Chapter 1

“Well fuck that!”1

I slam the door, walk to the car, and beg for the ignition to work as I turn the keys. It does.2

On my way to the office supply store I wonder, did I start that? Was it me? How did the three of us start screaming over leftover turkey and the prospect of my senior year of high school? It’s my senior year, for god sakes. What is there to worry about? 3

But the ride is too short. My ambling thoughts are distracted by the disjointed choking of the engine and the door shutting behind me. School starts tomorrow, and I need to spend the fifty dollars I somehow managed to grab from Lucy before she so graciously asked if I would leave.4

I grab the cheapest pens, pencils, binders, paper, and backpack that I can, and spend the rest of the money on sour patch kids, a Dr. Pepper, and a couple used Bad Religion and Kimya Dawson CDs from the record shop next door. I heard them on the radio, and they didn’t suck. Strange.5

Ten minutes later I’m walking back to my house with my two bags of mom-funded school crap. 6

“Holy shit!” Screeching. I stand agape. Crashing. Tiny car fragments are delicately blown over to my feet. Somehow I’m already holding my phone to my ear. “Hello, this is 911. Please state your emergency.”7

“Y-yes. Car accident. 39548 Georga Rd.” I drop my phone and my bags and run across the street.8

“Hello! Are you OK??” No response. “Hello! Jesus Christ! Say something!” I see the side of a woman’s face on the dashboard. Too much blood. The world starts to spin.9

“Mom?” Across the street there’s someone with dark hair wearing a green shirt. “MOM!” He runs across the street and stands next to me hoping for some direction. I try to open my eyes in bewilderment. He’s panicking.10

“We need to- we gotta- someone needs to- has anyone-“11

“Called… 911? Yeah. Me.” I try to level things out a little and turn around.12

“But- they’re not- here…” He trails off and sits down.13

Sirens and more screeching. No horrid crashing this time, though. 14

“Stand back!” It’s the cops. They set up a perimeter. I’m still feeling a little queasy. The dark haired green shirted kid looks like he’ll survive. My job here is done. Soon I’ve grabbed my bags, I’m safely inside my room, and I shut the door, window, and blinds as an attempt to keep the commotion outside to a minimum. Pseudo peace at last.15

The new school supplies are immediately dumped at the corner of my somewhat modern wooden desk. I put one of my new albums into the CD player and climb up onto the loft bed that I desperately attempt to turn into my cave of pillows and sheets.16

My room is a chaotic kaleidoscope-gone-wrong. Every day the world turns it does too. My dad used to try to clean it, but he gave up after he realized this was a “one step forward, two steps back” kind of situation. I want my room the way it is. Random tokens of my life thrown all around the floor. Sometimes they’ll cheer me up a little bit; that’s why I want to keep it that way. Say I see a t-shirt that I wore two years ago at a Strokes concert in LA before they stopped touring. A kick like that will definitely get me through the day.17

Knocking. 18

Me: “Yes?”19

“Melanie?” It’s mom. “Someone’s at the door.”20

“What?” It made no sense. I don’t know anybody.21

“Just answer it! I’m making dinner.”22

I groan. “Okay…”23

Dark hair green shirt is at the door. “Hey.”24

“Hey too.” I say. Smooth.25

“So, Melanie is it? I heard your mom yelling”26

“Yeah. Good work detective. I’m a covert officer as well, but to avoid looking creepy… I’ll ask your name.”27

He stammers. “It’s Ves.”28

“What brings you to headquarters?”29

“Uh… Is this yours?” He holds up my cell phone.30

“Thanks.” I put it in my pocket. “Why aren’t you with your mom?”31

“An ambulance took her. Away. I couldn’t really, well, take it.”32

“What?”33

“Never mind. I called Steve… and he’s at the hospital with her.”34

“Who?”35

“My dad.”36

“Ah.”37

Silence.38

“Well. Gotta go. I’ll see you later.”39

“Yeah. Bye.”40

“Dinner!!” Mom is desperately trying to patch up the hellish environment of earlier today. Dad switches off the television. He and I sit down as mom serves spaghetti. His favorite. Figures.41

“Tready lightly” I think to myself. 42

“Sorry you had to see the accident. Good you called 911. Are you OK?” comes from parental units. They had attempted this conversation earlier but I had fled to my room. I’m going to relinquish defeat now.43

“I’m good. I’m more worried about the woman’s son.” I focus intently on my food to avoid any further development of the topic.44

Pause. “So school’s tomorrow, mmm? How’s our big senior doing? Excited?” 45

“Yeah. Fine. I guess.” 46

Quiet. Momentary peace.47

They try again. “How’s the food?”48

“Fine.”49

I’m eating as fast as I possibly can. I foresee danger and wish to avoid it at all costs.50

“How’d the shopping for school supplies go?”51

I choke down the last of my food. “It went well. I got everything I needed. Gotta lay out my clothes for tomorrow.”52

I get up and walk to my room in a hurry. Just in time. As I look through my drawers, I listen to the inevitable progression of my parents conversation. First, they question why I’m so soft spoken and why I ran away so fast. Then, they ask if it’s because of either of their minor personality flaws, and, boom! Argument starts there. Nobody wants to listen to this bullshit, mindless screaming. I throw jeans, a t-shirt, and a new jacket into the bathroom to wear the next day. Goodnight.