It's then that I realize what Cam just said.
Derek Miller is his brother.
The same Derek Miller who killed all my friends and then turned the gun on himself.
It's then that things begin to click in my head… the familiar blue color of his eyes when we first met. The way he reacted when I talked about Derek Miller. The way his family was when they met me… they knew exactly who I was.
Isla McAdams.
The one survivor.
Friend of the shooter.
The girl who lived when other people in the group were more deserving.
“Isla.”
I can hear somebody saying my name, but it's muffled. The ringing sound is so loud that it's almost deafening. It's then that everything begins to fade away. And for a split second, all I feel is hope. Hope for a chance to make something beautiful out of something ugly.
And then there is nothing.
TWENTY-ONE
Stupid pink car.
There are moments in life when you can look back and say—that day changed my life. For some people, it’s good days that change their life—graduating high school, starting college, getting married. For other, it’s horrible tragedies.
Me, I didn’t have a high school graduation. I was homeschooled for my senior year and refused to walk with my class. I knew what people would say if I walked with them.
There is Isla.
The only survivor.
They would speculate on how I was doing. They’d say I looked good… maybe even happy. Or maybe they’d talk about how pale I am and how much weight I’ve lost. Maybe they’d talk about how I’m depressed.
So, I had them mail my diploma to me. The day that I should’ve been walking with my class, I spend that time at home, eating pizza and watching reality TV.
The day that Derek Miller shot and killed all of my friends in front of me changed my life. I truly thought that day that I was going to die. And I have never admitted this to anybody before, but when Derek turned the gun on himself, I felt relief. Relief because I wasn’t ready to die. I hadn’t even gotten to live yet. And I knew that since he was dead, he couldn’t hurt me.
It’s weird, when somebody you trust does something to betray that trust. And it wasn’t like I invited him to go somewhere and he ditched me. It wasn’t that kind of betrayal. It was him murdering all of my friends. Before that day, if you asked me, I would’ve said that I trusted him with my life.
I watched the news reports. I read the articles. I saw everything my classmates said about Derek Miller.
Quiet kid.
He was bullied.
He was always kind of weird.
But me, I didn’t see that. I saw a friend. A true friend. And never in a million years would I have ever thought he was capable of something so cruel.
It has been two weeks since I’ve talked to Camden.
Camden Miller.
It’s weird. I didn’t know his last name for the longest time and it just didn’t matter. He was my best friend—Cam. It was something that I would forget to even ask when we were together.
I should have known that Cam was Derek’s brother. The two of them, they look so much alike. They have the same color of blue eyes. The same killer smile. They even laugh the same. And yet, I didn’t connect the dots. I was comfortable around Camden.
I woke up in the hospital in Savannah, Georgia two weeks ago. Cam’s sister, Giggi, was there. So were his grandparents. But Camden wasn’t there. And I get it. He was scared. I was too. And I did need some time to process everything. But now, I just miss him.
I miss my best friend.
I miss our carefree talks.
I’ve tried calling him, but he won’t answer. I’ve tried showing up at his dorm, but he’s not there. I don’t think he’s even on campus. I just want to tell him that I don’t blame him for what his brother did. I want to tell him that it doesn’t matter. But I can’t even do that.
Maybe he thinks I hate him. Or maybe he wants me to hate him. I don’t know what’s going through his head. But I do know he’s one of the only people on the planet that can relate to how I feel, and I’d like to talk to him.
It’s Friday today and Scott and I are going home for the weekend. Mom called and said she has some sort of special dinner planned. Whatever it is, I just hope it’s not vegan food. But she insisted we come home and so, we are.
“How are you?” Scott asks, once we are in his car.
His dad got him a new car. Of course. It’s really nice. And also, not pink, so I’m jealous.
“I’m okay,” I answer.
Micah, Scott and Zoey have all been hanging out with me, trying to cheer me up because of the whole Camden abandoning me thing. Scott was really mad when he heard about it, but oddly, I’m not. I just miss him and wish more than anything that he’d call me and let me know he’s okay. I want to hear his voice.
“Has Camden called you or anything?” he asks.
“No,” I answer, sighing. “I wish he would. I just… hate the way I reacted to what he told me. I wish I could go back to that moment and…”
“Not pass out because you heard some life changing news regarding the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” he finishes.
“Yeah… kind of.”
“You couldn’t control that,” Scott says. “You reacted normally. Even Dr. Sanchez said so.”
Dr. Sanchez says that sometimes things happen that we can’t process, so our bodies will literally shut down. Obviously, Camden dropped a bombshell and I was shocked. But I wish I hadn’t reacted that way. I want to take it back. I want to just tell Camden that it’s okay. I still want to be his friend. It doesn’t matter who his brother is.
“I just miss him,” I say.
“You realize that is crazy, right?” Scott asks. “After what his brother did to you, how can you even stand to look at him?”
“It was his brother, not him,” I say. “What happened was out of his control.”
“Still…”
“Cam is my friend—the best friend I’ve ever had, besides you,” I say. “But you have to love me because you’re family.”
Scott grins. “I do love you. Which is why I don’t like this whole situation. I want to protect you from it. You’re my little sister.”
“Scott, you’re barely older,” I say.
“I’m older enough that it counts,” he says. “And even if I was younger, I would want to protect you. You’re my sister in all the ways that count, okay? You’re more of a family than anybody I am biologically related to. If it wasn’t for you… I wouldn’t have made it through the last two years.”
“Me either,” I say, looking down at my hands. My eyes are filling with tears and I’m trying not to cry. “Just the hope of you and me talking again and being a family… it was enough to keep going. And you… loner guy… what would I have done without those emails? They were what got me out of bed every single day. They made me excited about something again.”
“I’m glad I could help you, even when I was in such a dark place,” he says.
“We were both in a dark place,” I say. “And as much as we hate what happened, that has changed us both. It’s made us stronger. I feel closer to you than ever. So even though we both did some things that we’re not proud of, I wouldn’t take it back.”
“I might take some of it back,” he says.
I look up at him and see that he’s smiling.
“I really miss my Mustang.”
I laugh, because that was a nice car. “Maybe I should’ve forced you to drive my car. I was so jealous. You’d get a new car every six months and I was stuck with my stupid, pink car.”
“I told you that you would regret getting a pink car,” he says.
True, he did tell me that. And I remember wondering how I could ever regret it. Oh, if only I could relive the day I told Mom and Stanley that I wanted a pink car for my sixteenth birthday.
“Words can’t even accurately describe how m
uch I loathe the color pink now,” I say.
“Why do you hate it?” Scott asks. “You’ve never told me.”
I expect to panic. I always panic when somebody asks me this question. And I am honestly surprised when I don’t freak out. My heart doesn’t even spike or anything.
“That day…” I clear my throat. “I was wearing that one pink dress—the one you said made me look like a fairy princess. You used to make fun of me, but it was my favorite. And the dress was covered in blood…” And other things… I clear my throat again. “When I see the color pink, my mind goes back to that moment. I guess it’s like a trigger or whatever.”
“Why haven’t you told your mom and my dad?” Scott asks. “They wouldn’t have made you drive the car if they had known.”
“I know. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit it out loud. I have a hard time talking about what happened. And I’ve never fully told anybody everything that happened. Mainly because I don’t want to relive the moment. I mean, just thinking about it still scares me.”
“I understand,” he says. “But I’ll talk to Dad. I’ll make him get you a new car.”
I smile at him. “I do hate that stupid car.”
He laughs. “Now you just have to admit that I was right.”
“Right about what?”
“That’d you’d regret getting a pink car.”
I laugh. “You were right, I was wrong, all hail Scott Jacobson, Mr. Know It All.”
He grins. “Make fun all you want, but regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that I was right and you were wrong.”
He is right though.
Stupid pink car.
TWENTY-TWO
Okay.
When Scott and I walk into the house that afternoon, I immediately know that something is wrong. First, because my mom doesn’t have any music playing. She is always listening to some annoying song through the speakers that drives us all crazy. And two, because the chef is cooking carbs. Lots and lots of carbs.
My mother hates carbs.
And I also note that it’s not vegan.
“Who died?” Scott asks when we walk into the dining room to eat.
I laugh, because seriously, we’re having CARBS. We haven’t had spaghetti since my mom accidentally ran over Scott’s dog when we were thirteen.
I miss that dog.
However, neither Mom nor Stanley laugh, making me feel sick to my stomach. I quickly take a seat.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
And that is when my mom bursts into tears. And not her usual, I’m being an overly dramatic thirteen-year-old cry. No. It’s a full on cry. The kind of cry that I haven’t seen since my grandmother’s funeral when I was nine. It was the first and last time I had ever seen my mom truly upset—until now.
Scott sits down beside me, obviously realizing the same thing as me. Whatever this is, it can't be good.
“Today, we got a call from the police,” Stanley says. He seems oddly calm, but cautious. Kind of how he was the day he and Mom came to the school after the shooting, which frightens me even more. “They were doing construction in the old neighborhood that you grew up in… tearing down houses and leveling some land…”
It's been needing to be done for a while. That neighborhood isn't the greatest.
“They found a body,” Stanley says, taking a deep breath. “Isla, it was your dad.”
“My dad?”
I haven't seen him in so long. And I guess in the back of my mind I thought there was a possibility he could be dead. But I always imagined him living a new life. Maybe with a new family, even. I always wondered if I had some half siblings out there that I didn't know anything about.
“He's been dead for eight years,” Stanley says.
Eight years?
“Wait,” I say, doing the math in my head. “My dad… he didn't leave?”
“No. We don't know a lot of details, but they found his body only a few blocks away from your old house,” Stanley says.
It takes a few minutes for the information to really sink in.
“So he never abandoned me?” I ask.
“It doesn't look like that was the case,” Stanley says. “We don't know every detail yet, but I promise I will let you know when I can.”
I nod. “Is there going to be a funeral?”
“Of course,” Stanley says. “We are hoping to have a graveside service next week.”
“Okay. I want to be there. I want… to say goodbye.”
“Whatever you want is fine,” Stanley says. “I'm really sorry, Isla.”
I stand up from the table. “I'm not really that hungry. I just… I'm going to go to my room for a bit.”
I go up the stairs, feeling a bit numb as I go. As soon as I shut my door, I sit down on my floor. I don't know why, but I just feel… so free.
Since I was little, I thought my dad had abandoned me. I thought he didn't love me. But that isn't the case. He didn't leave. He died. And I don't know exactly what happened, but somehow knowing that he's dead is better than thinking he had abandoned me.
My dad was never a perfect man. I know that. Him and my mom had their problems. But I know he loved me in the way that he could.
I pull out my phone to call Cam because I need to talk to him… to tell him everything that's going on. But then I remember he won't answer. Still, I call, just to see. My call goes straight to voicemail.
The door to my room opens and I look up and see Scott walk in. He doesn't say a word. He just sits down beside me and pulls me in for a hug.
“I'm really sorry, Isla,” he says.
“It's okay,” I tell him. “I'm okay. Really. I mean, I know this sounds bad, but it's almost a relief. I've spent most of my life thinking that he hated me, but he didn't. I'm sad I didn't get more time with him, but I'll be okay.”
“I'm proud of you,” Scott says. “You've grown so much.”
I smile, because I like that Scott is proud of me. It makes me feel good. I have grown a lot over the past few months and I like the person I am becoming.
“You’ve grown too,” I say.
“I feel like I’ve been asleep for a long time and I just woke up one day and realized what I was doing,” he says. “I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time sulking.”
“You weren’t sulking. You were mourning. There is a big difference.”
“Dr. Sanchez said that to me,” Scott says, then laughs. “I didn’t believe her, but I think I’m starting to. Maybe. But it still doesn’t excuse the way I acted. I was a complete jerk to you and you didn’t deserve that. What I went through doesn’t even begin to compare to what you went through.”
“Don’t compare,” I say. “We both went through horrible things. I thank God every single day that you weren’t there in that room when Derek Miller started shooting people. What if he had shot you too?”
“But what if I could’ve done something?” Scott asks. “What if I could’ve stopped him?”
“You couldn’t have,” I say, turning to face him. “There were four football players in that room, including the quarterback. They couldn’t do anything because it happened so fast. Derek knew what he was doing. He was a good shot and he didn’t stop pulling the trigger until each person was on the ground. He only stopped to say something to me before he turned the gun on himself. I truly thought I would be next. But my time never came.”
“That day… when I was told the news… I was so relieved when I heard that you were okay,” Scott says. “I know that makes me sound so selfish, but I was glad you were the one to live.”
“What about Kelsey?” I ask.
“I miss her,” Scott says. “But she wasn’t… nice. I mean, she was to me and you and all our friends. But she was awful to Derek Miller. She didn’t deserve death, obviously. None of those kids did. But she was kind of a bully to a lot of kids who she deemed not cool.”
“I wonder if those kids would’ve been my friend if it weren’t for the fact that you were my stepbrother,” I s
ay.
“That’s funny, because I always wondered if they would be my friends if you weren’t my stepsister,” he says, smiling at me. “You were always the cool one, Isla.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. “I just went along for the ride with you. I was always nagging at them, telling them they should be nicer to people. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have put up with that if you weren’t their friend.”
“Well, I guess we both just remember differently then.”
There is a moment of silence and I can’t help but think about how much we have grown. Even a few months ago, there would be no way that we could talk about this kind of stuff. We can now.
“Maybe we should go eat,” I say. “I’m kind of hungry and I doubt we are ever going to see carbs in this house again.”
“Let’s go,” he says, standing up. He holds out a hand to help me up, which I accept.
Scott and me… we’re going to be okay.
TWENTY-THREE
I am going to live.
Nobody wants to go to two funerals in less than a month, yet here I am. But today, I am not saying goodbye to all of my friends like I did at Olivia’s funeral. Today, I am saying goodbye to my dad.
I have spent many years hating this man for abandoning me. And I do feel guilty for that, but I’m not overwhelmed by it. I can forgive myself because I truly thought he had left without a word. Knowing that he was murdered… well, it actually helps me feel better. My dad didn’t leave because he hated me. Just knowing that brings me such peace.
Micah, Marissa and Zoey came with Scott and me to Atlanta for the funeral. I know it’s weird for them to be at a funeral for somebody they don’t know, but I appreciate them coming. I needed the support.
I’ve talked to Dr. Sanchez a lot this week. She gave me a two hour long session so we could talk about my dad. I cried during our session, which isn’t something I’ve ever done. But I felt so much better afterwards. And I feel better now. Even though I am looking at a casket that is holding my father’s remains… I’m okay. I’m really okay.
The Day My Life Began Page 13