I imagine it never being easy to be the new person in any situation. I find it especially difficult, however, being the new high school senior, at a school in which everyone seems to know each other. I thought this town was small, but this school in comparison is practically microscopic. I would officially like to confirm the stereotypes made about private high school kids.
“They all dress the same, they’re robots!” My peers at Allen would claim.
Others would simply state that the private school attendees are rich kids who have had everything handed to them.
While I never paid much attention to these accusations before moving to Springfield, here I am, in the middle of the main hallway of Terrance, taking in the designer handbags and high-end jeans, realizing that these claims seem entirely accurate.
It didn’t take me more than mere minutes in this high ceilinged, window-covered building and a few strange looks from Springfield’s elite to tell me that I don’t fit in at Terrance Academy.
It wasn’t as though I cared to fit into this new school, anyway. I was here against my will, as my grandma found it unfit for me to attend anywhere other than the private school nearly 5 minutes away from her house. This was her old school, these bright green walkways were once her stomping grounds, something she takes much pride in. She couldn't wait for her only granddaughter to become a “badger” as well.
The conversation of my father telling me that I’d be enrolling at Terrance Academy went as smoothly as a tsunami.
“If you think I’m going to surround myself with a bunch of prissy, spoiled high schoolers, you’re dead wrong,” I told my father, pushing myself out of the chair at our apartment kitchen counter. “And not to mention the uniform. You will never catch me wearing a skirt to school.”
My dad let out a deep sigh, placing both hands on the counter. “This is not your choice to make, Josephine.” I had deemed my situation helpless the moment he used my full name.
“Don’t you care how I feel?! It’s bad enough that you’re forcing me to leave my school and my friends, now you’re sending me to a private school??”
I knew this wasn’t fair, that if he had it his way, we wouldn’t be evicted from our apartment.
Ultimately, however, my father and grandmother got their way, and I have since found myself in the impossibly clean, marble-floored entryway at Terrance.
There is a certain type of loneliness that comes when you are the new face in a crowd. Where, despite being surrounded by people, it seems impossible to relate or talk to any of them. By their senior year, almost everyone has themselves figured it. They know their friends, where they belong. They know their way around the halls, the classes that are a guaranteed breeze, and the teachers to avoid. I knew myself this well, too, once upon a time. I had a group of friends who made long school days a little less hellish. I had teachers that inspired me and enjoyed my presence. I knew who I could trust and whom not to bother interacting with. There was a system, and it was one that I knew like the back of my hand. Here, in the annoyingly perfect main building- and yes, there were multiple building at this school- of Terrance, I was extremely aware that I was the only one without a place.
I went through the mundane actions of getting my schedule, the official tour, and listened to my vice principal go on and on about how lovely my grandmother is.
“She does so much for our school, that Adeline. From donations, to hands-on service. She is a well respected member of the Terrance Academy family,” Vice Principal Johnson had told me that morning.
Connections to the Adeline Winters, however, were not enough to get me into prestigious school. Nor did my father, or grandmother for that matter, have the means to provide such an expensive education for me.
I could thank my grades for getting me into this school, which were submitted unbeknownst to me by my father to Terrance admissions. Apparently, my hard work paid off enough to land me a scholarship at the self proclaimed “most influential school in the county.”

There is a lingering feeling of discomfort that ensues as result of being introduced to a classroom full of people your age, who care less about meeting you than they do about today’s lesson. If I had it my way, I’d tell my teachers to skip the introductions, just let me find a seat in the back and everyone can go about their days. What's the point of meeting the people here, anyway, if my days at this school are numbered?
Instead, however, I am stood at the front of the classroom during all 5 periods, where the teacher introduces the new girl from Boston.
There is something notable about the people in this school. Part of me expected, and maybe even wanted, for the sheer sake of verifying the stereotypes I had known for years, that the students at private schools were arrogant and conceited. From the moment that my father handed me my Terrance Academy acceptance letter half a week ago- and yes, Terrance hands out acceptance letters as if this is a university as opposed to a highschool- I envisioned gaudy plaid uniforms, designer backpacks, and students who viewed themselves as superior to anyone not attending the school. I was almost spot on about just one of these things; the possessions of these people, ages ranging from fourteen to eighteen, appear to cost more than my father has in his bank account. Luckily, I was dead wrong about my two most feared predictions. For one, there are no uniforms. Principal Johnson noted early that morning, “here at Terrance Academy, we believe in self expression. This means no uniforms that may hinder a student’s wishes of expressing themselves through the appropriate use of style.” In other words, there are no set uniforms, but instead an obvious trend of wearing what is popular, resulting in a sea of people wearing all of the same high-end brands. Lastly, my predetermined assumptions on the personalities of these students were, as I am observing thus far, completely wrong. And when I say wrong, I mean I had assumed the exact opposite of what the real case. It didn’t take a full day of classes for me to see that everyone here was, in fact, really nice. The teachers here didn’t act as though they were dragged here against their will, as they tended to at Allen. The staff was helpful and courteous, doing their best to make my odd situation seem completely normal. “We are honored to have you join our Terrance family!” My counselor, Mrs. McIntyre, had said to me with a big smile upon Mr. Johnson introducing us.
The strangest part? I believed her.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, or the positive atmosphere of this school, but deep inside, something tells me that maybe Terrance isn’t so awful. God, if my friends at Allen heard me talking like that I would never be welcomed back.
With a lack of money, comes a lack of material items. I’ve never had a car of mine own, instead borrowing my dad’s whenever he doesn't need it. This means no driving to school for me.
Back at Allen, Kara would be my mode of transportation, if only for the purpose of not being embarrassed by being dropped off everyone morning by my dad with all of the freshman. 
“Listen, Grandma and I are heading into the city tomorrow. She wants me to meet some friends of hers, possible future employers,” dad tells me, turning onto the main road. “I’ll leave you the car and some money, you may be on your own for dinner.”
Most teenagers would be elated when presented with the opportunity to be home alone, with a car and money provided, on a Friday night. So many mischievous, dumb, teenager things that could ensue as a result. I, however, feel no particular way about this, because it’s not as though I have any friends in this new town that I can run around with. It’s just me.

Let me start of by saying, this was not how I planned on meeting people my age in this town, if at all. Nor did I plan on waking up late this morning, which jump started my chain reaction of horrible events to start this drizzling, cold Friday.
It began with me groggily hitting the snooze button, and ended with a dent the size of Texas on my father’s car.
I sat up out of bed, in that sudden, panicked way that results in an unhealthily speedy heartbeat. I brushed my frizzy hair out of my face with the back of my hand, pressing the home button on my phone once to reveal the time.
7:16, it read.
I jumped out of my bed without second thought, still disoriented from my sleep. How had I stopped my alarm, set for 6:30, without even remembering it? I was supposed to be on my way for school 6 minutes ago, and yet here I was, feeling like a lifeless zombie, completely unready to leave.
After finishing my morning routine in the bathroom, I went straight to my closet, where my large duffel bag was sitting on the floor there, still unpacked. I pulled out my favorite grey hoodie and a simple pair of black leggings, as I was in no state to be picking out an impressive outfit. I decided to skip makeup and the act of brushing out my hair completely. Instead, I headed downstairs, grabbed the nearest source of protein- which happened to be a banana- and went to the car, keys and bag in hand. It took me 7 minutes in total to get ready, which meant that the chance of me making the 7:30 starting bell was highly unlikely. Still, I thought I was capable of beating these odds.
If I just drove fast enough, and made no complete stops I could- BANG.
With my flowing thought process and lack of coffee, it was as though I was driving blind. I hadn’t even made it a couple of feet away from my house, and I had already ruined my life, or so it seemed at the time.
I put the car in park, tears already rimming my eyes and heart beating incredibly fast. No, no, no, this can’t be happening, I thought to myself. I had practically just written my own death sentence. As I got out of the car, to check the damage, a person emerged from the silver Jeep that fell victim to my distracted driving.
“Are you okay?”
I had just hit this person’s- who I am now seeing is a boy who looks to be my age- parked car, and he’s asking if I’m okay? I step out around to see the right side of my car, where the front of my car hit the bumper of his.
“I.. am so sorry,” I told him, suddenly out of breath.
He took a moment to observe the damage as well. To my luck, there was no visible scars  done to him. I, however, was faced with a massive dent, clear as day.
“You nipped me pretty good,” he said, leaning down to touch my newly formed dent. “Looks like your car took the brunt of it.” He stood back up straight and put his hands in his pockets.
“I was rushing because I was going to be late..” I started, then looked down at my phone.   7:31. “I mean I am late, and I was adjusting the mirrors and-”
“-it happens. We’ve all been there at some point. I don’t think I have to report it, it’ll just add unnecessary stress.”
I let out an audible sigh of relief.
“You must be Addy’s granddaughter? I live right here,” the kid said to me, pointing at the small, light blue house behind him. “She told me that you’d be moving in a few days ago.”
“Uh, yeah, I am. I’m Josie,” I said.
“Emmett. I’ve known Addy forever. Aside from being my next door neighbor she’s also my grandma’s best friend,” Emmett explained.
I nodded my head, not entirely sure what to say to this. Addy had yet to mention her friend or this neighbor boy to me.
“Well, I’m headed to Terrance. Got a late start, myself. What about you?”
I found it interesting that he was in no rush, proper “cool guy” style. He was completely calm, despite the fact that first hour had started well over ten minutes ago at this point.
“Same with me, Terrance.”
“No way! We’ll I suppose we should both be on our way, huh? I’ll see you around, Josie,” Emmett said, now fishing for his keys in his back pocket.
After apologising multiple times about the crash, we headed to school, going the same way but in separate cars.
I continued to think about Emmett’s calm disposition, and his charmingly nice personality, on my drive to school, and during the second half of first hour that I managed to make. The boys at Adams weren’t like this, not even close. If I had hit any of their cars, despite them not being nearly as nice as Emmett’s Jeep, I would myself being the center of their insults and ridicules. Emmett was so easy going about it, almost as if it barely fazed him at all. The people in Boston generally, I’ve noticed, aren’t anywhere near as generous and kind as the people in this small town.
My thoughts are interrupted by the loud ringing of the bell, signaling the end of one hour and warning students of the beginning of the next. To me, this bell brings me one hour closer to the moment I have to show my dad the dent I put into his car just this morning.

The dent was huge. The fight that ensued with my father after school, where I confessed my early-morning mistakes? Catastrophic.
“Are you kidding me? How can you be so irresponsible, Josephine?!?”
I put my head down, looking at my sweaty hands laying in my lap. My face burns with embarrassment as dad paces back and forth across from my seat at grandma’s kitchen table. Grandma Adeline is nowhere to be seen, deciding to leave my father and I to our problems as soon as his voice began to rise. And rise, it did. He can really scream, it’s actually rather impressive. His voice booms over the first story of the house, forcing every other noise to freeze and fall away at his wake, until he voice is the only sound that can be heard.
“For someone so smart, you are quite dumb! I can’t believe you!”
When dad was angry, there was no shortage of quick, hard hitting insults. This last one cuts deep.
“I’m sorry,” I say in a quite, lame voice. I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with my father as if he is medosa.
“Sorry?” Dad chuckles sinisterly. “I trusted you with that car, Josephine. Our only goddamn car. I can’t afford to even think about fixing that dent on the hood. Not to mention paying for the other person’s damage!”
The conversation, mostly one-sided, carried one for a few more minutes. I explained that Emmett’s car made it out scot-free, that he doesn’t want to report the damage, nor does he want money. I thought back to Emmett’s unruffled composure, how my rear-ending him and the fact that he was already significantly late to first hour had not affected him, or so it seemed. I wished, in this moment, my father was more like Emmett.
In the end, I didn’t receive the repercussions that a normal teenager might, given the situation, I was not grounded or stripped away from being an active member of society, because I have no reasons to leave the house anyway. With no friends and limited electronic availability, punishments are limited.
“You know…” I look up to see my grandma peek her head around the corner, taking the silence that has fallen between my father and I as an opportunity to intervene. “That Emmett is your age. Nice boy, too,” she says, with an all-knowing wink.
I roll my eyes playfully, giving her a soft smile.
I had no way of knowing, in that moment, or the days and weeks following it, just how greatly Emmett would affect my life. It seemed, at least inside the tiny borders of this town, that the people living here had a funny way of changing everything I used to believe as the truth, and bringing out sides of me that had been kept away for so long.

Do you remember how you made your first friend? Can you recall the first conversations, at the ripe age of 5, or somewhere near that number, that you had with the very first person in which you confided all your secrets and shared all your laughs? For me, as a crooked-toothed, short hair kindergartener, friendship was as simple as splitting a PB&J sandwich with the girl who forgot her lunch on that first day. The connection was instant and effortless. When you’re young, there are no assumptions. Having faced little to no aversions, the thoughts and actions of a five year old are passed judgement-free. I had no idea, sitting there, the seat of the wooden bench feeling warm against my exposed skin not covered by my shorts, that Kara Abrams would play a key role in my life. There was no way for me to predict that I would share every part of my being with this girl, that we would become as close as sisters, and that leaving her would be one of the hardest events in my life.
During my first visit with Kara following my move, it was apparent that everything, at least between the two of us, was exactly how we had left it. Although we had spent nearly a month apart, keeping close contact via long, detailed emails, we remained the same dynamic-duo that we have always been.
“Tell me everything. Like, literally, everything,” Kara began, no introduction needed, as I opened my grandma’s front door to her smiling face.
“Hello to you too!” I chuckled, pulling my best friend into a hug.
“I missed you so much. So, so much. School sucks without you,” she said, coming into the house.
I took a few minutes to show her around the house, which, at the time, was empty, as grandma had taken dad into town for some food.
After the quick tour, we sat on the couch, snacks in a messy array in front of us, and chick-flicks on the tv.
“He drives me to school and back, Grandma pays for his gas,” I tell Kara, deep in discussion about the new people in my life.
“So basically you have a super hot chauffeur who’s single and, well, hot?!” Kara says, excitingly.
At this point, she had yet to meet him, so the word “hot” was being used lightly. However, I had mentioned in an earlier email that Emmett was maybe a little bit attractive.
Nothing was going on between us, I can assure you that. We were friends, and as time moved on, close ones. He had graciously agreed to be my mode of transportation to school, an idea that grandma deemed perfect. At first, these carrides were slightly uncomfortable. We made light conversations but I tried to mostly keep to myself. Emmett, however, could make a turtle come out of its shell. Maybe it was his cool, calm composure, or his special sense of humor, but somehow I have found myself opening up to this guy. He was nice, and I mean really nice. There was nothing fake or forced about him. He treated the people in his life like gold and was the prime definition of chivalrous.
“Oh stop,” I say to Kara, playfully nudging her arm with mine. “We’re friends.”
Outside of our carpool deal, Emmett and I have hung out a couple of times. Our grandmas, fond of the idea of us falling madly in love, have sent us on multiple errands together. Kathleen, Emmett’s lovely grandmother, would come over for a “wine night” with Adeline, and suddenly the two of them would need more snacks. Somehow, this would result in Emmett and I in the dimly lit grocery store near our houses, joking around in the aisles and buying our personal favorite treats. When we saw each other at school, or outside our houses, we would always talk. Conversation with Emmett was easy.
Although we had been spending more time together, we never got around to anything too personal. If it hadn’t been for my grandma, I would be completely oblivious to Emmett’s life at home.
“His mother was a beautiful woman. I’ve never seen Kathleen as broken as she was when her daughter, Caroline, fell ill. She battled cancer for years following Emmett’s birth, but would only see him grow up to the age of 6. Kath says Emmett hardly remembers her at all,” my grandma told me one night, after I questioned why Emmett, like me, was living with his grandmother.
“And… his dad?” I reluctantly questioned.
“Oh, James. He was always no good for Caroline. Kathleen warned her many times to not get too involved with this man, but Caroline loved him. They never married, and Emmett was a shocking surprise to them both. James tried to sober up for the two of them, but he was a loyal drug user,” Grandma said.
I make a face, showing my sympathy for Emmett’s situation.
“He’s in jail, now. Drug possession and robbery. Emmett hasn’t seen him since he was 13,” she finished.
“Does Emmett ever talk about him?”
Grandma takes a minute before answering, considering this question.
“Emmett is very cold about his father, and rightfully so. James would abuse drugs and, as a result, was emotionally hard on his son. Emmett loved getting out of the house and visiting Kathleen. I haven’t heard him talk about his father in a long, long time.”
My gut instantly felt heavy. How could someone who seemingly had it all together come from such a dark past?
I laid in bed that night, awake far later than I should have been, letting my mind wonder about Emmett. From the outside looking in, I would have never guessed that Emmett has had horrible tragedies in his life. I wondered if he, too, was curious about my life. We’ve never discussed my mother, or why I am also living with my grandma. Honestly, I’m not sure if I could answer questions regarding my mother without being standoffish and defensive.
It’s been years since I last saw my mother. 3 years, 6 months, and 4 days, to be exact. But who’s counting?
My mother, April, was- and probably still is, not that I would know- the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She had long blonde hair that never seemed to need dye, a smile handcrafted by God himself, and the most infectious laugh. As a child, I watched her in awe. As her only child, she spoiled me rotten, against my father’s wishes.
We would spend so much time together, growing a bond strong enough to withstand even the darkest storms. Or so I had once believed.
I thought she could do no wrong- until she did.
I can recall the divorce like it just happened yesterday. I was just about to turn 14 and up until that point, I believed my parents had the perfect marriage. Sure, they would fight. But what couple doesn’t fight? It seemed to me, as an eighth grader, that my parents went from holding hands and sneaking kisses when they thought I wouldn’t see, to a brutal divorce. To my understanding, the divorce was not mutual in the slightest. How could it be, when one party cheated on the other?
I was introduced to Kevin Dailey when I was 12 years old. I never thought much of him; he was simply the car dealer who sold my parents a new vehicle. Looking back, however, he became mighty comfortable with our family for being just a “car dealer.” He showed up in my life a few times here and there. Following the purchase of the brand new Jeep Liberty, Kevin was invited to neighborhood barbecues hosted at our house, even though he lived nearly 20 minutes from us. If there was a problem with a car that needed fixing, we’d call Kevin. Need someone to drive us to the airport? Call Kevin. It didn’t phase me at the time, the way he would pop up in my life occasionally. We didn’t have much family in our area and the vastness of our neighborhood made for hardly any nearby friendships. Kevin was a nice guy, helpful and cheery. What I didn’t know and what my father would soon find out, however, is that Kevin was incredibly close with my mother.
I was never given the details of the cheating scandal, and, quite frankly, I’m thankful for that. I was aware, however, of the massive destruction that it caused. My father was heartbroken. It tore him apart in ways I can’t even describe. Upon Kevin and my mother being caught, divorce papers were signed and sent, and suddenly my mother was out of my life.
My parents promised me that the split would not change a thing. Funny enough, it changed everything. My mother moved to upper state Massachusetts and would eventually marry Kevin. Unable to afford our decent sized home, my father and I moved to a small apartment with little amenities. The mother I once looked at as queen was now nothing to me. I couldn’t understand how my mother was able to strip my father of his happiness and me of the only life I had ever known.
At first, she would call me most nights, telling me how much she missed me. The animosity I felt towards her only grew stronger with the distance, however, and soon enough I stopped replying. Although I told myself that the disconnect was necessary, I still feel hurt at her lack of effort. We spent 14 years of my life practically attached at the hip, and now the best she can do are some losey phone calls? She didn’t try to see me. She took my appropriately hurt feelings as her cue to step out of my life completely. Since then, I have had no contact with her at all.
***
Saying goodbye to Kara the second time around strung just as badly as the first.
“I’ll come visit again, soon. Or.. you can stay with me in Boston! Oh that’d be so fun!” Kara said, as I walk her to her car. That was Kara for you: making new plans before the old ones had officially ended. 
“I’ll see you soon, Kar, I promise,” I assure her, reaching her car.
“Keep me updated on Emmett! I want to know everything,” Kara exclaims, waving her hands around.
“You keeping tabs on me, Jos?”
The voice startles us both and my face instantly gets hot. I turn slowly to see Emmett, now very close to us, on his own driveway.
Kara shoots me an apologetic look for speaking so loudly.
“I.. uhh,” I stutter to find an excuse as to why we were talking about him. Before I can even get a word out, however, Emmett is already en route towards us.
“Hi, I’m Emmett,” He says, sticking a hand out to shake Kara’s.
They introduce each other, fanning away the awkwardness that had ensued.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Kara,” Emmett tells her, causing Kara to blush sheepishly. “Hey, Jos, I’m heading out to get Grandma some cookies. Their favorite show is on tonight, you know. Care to join me?”
Kara smiles at this, as if she is watching a movie play out in front of her.
It is true, Kathleen and Addy have their show on tonight. Kath is hosting the two of them, and, of course, snacks are mandatory.
“Sure,” I tell him, “if only to make sure you don’t buy those awful raisin onces again.”
Emmett chuckles at this. “I’ll have you know, Raisin Delights are incredible. A crowd favorite.”
And just like that, Kara is gone again and Emmett is here. Another adventure with my new friend begins.

It has officially been 3 months since I moved to Springfield and was enrolled into Terrance Academy.
In these three months, which have felt shorter than I can even explain, I have learned a lot about myself.
First, living with my grandmother has been more rewarding than I would have originally believed. With grandma, comes the perk of me getting more spoiled than my father would have pleased. She loves spending time with me, and the more I am around her, the more I really enjoy her presence. Living here is also easier when there’s a nice boy next door who makes everything better. Emmett and I have become closer during these months. Who would’ve thought that a car crash could lead to such genuine friendship? I haven’t made a friendship to fill the void I feel without Kara, but I’m beginning to believe that that is okay. True friendship remains unfettered by distance or change.
Speaking of change, my father has been progressing on his hunt for a job. He has been working two jobs for the past month and a half. During the day, he is working as an editor assistant at a publishing company that is located thirty minutes away from the house. The distance is not ideal and the payment isn’t spectacular, but the job is great for his resume. In order to keep the income of money steady, he has taken up another job closer to home. Four nights a week, dad is doing janitor work at a large business building during the evenings. Sure, being a janitor is not ideal, but he promises he doesn’t mind.
“You wouldn’t believe all the cool things I find while cleaning up after rich businessmen!” Dad told me one night in an attempt to assure me that he is not completely miserable.
We’re nowhere near ready or able to live on our own again, but I am truly proud of my father’s stamina and determination.
***
The day started off as any other.
I woke up, hit the snooze button, and eventually woke up again. Grandma had my breakfast made and dad was already on his way to work. I got myself ready for the day, rushed as usual, until I hear Emmett’s car pull up on the driveway.
I wish I could say that I sensed something was going to go wrong today. I have always been fascinated by people who had a seemingly sixth sense and could detect a complication when it was nearby. I wish, even now, as I am sitting in my room, the door locked behind me, that I wasn’t blindsided by today’s events. But, I was.
School that day dragged on painfully slow, my only relief being lunch. The drive home with Emmett was done as usual: with lots of conversations and a stop at the local bakery for some donuts. It was when I got home, when we pulled up to my grandma’s modest home, seeing a huge black Escalade in the driveway, when things took a dramatic turn.
The thing is, I didn’t recognize the car as my mother’s. During the time when I knew her, and I mean really knew her, she was never one for flashy or expensive cars. Entering the house after saying goodbye to Emmett, I assumed that the car must belong to one of grandma’s friends. Walking into the house, however, to see my grandma and my mother, who was now clad in bangs and a pant suit, at the kitchen table turned my world upside down.
“Josie, honey..” My grandma said, being the first one to speak as she saw me enter the front door.
My mother looked up at me. In that moment, before it all hit me, I noticed how much she looked like me. The last time we were in the same room, I was a gawky preteen who was still growing into her body. Now, there was no mistaking the fact that we were related. I was almost an exact replica of her.
“Josephine,” my mother speaks next. I stood there, one hand on the strap of my backpack, staring at the two.
“W-what… what are you doing here?” This was the only thing I could think to say.
My mother got out of her chair, putting a hand over her mouth and rushing towards me, as if she was shocked to see me. As if she wasn’t the one who hunted me down, who is interrupting my life.
She came closer, coming in to hug me. I put a hand out stopping her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I say in a tone that is less than polite.
“Josephine!” My grandma scolds me.
The only emotion I feel is anger. Sheer anger. Need I remind this woman that she walked out on me? That she gave up trying to communicate with me, even though I was clearly hurting? I’m all for second chances, but handing those out is easier said than done. I can’t imagine how anyone would think her behavior is okay or deserving of remorse.
“I wanted to see you. I’ve.. been wanting to see you. Oh, honey, you’re so beautiful,” My mother says, looking at me as if I’m a newborn baby.
I take a step back, feeling the tears that are bound to fall sting my eyes.
“You have to leave. Get out of here… get out!” I tell her, looking at her and then at my grandma, begging her to do something about this.
“Josie, I think we all need to talk. Come sit down, darling,” my grandma says, in her most comforting tone.
It took them awhile to reason with me, to get me to sit down with them and listen.
I surprised myself at my ability to hold the tears back. I refused to let this woman see me in a moment of weakness.
I wanted more than anything to be back in Emmett’s car. To be driving, our windows down and the radio playing a new hit song, and talking about anything and everything. I wanted to be anywhere but here, somewhere far, far away.
But the sad reality was that I was sitting there, facing the person who I had convinced myself to loathe, listening to her speak. Me, the person who has done nothing wrong in this entire situation, was hearing her out. It seemed all too ironic.
I didn't want to believe what she was saying. I wanted the monster image of her that I’ve created in my head to hold true. I did not want to be proved wrong.
It became blatantly obvious, however, as my mother talked through her tears and voice cracks, that she wasn’t lying.
She told me that she had been trying to contact me for years. She explained how she had planned to visit me, to stay in my life. These efforts, though, were made impossible by my father. She claims that he made contact with me impossible. He blocked her number on every phone in our possession. He didn’t tell her that we moved to an apartment. She claims this is why my father moved himself and I to an apartment: in order to be untraceable to her. Obviously, she had no idea that we moved to live with his father, which sparked a question in my mind.
“How.. how did you find me?” I asked, confused and, oddly, dizzy.
She had no way to contact my grandma at first. She was never given her number. After reaching out to enough mutual people, she was able to track down my grandma and, subsequently, me.