The Day My Life Began Page 5

  “Actually, I was a cheerleader,” I say, laughing. “I was one of the peppiest, most cheerful girls at my school. I had a ton of friends and was super popular. I always wore pink. Which is why I have a stupid pink car now. Back then, I loved it.”

  “What happened?” he asks. “To make you not peppy, I mean.”

  “Life,” I answer, leaving it at that.

  “Did your high school boyfriend dump you or something?”

  Does he really think I would be that pathetic? To let a break up with a guy ruin me?

  “I’ve never had a boyfriend, actually,” I say. “I was happy being single back then. I had a date for prom, but… well, I never made it to prom.” In fact, my whole life stopped just a few weeks before my junior prom.

  “Why not? Prom is a rite of passage,” he says.

  “What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. I really, really want to stop talking about me. “What is your story?”

  “Not much to tell. Dysfunctional family. I was abandoned by my father when I was three and by my mother until I was nine,” he says. “Me and my siblings moved in with our paternal grandparents then, and they raised us. But things were good there, so I can’t complain.”

  “That’s extremely sad,” I say.

  He shrugs. “My mom was too high to feed me and my siblings most of the time. My grandma actually had a hired cook working for her, so for a whole month my siblings and I ate about six meals a day. We all assumed our mom would come and get us eventually, but she never did. Looking back, maybe she tried. But my grandparents wouldn’t let us go. I love them for it.”

  “Maybe I can meet them someday,” I say.

  “Oh, you will,” he says, confidently. “In fact, you will be meeting them in about five minutes.”

  “WHAT?” I ask, a little louder than I mean to.

  “They’re in town. So we are going to go eat with them,” Camden says, like it’s not big deal.

  I look at my outfit. It’s definitely not a meet the grandparents kind of outfit. “Couldn’t you have warned me? I’m dressed like a slob.”

  “You’re fine,” he says, glancing from the road to me. “More than fine. You look beautiful.”

  “Do you always take your friends to meet your grandparents?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Do you always call your friends beautiful?”

  “Definitely not,” he says. “Only the really gorgeous ones. Which, by the way, means you. Just you.”

  “Isn’t this weird, though?” I ask. “I just met you on Saturday night. We met not even a full 48 hours ago.”

  “Isla, I’m not proposing. I’m taking you to meet my family,” he says. “They just happened to be in town. I was on my way to see you when they called and I just decided to have you tag along.”

  “Won’t your family think we’re dating?”

  “No,” he answers. “Just trust me, Isla.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  I don’t know him well enough to trust him, but something inside me wants to trust him. So I will.

  I always follow my gut instinct.

  After all, that is what saved my life.

  SEVEN

  The weirdest night ever.

  When we get to the table, there is an older couple sitting there along with Giggi. She wrinkles her nose in disgust when she sees me. In the light, I can see that her eyes aren’t brown, but black—the color of her soul.

  Seriously, how can her and Camden be twins? They’re like night and day.

  “Everybody, this is my friend, Isla McAdams.” He says my name in an odd way, and I’m wondering what’s up with that.

  Everybody sits up a little straighter.

  “Isla, it’s nice to meet you,” the older woman says to me. “You sure are a pretty little thing.”

  Huh.

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling slightly awkward. Not even my own mother compliments me.

  Giggi scoots further into the booth. “Isla, you can sit between Cam and me.”

  “Ugh… okay,” I say, sliding in beside her, wondering what brought on her change in attitude. “Sorry to interrupt your family dinner.”

  “Nonsense,” Cam’s grandfather says. “Any friend of Camden is welcome. Especially a girl as pretty as you.”

  He winks at me.

  WINKS.

  I look around the table to see if anybody else noticed, but nobody seems to care.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Micah.

  Me: I’m having the weirdest night ever.

  He replies immediately.

  Micah: Where are you? Went by your dorm room and some weird girl answered the door. She said she had no idea who you were and slammed the door in my face.

  I laugh at the text and everybody turns to look at me. I lock my phone and put it away, not wanting to be rude. I’ve spent most of my teenage years playing second string to my own mother’s cell phone, and I refuse to be like her.

  I also wonder why my roommate slammed the door in Micah’s face. I’ve only talked to her a couple times, so it’s quite possible that she doesn’t know my name. The only reason I know hers is because it’s on the wall. The girl said something about trying to get into a sorority, so that’s probably what she’s been doing.

  Camden introduces me to his grandparents—Margret and Richard. He never says their last name, so I can’t call them Mr. and Mrs… Come to thing of it, I don’t think Cam has ever told me his last name either.

  “What is your major?” Richard asks me, before I can ask their last name.

  “Undecided. Right now I’m just taking basics that you have to take no matter what your major is,” I answer. “I’m hoping that I’ll come up with something soon, but I really have no clue.”

  “It’s okay to change your major. Our son, Micah’s dad, changed his major six times before he finally settled on a business degree,” Margret says.

  “A lot of good that did,” Richard says. “It took him six and a half years to finish college and he ended up on government assistance before he passed away.”

  I had no idea that Cam’s dad died. I knew he ran away, but he never said anything about him dying. It looks like I’m not the only one with a messed up family.

  “My dad abandoned me too. And my mom… well, I love her, but she’s an airhead,” I say. “My stepdad is constantly working, so I hardly see him.”

  Not sure why I just blurted that out to everybody at the table, but I can’t take it back now. Giggi, who has remained quiet up until this point, turns to look at me. Her black eyes aren’t as cold as I initially thought.

  “I’m sorry about the party,” she says, completely shocking me. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you for spilling your drink on me. Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only person with problems."

  “It’s all right,” I say

  I was mad at the moment. I mean, not at the initial reaction. Yelling at somebody who spills something on you is a normal reaction. But then once you see that it’s a human being and it was an accident, you stop yelling. First reactions are a weird thing. I would’ve pegged her for a high maintenance, party girl. But I was wrong. She is actually a pretty sweet girl. She’s had a rough life. Maybe college is her happy bubble—maybe here, she can pretend to be somebody normal. Kind of like high school was for me… before the incident. Maybe I have more in common with her than I think.

  “Isla, are you eighteen?” Margret asks me.

  I nod. “I turned eighteen over the summer. I’m a freshman.”

  “Giggi and Camden are in their freshman year too,” she says. “But after what happened last year, they deferred a year. So they’re nineteen.”

  “What happened last year?” I ask, looking between the four of them.

  Cam shakes his head slightly, and I’m confused.

  “You have the prettiest hair,” Giggi says, playing with a strand of it. “Is this your natural color?”

  My hair is dirty blonde—not quite blonde, but not quite brown.
It’s wavy—not quite curly, but not quite straight. When I was younger, I always wanted to lighten it up, but I have grown to like my natural self.

  “Yeah. Thanks,” I say, hanging my head down a little so they can’t see me blush. I’m not used to getting compliments.

  “Isn’t she great?” Cam asks.

  I look over at him.

  “She’s wonderful,” I hear his grandma say.

  This is so awkward.

  Cam must read something on my face, so he changes the subject from me.

  “Isla, what do you like to do in your spare time?” Richard asks. “Camden loves football…”

  “Used to,” Cam says. “Not anymore.”

  “I… um… I used to play the violin,” I tell them. “Like, classical music—Beethoven, Mozart, Vivaldi.”

  “You never told me that,” Cam says, smiling at me.

  “We’ve known each other two days. It never came up,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “Can’t learn everything in that short amount of time.”

  “Will you play for us sometime?” Giggi asks. “I’d like to hear you.”

  “I stopped playing last year after…” the incident. “Well, I just stopped. I haven’t touched a violin since then, so I’m not even sure if I would be any good.”

  But I might be ready to start playing again soon, which is something.

  I miss playing.

  We all fall into a comfortable conversation. Thankfully, it’s not all about me. After we finish eating, we all just sit there for a good thirty minutes talking about different things.

  I like Cam’s family.

  They’re kind of great, even if they are a little strange.

  …

  When I get home, I check my email. Longerguy279 hasn’t emailed me back yet. He’s probably been busy. So, I start drafting him a new email. I have a lot to tell him.

  From: Pinkstar737

  To: Lonerguy279

  Subject: First impressions are not always accurate…

  Dear Lonerguy279,

  I changed my mind about that girl who spilled her drink on me. Giggi. She’s actually a really nice girl. Smart. Pretty. And not at all an airhead like I first thought. This is going to change my whole “people watching” game. I always try to see WHO people ARE, but maybe I should try figuring out WHY they ARE.

  I went to dinner with my new friend’s family—Camden. Cam. It was a really weird dinner. His family asked me a lot of questions. Looking back, maybe they thought I was his date. Or something. I don’t know. I’ve never dated a guy or met a guy’s family before. Not that Cam and I are dating. We’re not. He’s SO OUT OF MY LEAGUE.

  But I realized something else tonight—yes, my life has sucked. A lot. You know how my mom and stepfamily are. And yes, the last year of my life has been harder than average. But I am not the only person having a rough time. And I’m sorry if my emails have been whiney.

  I’m tired of being that depressed girl.

  I’m tired of not having friends.

  So, I’m just NOT going to be like that anymore. One day at a time, I am going to climb out of this miserable hole of depression and start living again.

  THEY died.

  I didn’t.

  It’s time I start acting like it.

  Sincerely,

  Pinkstar737

  I hit send before I can change my mind.

  I’ve never opened up to him like that, and it’s a little scary. But it’s a start. It’s something.

  The door to my dorm opens up and the girl, Zoe, walks in. She’s crying and she runs to her bed, putting her face in the pillow.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She doesn’t respond right away. I think maybe she’s not going to. She doesn’t know me, so crying in front of me is probably embarrassing. But then she rolls over and looks at the ceiling.

  “The sorority I wanted didn’t want me,” she finally says. “They told me I wasn’t pretty enough to join Greek row.”

  “What does beauty have to do with sorority life?” I ask. “I thought it was about sisterhood. That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. And you’re freaking gorgeous, so they’re idiots. They’re probably worried all the guys will be paying you attention instead of them.”

  She laughs.

  “I’m Chinese,” she tells me. “My parents both moved to America from China when they were kids.”

  “That’s awesome,” I say. “I wish my parents were from somewhere cool. They’re both from Alabama.”

  “It’s just… Asians are cool now,” she says. “Japanese and Koreans are, like, hip. But China is lame. Why can’t I be a cool Asian?”

  “That’s ridiculous. China is an awesome country. You guys may not have the hyped up pop culture, but that’s overrated anyway,” I say. “I’ve never been, but I’d like to go someday. The history there is fascinating—maybe even more than Japan and Korea. It doesn’t matter what kind of Asian you are.”

  “The sorority seems to think so,” she says, sitting up. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you. I thought I’d be moving into the sorority house, and I never even learned your name.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I’m Isla McAdams.”

  “I’m Zoe Wu,” she says.

  Zoe has a kind smile.

  I like her.

  We sit in our dorm room, listening to music.

  Zoe shows me some of her favorite bands from China. And then I show her my favorite Korean rap music.

  It’s then that I think Dr. Sanchez was wrong—maybe you aren’t supposed to hate your college roommate.

  EIGHT

  Pulled the trigger.

  I wake up early the next morning, so I check my email and see that I have one from Lonerguy279.

  From: Lonerguy279

  To: Pinkstar737

  Subject: YES. YOU. DATE.

  Dear Pinkstar737,

  I’ve always imagined that you’re a very pretty girl. You probably just don’t give yourself enough credit. (Though, I can’t be sure of that. For all I know you’re a 400-pound man living in your mom’s basement eating Ho Hos as you read this). But, from the emails we have exchanged, I think you’re pretty awesome. And if a guy doesn’t see that, he’s a moron.

  Cam and Giggi sound awesome. But really, what kind of a name is Giggi? Sounds like a go-go dancer name. First impressions don’t mean a thing. I learned that a long time ago.

  Now that you’re at college, do you see that it’s not so bad? It sounds like you’re making some good friends. Friends that have the potential to be FAMILY someday. Family doesn’t have to be blood related. Family is a choice. People who say otherwise have obviously never been in a crappy family.

  I’m having a good time at college too. I’m glad I decided to come.

  Sincerely,

  Lonerguy279

  I reply right away.

  From: Pinkstar737

  To: Lonerguy279

  Subject: RE: YES. YOU. DATE.

  Dear Lonerguy279,

  I wish we could talk in person sometimes. I don’t even know your name or what you look like. We’ve had an incredible relationship online for the past year and a half, but I don’t know anything about you. Not REALLY.

  Let me see if I can try to guess what you look like.

  Blond hair.

  Green eyes.

  Kind smile.

  I bet you’re tall. 6’2”, maybe.

  Maybe you’re a loner like me. I can imagine you sitting on a bench with headphones in your ears, people watching. Like I do. Except you are probably much better at it than me.

  Or maybe you’re, like, super popular with lots of friends. Do you have a girlfriend? We’ve never discussed that kind of stuff before. If you do, I bet she hates you emailing me.

  As you know, I don’t have a boyfriend. I haven’t exactly been asked out by a lot of guys, but I also haven’t put myself out there. I have too much baggage. It wouldn’t be fair to ask somebody to put up with it. Maybe someday a guy will sweep
me off my feet, but probably not for a long time. After many more years of therapy.

  Sincerely,

  Pinkstar737

  I shut the lid to my laptop and head to the coffee shop to get my morning caffeine fix.

  …

  “My family loved you,” Cam tells me when we hang out that afternoon. We’re hanging out in Micah’s dorm room. He’s playing something softly on his acoustic guitar, but mostly just messing around. There is no rhyme or reason to it.

  “They asked enough questions,” I say.

  “You met Cam’s family?” Micah asks, looking up from his guitar.

  “Last night.”

  “Are you two dating or something?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer.

  “I just wanted her to meet my family,” Cam says.

  “I had a lot of fun,” I tell Cam. “I completely misjudged your sister. She’s a pretty awesome person.”

  “She’s prissy, but under all her make up, she’s a nice girl,” he says.

  “I was just like her in high school.”

  Micah and Cam both look at me with their mouths open.

  “I can’t imagine you wearing make up,” Micah says. “Or fixing your hair.”

  I roll my eyes. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  My hair is currently down, how I always wear it. I push a strand behind my ear.

  “I like your hair,” Cam says. “And you don’t need makeup.”

  “Yeah, but I’m just trying to picture you as a girly girl,” Micah says.

  “I was actually a cheerleader,” I say. “I was even asked to prom by the quarterback.”

  My chest tightens.

  Memories start flooding back to me. Because even though I have a lot of good memories, the bad ones far outweigh the good ones. I can still picture that day in my head. I remember every single detail about it, from start to finish.