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We were content without social media and the hustle and bustle of life.
Things were near perfect.
Then my world took another spin. My dad grew sick, his skin pale, and his muscles weak. He slowed down, and then he stopped. There were no more outings—no more laughter and exciting conversations. He ceased all things.
We started going to doctors trying to figure out what was wrong, and within a few weeks, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer and given six months to live.
He made it for six weeks.
I was crushed. My lifeline had disappeared, and I was left spinning into the unknown without anything to hold on to. My anxiety worsened, and the panic attacks came at all the wrong times. I couldn’t function or think. I only wanted my father back.
He left everything to Erik and me, but we couldn’t touch it until our twenty-first birthday, which meant we went from living a comfortable lifestyle in Seattle, attending private schools and not wanting for anything, to moving to Georgia, living in an old house, and going to public school for the first time in our lives.
Mom wanted a fresh start. At least that was what she told the rich ladies in her circle, but we knew it was because she had nothing left in Seattle.
“If I had only stayed with him for a little while longer,” she had once said.
I hated her for her words. She wasn’t upset that her ex-husband was gone. She was unhappy that he had died just after she divorced him, leaving her blocked from his will and left with no inheritance. It angered me since it was her indiscretions that ended their marriage in the first place.
That was the beginning of the end for my mother and me, and I wasn’t sure we could ever get back the small amount of a relationship we had. Still, I had no one else but my mother and my brother, which meant where they went, I went.
A fresh start for my mother meant leaving behind the lavish lifestyle she had been accustomed to, running home to a city she hadn’t stepped foot in since she was nineteen-years-old, and living in a house that had been boarded up since my grandparents passed away when I was ten. Seven long years had been hard on the house, and our first four days in Georgia, we spent our time cleaning and preparing the home.
It seemed easier for a woman my mother’s age to start anew, but starting fresh for me was painful. Atlanta, Georgia, was not Seattle. The differences were glaring, and even though my mother swore I would adjust soon, it had been two weeks since we arrived, and I wasn’t getting any closer to enjoying the humidity, the heat, or the insects.
My naturally curly hair was in a never-ending state of frizz, which said a lot considering I came from the rainiest state in the United States. Most days, it stayed in a bun to contain the mass of dark curls.
While I wasn’t adjusting, my twin brother, Erik, seemed to flourish. Already, he was making new friends and getting invites to parties. Of course, that had more to do with my social anxiety and his lack of filter. He was loud, obnoxious, and never met a stranger. Erik had been the life of the party back home, and he had brought that party with him to Atlanta.
The students at North Lakeside High welcomed him and befriended him immediately. Meanwhile, I had yet to speak to a single person at school. Sure, the teachers adored me and my GPA, but sometimes I longed for the ability to socialize without the immediate sense of impending doom that came along with chatting.
The hallway was boisterous, with students gathering books for their next class. I gripped the straps to my bag, pulled open the door, and went into the classroom. The hallway sounds ceased as the door closed behind me, and a rush of chills moved over my body. I welcomed the silence.
Since I was only taking two classes, I didn’t bother with a locker, which meant I made it to the classroom before anyone else and had my pick of the seats. Taking the first seat in the last row, I set my bag at my side and tried to relax before the room filled with other students.
Soon, a flow of colors entered the space. There were graphic tees and distressed jeans. Expensive name-brand shoes and short dresses. The colors were too bright, and the mixture of styles was a tad overwhelming for me.
I had never gone to a school that didn’t require a uniform, but I found I liked the structure they brought with them. That morning it had taken me nearly ten minutes to figure out what to wear. People complained about uniforms, but honestly, it made things a lot easier and saved time. I settled on a pair of jeans and a cute top, but Erik had gone all out, blowing hundreds of dollars of money he still had from Dad on name-brand everything.
He seemed to forget when he ran out of money this time; he was out until we turned twenty-one.
Once the room was at capacity, Mr. Blankenship stepped into the classroom and closed the door. He had a reputation for never matching, and today was no exception. His green and gray tie clashed with his beige slacks, navy button-up, and black dress shoes.
The girl beside me covered her mouth, holding back a snort of laughter.
“Pull out a notebook and a pencil,” he said, getting straight to the point.
He tossed his bag on the single desk at the front of the class and stood staring back at us, giving us time to do just that. I was already ready, a notebook on the top of my desk and a pencil in hand.
“Who can tell me the ten principles of economics?”
I started to raise my hand, but instead, I jerked when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey,” someone whispered behind me.
I turned to find a girl dressed in all black. My eyes moved over her face taking in her dark, overly-lined brown eyes, nose ring, and hot pink bangs. She was small, and her legs looked even shorter since she was wearing black knee-high combat boots.
“Yes?”
