feeling. And even a blind person would think Cam is sexy.

  “Isla, know that I am not meaning to offend you when I say this, but you are kind of strange,” Cam says, as we walk to the parking lot.

  “I’m not offended,” I say. “I mean, I know that I’m weird. I’ve accepted it.”

  “I like your weirdness. You never try to be somebody that you’re not.”

  “Why would I want to be somebody else when I can be me?”

  “Exactly,” he says.

  We walk up to a new-looking Mustang. Well, it’s not just a Mustang. It’s a Cobra. It’s a really nice car. Expensive. I know this because my stepbrother totaled one about a year ago while he was drunk. I loved that car. I rode in it every single day on our way to school for three months before my sixteenth birthday, when I got my own car.

  He unlocks the black car and opens the passenger side door for me. I get inside and he shuts it.

  It smells new. Like maybe he got this car as a graduation present this summer. The leather seats are black with red stitching, and they are warm from being out in the sun.

  I notice the car has a manual transmission, just like Scott’s car did. Having an automatic sports car kind of defeats the purpose, so I’m glad it’s a stick shift.

  Camden gets in and starts his car. The engine roars to life and I can feel the power vibrating through the seats. I am jealous of his car.

>   I picked out my own car when I was fifteen. I told my mom and stepdad exactly what I wanted and they got it. They gave it to me at my sweet sixteen birthday party. I now hate it, but I’m not asking for a new one. That would make me just as bad as Scott.

  “May I?” I ask, motioning to the radio.

  He smiles. “Sure.”

  I plug my phone up to his USB chord and push the random button on my playlist. One of my favorite French songs, Derniere Danse, by Indila comes on.

  “What is it with you only listening to non-English songs?” Cam asks as we take off.

  “I like English songs too,” I say. “To be honest, I prefer music with no lyrics. Classical music will always be my favorite. Music is beautiful all on its own. So are words. They don’t need each other.”

  “Maybe so, but putting two beautiful things together works sometimes,” he says.

  “I suppose. I try to see the beauty in everything.”

  “So what is your story?” Cam asks.

  “Story?”

  “I don’t really know anything about you,” he says.

  “Not much to know,” I answer. “I’m from Atlanta. I live with my mom, stepdad, and stepbrother. My stepbrother, who is the same age as me, just started at Florida State University. To be honest, I’m just glad I’m not going to the same school as him. My family is a bit dysfunctional.”

  “What about your dad?” Cam asks.

  “I’m not sure. One day, when I was nine, he never came home from work. The cops looked, but never found him,” I say. “When I was a kid, I always thought he’d show up, but now I don’t ever think he will. He was always unhappy. Him and my mom fought a lot. And he never seemed to like me very much. After a couple years, my mom found Stanley. He is her dream guy, or at least his bank account is her dream. They had a huge fairytale wedding. And then we moved into their huge house where everybody, aside from the hired help and my stepbrother, ignored me.”

  “That’s really sad,” he says.

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” I say.

  “What were you like in high school?” he asks. “I imagine you sitting alone, listening to music all the time.”