I nod my head. “He did.”
“Wow,” she says. “I bet you wouldn’t mind being carried out of there by him. But what a chauvinistic thing to say. Yet, oddly romantic.”
“He is kind of perfect,” I say.
“Ugh oh. It sounds like your crushing on him,” she says.
“I am,” I admit. “Like hardcore. But also, I’m not ready to be anything more than his friend. Cam knows that. He’s okay with just being my friend.”
“I see why you like him. He’s a sweet guy,” she says. “You two are kind of perfect for each other.”
I hope so.
Like, really, really hope so.
“What about Scott?” Zoe asks. “Is he single?”
“Yeah. Why? Do you like my brother?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe. He’s kind of cute,” she says. “Do you think he likes Chinese girls?”
“He definitely has a thing for Asian girls,” I say, thinking about our earlier conversation. “Scott has issues, like me. So try not to let it hurt your feelings if he doesn’t want a relationship past friendship. It can grow. It just… might take some time.”
“I understand,” she says. “Have you guys had a rough life?”
I nod. “Like, more than you know.”
“What happened?” she asks. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s a long story, but I don’t want to go into all the details. Here is the short version. Scott was dating this girl for, like, two years. I thought they would be together forever,” I say. “And she died. Along with all of our best friends. Scott was out that day. He had a doctor’s appointment. But I was there. A guy in our class came in and shot them all. He didn’t shoot me. But my friend, Olivia, she lived. She’s in a coma, not expected to ever wake up.”
“Wow. I don’t even know what to say,” she says. “How are you even functioning?”
“Lots of therapy,” I answer. “And Lon… umm… Scott. Scott helped me through the worst time in our life.”
“Scott lost all his friends and his girlfriend, but you saw them die,” she says.
“I did,” I say, trying not to think about it.
“Wow,” she says again.
“Yeah. So that is our story,” I say.
“No. Not it is not your story. It’s just part of your story. Your life is your story,” she says. “You obviously haven’t let that define you.”
“It’s a work in progress,” I say.
Every single day that I wake up is a miracle. And I’m tired of being defined by what happened to me. It’s a choice, and I’m finally choosing right. It feels very free.
FIFTEEN
I don’t even know your last name.
I check my email the next morning out of habit, and am surprised to see that I have one from Scott.
From: Lonerguy279
To: Pinkstar737
Subject: Hi.
Dear Pinkstar737,
Can we still talk to each other on here?
Sincerely,
Lonerguy279
I hit reply.
From: Pinkstar737
To: Lonerguy279
Subject: RE: Hi.
Dear Lonerguy279,
I would like that.
You helped me get through some of the hardest times in my life. These emails, for a long time, were the only thing that made me be excited about waking up. YOU made me excited. It doesn’t change now that I know it was you.
Sincerely,
Pinkstar737
P.S. Can we stop sounding so formal? Also, can I stop signing it with my stupid screen name? Because I hate my screen name. What was 13-year-old me thinking?
I am relieved that Scott still wants to email me. I’m not ready to let go of that part of my life just yet.
My phone goes off, so I pull it out of my back pocket.
Cam: Want to get coffee?
Me: Is that even a real question? Because, YES. I always want coffee.
I shut my laptop just as there is a knock on my door.
Why does he always text me when he’s almost to my door?
I get up, putting my phone back in my pocket and open the door.
“You’re fast,” I tell him.
He grins. “Should I give you more of a warning?”
“Nah,” I say. “I like that you text me when you’re basically outside my door. It’s cute.”
“Cute?” he asks.
“Cute.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended that you’re calling me cute,” he says.
“I said your action is cute. Not that you specifically are cute,” I say, clarifying what I was saying.
“So I’m not cute?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe that leads into my room.
“I didn’t say that either,” I say, now smiling at him.
“Am I cute?” he asks.
“Are you fishing for compliments?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“Cam, you don’t need me to tell you that you’re hot. You already know that you are,” I say, putting on my favorite hoodie. I do not want to see what his reaction to that is. I walk towards the door and Cam walks out into the hallway. I lock the door behind me.
“So you think I’m hot?” Cam asks.
“Obviously,” I answer, walking ahead of him. “Along with every other female that has ever met you.”
“Right. I have a long line of girls that I’m getting coffee with after you,” Cam says. “If I die, it’s from caffeine overdose.”
I stop and turn to look at him. I know he’s joking, but the thought of him hanging out with another girl bugs me a little bit. “Am I keeping you from a date?”
He grins at me. “Trust me, Isla. There is nobody else in the whole world I’d rather be with right now than you.”
Stupid butterflies.
Stupid fluttering heart.
Stupid, stupid crush.
I haven't had a crush on a boy since I was sixteen years old. Back then, I had a crush on a lot of different guys. To be honest, I just wanted a boyfriend. I wasn't picky. But after… what happened… I have just been trying to get over what happened. I haven't even noticed a guy until I met Cam.
“I was kidding about there being other girls,” he says. “It was sarcasm, I promise.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I say as we walk out the front of my dorm building.
“I haven’t been out on a date since I was seventeen. And I was awkward then, so it doesn’t count,” he says.
“Why haven’t you been on a date in two years?”
“Long story,” he says, pacing beside me. “I promise it’s not that interesting.”
“Maybe I’m interested,” I say. “I told you all the horrible and gory details about me. It’s only fair you do the same.”
“I just wasn’t interested in dating,” he says.
I know what it’s like to deflect questions and give half answers so people will stop asking. And that is exactly what Camden is doing right now. So I will leave him alone, because I hate being pushed when I don’t want to talk. But I wonder what has happened to him. I know it’s something more than his crappy childhood when his dad and mom left. When he’s ready, he will tell me.
A few minutes later, we walk into the coffee shop to get our orders. The barista knows both mine and Cam’s orders before we even ask. Micah may think it’s weird that I order the same thing every time, but I’m glad to know that Cam does it too.
“My grandparents are coming into town again this weekend,” Cam says. “You and Scott should come and eat dinner with us. I know my grandparents would love it, and Giggi keeps asking if she can see you again.”
I laugh. “Funny. She hated me when we first met.”
“She was having a bad day.”
“I know. Just think it’s awesome how much things have changed,” I say, then take a drink of my latte. “I’ll talk to Scott. I’m sure he’d love to come.”
“You like having your stepbrother
here?” Cam asks.
“So much,” I say. “I didn’t realize how much I missed him over the past year and a half. I know he’s missed me too. It finally feels like after my life fell apart, it’s coming back together for the first time.”
“That’s good,” he says, smiling.
“More good than you realize,” I say. “Whenever everything first happened, I thought I would spend the rest of my life in a mental institution. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through.”
Camden’s eyes fill with tears. “I can’t imagine going through what you did.”
“The hardest part for me was living. I got to live while everybody else died,” I say. “And I sometimes wonder what the parents of the other kids think. They must wonder why I got to live when their child died. I used to wish that I hadn’t.”
“What about now?”
“I’m glad now,” I say. “But it’s taken a year and a half to feel this way. And lots of therapy. As much as I hate to admit it, my therapist was right. Getting out of Atlanta and coming here was exactly what I needed.”
“I'm sorry that it happened to you,” Cam says.
I shrug. “It's not your fault. It's Derek’s fault. He was a sick kid. Unfortunately, nobody saw it before it was too late.”
“Yeah,” he says, playing with the sleeve on his coffee cup.
“We don't have to talk about this,” I say, knowing this kind of stuff isn't easy for anybody to hear. I'm honestly just glad I can talk about it now. A few months ago, I was holding it all inside.
“I don't mind,” he says. “It's just… really hard to hear.”
“I understand,” I say. “I was thinking the other day that I literally know nothing about you. I mean, I feel like we've known each other forever, but I don't even know your last name.”
“M… Malloy,” he says, drawing out his M. “My last name is Malloy.”
“Where are you from? Like, where do you and your grandparents live?”
“Savannah,” he answers.
“Cool,” I say. “It's beautiful there.”
“Very,” he says.
An awkward silence falls between us, and I can't help but think that Cam doesn't like to talk about himself. Which I understand, but it also is weird considering he literally took me to meet his family the first time we ever hung out.
“I was wondering,” he says, finally looking up from his coffee. “My grandparents want Giggi and me to come home in a couple weeks for the weekend. Would you go with me?”
“Are you sure they want me to come?” I ask. “I mean, I don't want to intrude on your family time.”
“I'm sure they don't mind,” he says. “My family loves you. My grandparents specifically asked me to invite you.”
“Really?” I ask.
He nods.
Do him and his family really talk about me? It's just seems so strange. I mean, Camden and I are just friends. And even if we were… more… we just met about a month ago.
But then again, his family is kind of weird. The whole dinner that I had with them was really bizarre. So maybe this is normal for them. Either way, I want to go, because I do like them. And Cam. I really, really like Cam.
“Okay,” I say. “Sounds fun.”
He smiles at me, and I realize he could probably get me to agree to anything as long as he keeps smiling at me like that.
SIXTEEN
Something beautiful.
I don’t dread therapy that Monday afternoon. I get my coffee and walk into the session feeling confident. And for the first time, I actually feel like I’m getting better.
I take a seat across from Dr. Sanchez, taking a sip of my latte.
“Hey, Dr. Sanchez,” I say, smiling at her.
She narrows her eyes. “Are you actually… smiling?”
I laugh. “I know, right? Surprised me too.”
“I knew college would be good for you,” she says.
But she’s not smiling. In fact, she looks kind of serious.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We need to talk,” she says, sitting forward in her chair.
Uh, oh. Whatever this is, it isn’t good.
I set down my coffee on the table between us.
“Have you been to see Olivia yet?”
I flinch when I hear my best friend’s name. We don’t talk a lot about her because it’s too hard for me to. She’s laying in a hospital room in a coma while I am at college. If things were different, she’d most likely be here with me. UGA was always where she wanted to go to school too.
“No,” I answer.
She knows this.
Dr. Sanchez nods. “This isn’t going to be easy to hear, but they are taking Olivia off life support this week. On Friday.”
Friday.
Five more days.
“Why? How can they do that?”
“She’s eighteen years old,” Dr. Sanchez says. “And her family isn’t interested in keeping her on life support. They want to move on. To grieve.”
“Her dad doesn’t care about her!” I say, raising my voice. Not at Dr. Sanchez, but about the situation in general. I grip the arms of my chair hard. “He never has. Can’t my stepdad do something? Can’t he fund it or something?”
“Your stepfather has been funding Olivia’s medical costs since it first happened,” Dr. Sanchez says. “I thought you knew. But we can’t fight against her parent’s wishes. I only told you so you could go and say goodbye to her.”
Stanley has been paying for her medical costs all this time?
How did I not know?
I’ve treated my stepfather awfully. And I’ve never even had a reason to not like him. I just… haven’t. Hearing this makes me feel so guilty.
“I have to go home,” I tell Dr. Sanchez. “I have to go see her. And I have to apologize to Stanley.”
She nods. “I understand. Don’t go alone, though. Take Scott. Or one of your new friends.”
I start to stand up, but then turn to her again. “Hey, I just… thank you… for the pen pal thing. I found out this week that Scott was my pen pal. And honestly, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know, since the incident.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning at me.
“And I’m sorry I’ve been so rude to you.”
“Don’t apologize. You were in denial. And then you were pissed. It’s all part of the grieving process,” she says.
“What’s the next step?” I ask.
“Well, you’ve been through most of it. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression. The last step is acceptance. Once you accept it, things will get better. It’ll never be perfect. What happened changed you. But you can take something ugly and turn it into something beautiful.”
She’s right.
I know she is.
But I can’t think about that right now. Right now, I have to get to Atlanta. I have to go see Olivia. And I have to see Stanley. I have to apologize to him for the way I’ve treated him.
I pull out my phone and dial Scott’s number. It rings four times before he picks up.
“Hello,” he answers.
“Where are you?”
“You kind of interrupted me in class,” he says.
“I need to go to Atlanta. Will you come with me?”
“Yeah. Meet me at my dorm in thirty minutes,” he says.
“Okay, thanks,” I say.
“What’s wrong?”
Tears fill my eyes when he asks. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I hang up because I don’t want to tell him over the phone. This is something I need to tell him in person.
Olivia and Scott weren’t close, but they were definitely friends. We all were. And Scott lost all his friends that day too. And his girlfriend, who he was in love with. He might not have been there to see it, but he’s been through a lot too.
After that day, nobody at my school was ever the same. School was always a safe space. But that changed everything. I went ba
ck to school one day—the first day of my senior year. I left within thirty minutes and my mom had Stanley hire me a tutor. I couldn’t be in that place anymore.
I go back to my dorm and grab a few things that I know I will need. I have clothes and other stuff at the house, so I won’t need any of that. I also write a note for my roommate, letting her know that I’ll be gone.
Cam.
I should text him.
As I walk to Scott’s dorm, I send him a quick message so he won’t be worried.
ME: Hey. Scott and I have to go to Atlanta for a few days. See you when we get back!
He texts back immediately.
CAM: What’s wrong?
I don’t answer him because I can’t. Not right now. I’m still trying to process what’s happening myself. Instead, I keep walking until I end up in Scott’s room. He’s on the phone when I walk in, but he gets off when he sees me.
“She’s here, so I’ve got to go,” he says, hanging up his phone.
I don’t say anything. I just walk over to him. He wraps his arms around me and I start crying. Not just crying. I’m sobbing.
All my friends died that day in the school shooting, but when their funerals were going on, I was in a mental institution. I’ve never truly mourned any of their deaths. Olivia is about to be taken off life support. But really, she’s been dead for a while. And it feels like I’m not just mourning her, but all of my friends.
“What is wrong?” Scott asks me. “You’re scaring me.”
I pull back from him and wipe under my eyes. “Dr. Sanchez told me that they’re talking Olivia off life support. I have to go see her. I have to say goodbye.”
“Okay. We will go,” he says.
“I also have to talk to Stanley,” I say.
He looks at me, an eyebrow raised.
“I learned the only reason she’s lived this long is because your dad has been paying for her hospital bills,” I say. “I just need to apologize for how I’ve treated him and tell him thank you.”
The Day My Life Began Page 10