This story was for an ELA project I had to do this past school year. I was reading "Speak" while I had this assignment. It is inspired by "Speak", but it has none of the characters. Really, it is the main theme that links this story with Speak. I love reviews that tell me what I need to do better. Thanks for reading!
September 4th
My Dad had once said, "Life isn't fair, but you have to make the best of it." He's right. Life definitely isn't fair.
Hearing my Dad's words in my head made my breathing catch. My Dad was one of my favorite people. He loved animals, and was a big wildlife supporter. He and my (ex) friend Caty's Dad had lobbied animal protection laws ever since I could remember. They got several laws passed, including one adding 45 animals to the list that prohibits the sale of the animal's fur, bones, etc. in the state. Every year he would go to a foreign country to spread the message of Endangered Animal awareness. Last spring, in eighth grade, he told me I could go with him on that summer's trip to Venezuela. My Dad's love of animals had been transferred to me since I was in diapers and I was elated for my fist conservation trip with my Dad.
Several weeks later, my Dad was hit by a drunk driver on his way home from work. He was a police officer. He always told me whenever I went to a party, "call the police if you are in trouble and I'll be there to help you."
He and the drunk guy were both killed on contact. My world was crushed. My Dad was one of my best friends. I can't say I'm over his death now, but I don't burst into tears whenever I think about him anymore. It does make my heart ache, though. I tried to put that out of my head. I had a bigger issue to deal with on my first day of high school.
I was absolutely dreading my first day of school, as much this morning as I have been since that one day in July. Everything already seemed to be going wrong. My straightener burnt out when I was halfway done with my hair, leaving me to put it up in a messy ponytail. Then Noah, my twin brother, knocked over his full glass of milk on the table all over my new shorts. So I had to wear my second favorite pair, which did not look nearly as good with my outfit as the other shorts.
I had seriously spent about an hour yesterday laying outfits on my bed, rearranging them, and rejecting a lot. Caty always said, "The first step to having a good day was looking like you were already…" I stopped my thought in its tracks. I was getting pretty good at that. I finally had decided on dark denim shorts, a yellow-green silky shirt, and silver sandals.
Now I wished I had picked sneakers or possibly rain boots as we were waiting at our driveway for the bus. The wind was whipping my hair around my face and it was drizzling. Weird weather for an end-of-summer day in New Jersey, but I figure it's an omen for the day to come. I watched with jealousy as Caty's black, super-expensive Cadillac pulled out of the driveway next to me. I couldn't see Caty because of the tinted windows, but I was sure she looked extra perfect in designer clothes that she, Ella, Ali, and, (I cringed as I thought the last name), Macy had bought in their various trips to New York over the summer. Her driver was staring straight ahead, making a point not to look at me and Noah. I was just glad we were waiting on the left side of the road, so we didn't really get sprayed with the mud that Caty's Cadillac kicked up. I was sure we'd be covered from head to toe if we did get sprayed. The truck is gigantic; it looks like it could hold 20 people. I remember when I was as tall as the wheels…
I watched Noah's eyes following it, thinking probably what I was thinking. (With some additional guy stuff such as "I wonder what the horsepower is?") For a while now, both of us had been jealous of Caty. It was hard to remember a time when it had been the other way around.
Once, Caty had lived in the smallish ranch we called home, and we had lived in the gigantic mansion behind it. Our Dad owned an accounting firm along with being a volunteer policeman on weekends and our Mom was the local weather-woman for Channel 6. We were really rich. I had a huge pink bedroom with a bathroom and a big closet. We had a wide screen TV, kitchen that cost more money than I wanted to think about, and a small farm out back with sheep and cows. At ten years old, I had "the life". A happy family, my beloved dog Bella, and I could have basically whatever I wanted at the snap of my fingers. When I was eleven, my Dad's firm went bankrupt. At the salary of a weather woman and a police officer, we just couldn't afford our huge house anymore. On the other hand, Caty's family had just gotten a huge windfall. Everyone wondered where it was from, including me. She told me and I was sworn to secrecy. We were best friends, after all.
So Caty's father made my Dad an offer for our house Dad couldn't refuse. Now Caty lives in the huge house with the fancy car; and I'm stuck in our tiny house. I didn't really mind, at first. Neither did she. Until that day in July…
Caty had everything that I was supposed to have. She got my house. She got to buy expensive clothes we couldn't afford anymore. She got to keep Bella, who loved to sleep in the barn with the animals (by choice, of course). But the last straw was when she got Macy, who was supposed to be my best friend.
In middle school, Caty and I remained sort of close, but found other best friends. For her it was a clique. Gabriella, Allison, and Caty. I met Macy in lunch. We sat together once and hit it off. She and Ella had been best friends, and I became her other best friend. Although I had a lot of friends throughout middle school, I was always closest with Macy. The five of us (Me, Macy, Ella, Ali, and Caty) used to have sleepovers and parties together. But we all knew our place and our truest friends. It was confusing for Macy. She was close to both to me and Ella but she picked me.
After that day in July, Macy wouldn't talk to me. She thought I had acted "out of place." But Macy was, however, nice and friendly with Caty, Ella, and Ali. So now I'm friendless and terrified for my first day of school. Sure, I've had other friends, but not another best friend.
The bus pulls up, and Noah and I climb on. He goes to the back to sit with one of his friends and I sit in the front alone. I sneak a glance at Macy. She is sitting in "our" seat and staring out the window pointedly, letting me know I am definitely not welcome to sit with her. I stare out the window at the familiar farmland whizzing by, slowly turning to the suburban subdivisions on the way to school.
We went to a public school, so we could wear whatever we wanted. Good, for kids with millionaire parents. Bad, for most average girls. I have to say, I was jealous of my brother. Buy some shirts from Abercrombie and he's set. For girls it's a whole other world. Even though we live in New Jersey, it's only a 45 minute drive to 5th Avenue. I'm not saying I want to spend $150 on a cami, but you're basically shunned in my school if you don't. Caty, thankfully, would always give me the clothes she "outgrew", as in wore for more than a couple of weeks. Our parents didn't exactly know that we had fought and keeping our parents in the dark was something, maybe the only thing, we both agreed on. So every month or so, a new wardrobe would arrive at our front door. My Mom always wondered out loud why she didn't just give the clothes to me but I would just pretend she was asking a rhetorical question. I have to say, the closet is one of the plusses of living in Caty's old house. It's as big as half the room, and has one of those closet organizer systems. So my designer wardrobe was all taken care of. Hopefully, I could fit in.
We pulled into school. This was my freshman year; but the High School and the Middle School were attached, so at least I was on familiar grounds. I fumbled around in my school bag for my schedule. I was trying to remember my locker number; 465 or maybe 456...
The bus driver wished me a good day as I got off. As if! I just smiled and said, "You too." When I finally found my schedule (after a bag dissection on a nearby bench; it was on the bottom, of course) I hurried off to my locker-#564-and was sure I had the right one because Noah was standing at his, to the left of mine.
I went to my locker and started to unload all the normal school stuff- binders, folders, pencils. I put in my locker shelf and hung up a couple pictures. One of my baby cousin and me, one Noah and me when we were little and one of Bella. I tried not to think of my locker pictures last year. I had at least four times as many photos. They were mostly of my friends, silly pictures taken on vacation or at sleepovers. Even though they were embarrassing and definitely not "our best angle" (as Ali put it), they could almost take me back to that moment. They reminded me of fun and the best times I had with my "Best Friends Forever". Yeah, right.
I looked over at Noah, who had just finished his locker while I was daydreaming. His locker was a jumble of supplies piled on top of each other in a big mess already, on the first day of school! Mine, on the other hand was perfectly organized and arranged on the shelf by period. It would stay perfectly organized for the rest of the year. I am a total neat freak. Noah, on the other hand, could care less. Brothers.
"Noah, I really think you should-," I started, but he cut me off.
"I'm just going to mess it up again anyway, Mia," he said apologetically, shrugging.
"Whatever," I said with an eye roll. I have to say, I am the bossy twin. I have been practically since I was born. But I wasn't going to even try to win this one, because he was right. He would definitely mess it up again.
"See you later," he called as he headed for first period.
Throughout the day, I learned my schedule wasn't too bad. I had enough time to stop at my locker after almost every period. Two or three of my teachers seemed pretty cool, and the rest were kind of boring. But I guess that's better than having all boring ones.
They say you learn something new everyday.
Lesson #1) This year was not going to be anything like last year, except for the school cafeteria food. The pizza will still look like the crust was tossed into an incinerator and forgotten, the cheese will be as hard as a rock with "pepperoni" (aka semi-edible plastic) slapped on top and finally dropped in a bathtub full of grease before serving. This is the school's way of providing consistency for their students, a crucial tool in the learning environment.
At lunch, I headed off with my astronaut food to the library. I told the librarian I needed to check out a book for silent reading time in ELA. Instead, I sat in a corner and ate. Well, if you consider "hesitantly taking a bite and then spitting it out immediately after it touches your tongue" eating.
In the cafeteria I had seen a couple of girls I talked to last year, but they knew Caty, too. She had probably told them what happened in June. Then again, maybe not. It did kind of make her family look bad. Even Noah had tried to wave me over to his table. He didn't know the entire story of what happened, but I'm sure he could figure it out. At any rate, he knew I didn't really have friends. But rather than sitting through a lunch period with guys (enough said) or listening to debates on Cathy's eye shadow, I will be in my little corner in the library. Lonely, maybe, but a lot more convenient.
My last period class was "Communication in Action". When we were picking our schedules last year Macy had wanted me to do it with her really badly, so I agreed. Caty and Ella had also signed up for the class. Ali was in journalism so she couldn't. I walked into class, praying they had all been scheduled for another period. Despite my worshipping, Macy was sitting at the other side of the big circle table. She ignored at me as I walked in. I tried to imagine she wasn't there and picked a seat five or so down from her, so she couldn't stare at me without turning her head around.
The room was bizarre, kind of, in a good way. Besides the lack of desks there were colorful posters everywhere, listing "THE 5 STEPS OF COMMUNICATION" and "A GOOD COMMUNICATOR ALWAYS…" There were stacks of paper and markers in the middle of the table and a teacher at the front board talking to an older girl. The bell rang and I was surprised to only see fifteen or so kids in the classroom. Most of them were girls. Preps. Little Miss I-Have-A-Ton-Of-Friends-And-I-Am –The-Best-Thing-To-Ever Land-On-This-Earth.
Belch.
"Small class! My favorite!" said the teacher in an upbeat tone. The class turned their heads to see her already writing something on the board. "My name is Mrs. Rontell and I am your communications teacher. In this class we will learn how to best get your message across to others, whether it be a social cause or an argument with your parents. Our class is designed to be more laid back, so everyone can be comfortable communicating with one another. We will all respect each other and support each other, always!"
On and on she went about positive attitudes, constructive criticism, and positive peer pressure. I begin to wonder what about this class sounded like a good idea to me. I had decided in the library, I wasn't really going to try to talk to any one, or make any friends. I was planning to breeze through my high school career as the quiet girl no one really knew, liked, or hated. Now this lady is telling me I have to talk and "get my negative feelings out in our supportive classroom environment."
Right. Like I was going to spill my guts to my ex-best friend and a class full of Class-A gossipers. People I don't even know. Or want to know. Or be associated with.
"Our first assignment is due by tomorrow." says the teacher, causing a couple of guys to groan. Most of the girls, however, take out their agendas and copy the assignment on the correct date with their perfect handwriting. "You need to write a couple sentences on a time you have not communicated effectively. We will be using these later, and as the course goes on, to be examples to learn from."
The rest of the period she goes over rules while I ponder when I haven't "effectively communicated". Last July pops into my head like a blinking light, but there is no way I am writing about that. I let my mind wander the rest of the period until she gives out the worksheets to put our miscommunication info on. I grab one, knowing I need to do it but doubting I will.
After the bell rings, I head to my locker and grab my bag, stuffing my communication folder into it. As I get on the bus, the driver asks me about my day. I just nod, say it was good, and start towards the seat I sat in this morning. I get out my IPod, but as soon as I am about to put my earphones in, a girl comes and sits next to me. She looks vaguely familiar but no one I plan on paying attention to. I take in her light brown hair tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes, and Nike t-shirt, trying to place her. Probably someone in one of my classes or something. I get all settled in for my quiet bus ride. As my finger hovers over the play button, she turns to me. She, clearly, has other plans.
"Hi. I'm Kirsten. You're Mia Donovan, right? I think we're in communications together. Did you have it last period?"
I nod silently and try to make my expression completely uninterested.
"Listen- I was at that party in June, you know, the one at Caty Bridgid's house? Well, I heard you got majorly blown off by, like, everyone. But to be honest, I think what you did was the right thing. So, don't be too bummed about it."
Now, I'm sort of remembering where I saw this girl. She had been playing volleyball outside. As I had ran out of the party she had asked what was wrong. She had called for me to wait when I kept running. The memories of the night I had been trying so hard to keep locked in my mind, hidden away and almost forgotten, came flooding back.
"Yep," I said nodding. Then, I turned on my IPod and let the music fill my ears to stop my mind from remembering. One of my Dad's favorite songs. I relaxed, thinking about him.
Kirsten said bye to me as she got off the bus and I nodded. It was probably being mean, but I didn't need any more reminders about last June. Noah and I got off the bus.
"How was your first day?" he asked.
"Good," I replied.
We walked back to the house in silence, both knowing my day was not good at all but not acknowledging it.
Once inside, I said hi to my mom and headed to my room. I looked at the picture on my bedside table of me and my Dad. We were at the celebratory dinner after he and Caty's father had gotten their law passed. His arm was around me and the looks on our faces were that of total elation.
After my Dad died, I didn't do much environmental stuff for a while. A couple of weeks after his funeral, Caty's Dad had asked if I wanted to go to a WWF expo with him and Caty. So I went. It wasn't like with my Dad, but I had fun. Mr. Bridgid had always been like an uncle to me. We went to a couple of those conventions over the summer, before July. I could talk to Caty's Dad about environmental issues and stuff my Dad and I used to talk about. It helped me get over my Dad's death, I think. After last July, I can't even think about Caty's Dad without feeling like I've been slapped in the face.
I pulled the single sheet in my purple communications folder titled "Introduction to Miscommunication". It had three lines for me to write my time of miscommunication. I scribbled "last July at a party" and threw it in my folder. It was done, at least. I would make something up if she asked more about it.
At dinner, we had the usual first day of school interview.
Mom: "So, how was your day, Mia?"
Me: "Good."
Mom: "Are your friends in you classes?"
Me: "Yep."
Mom: "Do you like your teachers?"
Me: "I guess."
I've never been really close to my Mom since my Dad died. It's hard to talk to her now because she delves too deeply into my feelings. It's hard keep a secret when you're that close to someone. I don't talk my feelings out, really. I know she's worried about me, but she doesn't need to be. I deal with things my own way, and this time it's in my head.
Eventually she gives up on me and talks to Noah. He gives a pretty detailed description of his day. Probably to make up for my dysfunctional answers.
September 5th
My second day of school continues to go downhill. At lunch Kirsten intercepts me and drags me to her table. I know a couple of the girls, so I say hi and sit through the rest of lunch silently. On the bus, Kirsten sits with me again. She talks about her day, some boy she likes, and gym class. I continue my distanced politeness.
Noah pretty much sums it up when we get off the bus and he says, "Mia, ever since July it's like someone took the personality out of you, put it in a bottle, and threw it away."
February 7th
I'm walking down the hall, headed for communications when I see Caty walking the other way, give me the death stare. I walk by, not letting myself be antagonized by her. Just as she's passing by me, she sticks out her arm and grabs my shoulder with a vice-tight grip. She pulls me onto the side of the hall. She starts menacingly whispering,
"I heard what you wrote in communications yesterday," she said. I thought back, remembering. We had to tell the class about a time when we had miscommunicated and then the class had to give alternatives. Yesterday we were just brainstorming; the official speeches were next week. I wasn't really sure I wanted to do this project. Mrs. Rontell had passed back the papers we filled out at the beginning of the year about our time when we miscommunicated and had us "expand on it". She made me read my idea about last July aloud to the class and have the class give suggestions on how to improve and expand it. Talk about embarrassing.
I'm totally daydreaming as Caty blathers on about my various evils and faults. When she suddenly raises her voice and talks in a sharper tone (hard to believe that's possible) I snap back to reality.
"And if you write anything even having to do with that again, you are going to pay. Just because your idiot father didn't see what my Daddy was doing doesn't mean you have to tell the world. Got it?" She turned on her heel and walked away.
I can't believe what she just said to me. She called my Dad an idiot. My Dad may have been blind to what her "Daddy" was doing, but he was not an idiot. Not even close. Not like the backstabbing liar her father was. She was probably expecting me to cry, run away, and be scared. Please. If there's anything Caty should know about me, it's that I'm stubborn, and will do anything for a cause. Usually, it's environmental. Not anymore.
My cause is going to be to reveal her father's crime industry that's made her filthy rich. I'm done keeping her secret. I'm tired of being such a wimp. I will do whatever it takes to make Caty and the rest of the world realize her daddy is the idiot.
As I think this, I realize the massiveness of that decision. I was certainly not even going to consider doing that before she talked to me. I guess reverse psychology works. Mentioning my Dad hit a sore spot, sure. But she was going to regret it.
I'm late to class and say I was at the nurse. Mrs. Rontell doesn't particularly care anyway. She announces we are going to start reading our speeches in class next week and that we will write them today and over the weekend. I grab index cards from the center of the table and start scribbling away.
The bell rings suddenly, at least that's how it seems to me. I've been in a total zone the last hour. After a couple bad starts and a few dozen index cards, I'm halfway done with my rough draft. The only time I stopped writing was to look at the schedule on the front board of speeches. I'm scheduled on Friday. Kirsten and I walk out of class together.
"See you on the bus!" I call when I'm at my locker. She looks a little surprised, but nods and smiles after a second. I turn to see Noah looking at me inquisitively but he shakes his head suddenly and goes back to what he was doing. It sounds cheesy and cliqued but it feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I'm in a pretty good mood, actually. I've figured out how to fix this mess thanks to the one that started in, Caty Bridgid.
On the bus, Kirsten chatters happily about her speech. She said she had a great idea today, and is telling me all about it. I can't say I'm paying total attention, but I can't say I find her very annoying anymore. I admire her persistence for sitting next to me every day on the bus since the first day of school. Then, she asks what my idea is about.
"It's…complicated." I reply, shrugging nonchalantly, hoping she'll keep talking about herself.
"Come on, I saw you writing all period. Something is definitely up."
The bus pulls to her stop just in time.
"Guess you have to wait until next week," I say with a small smile.
"How was your day?" asks my Mom at dinner.
"Good," I reply. Reflex reaction. "I came up with a good idea for my communications speech."
"Wow, that's great honey," says my Mom, with a surprised yet baffled look on her face at this small piece of news.
My distant politeness has crossed over to my family in the last few months. I haven't been myself for a while now. But for one of the first times since my Dad died, I'm excited about something. I want to make him proud.
February 28th
It's the day of my speech. I'm nervous in an excited way. I'm finally doing what's right-for me, those animals, people Mr. Bridgid has fooled, and my Dad.
My hands were shaking as I started to speak. Kirsten and Mrs. Rontell looked at me with encouraging eyes. I took a deep breath, pushing all of the other people in the room out of my mind, and began to speak.
"When I was eleven, my friend Caty told me a secret. I swore never, ever, to tell anyone. I had the innocence of an eleven-year-old. I didn't understand exactly what the secret meant. All I knew was that I could never, ever, tell. Not my parents, or my brother, not even my diary. And I have kept that secret, until now.
Last June I was at my friend Caty's party. It was an end-of-the-year party. We had invited dozens of people. Her parents weren't home-they were in Mexico on a business trip. Caty said they wouldn't care if she had a party. I was a strict rule follower, and therefore a bundle of nerves. She said to stop dragging down the mood. We watched movies, played sports, and signed yearbooks. All this time, I was constantly checking if everyone was all right and making sure no one pulled into the driveway. I was, I have to say, a nervous wreck. Everyone was making stupid comments about me. I had just wanted to make sure everything was okay.
Suddenly, I noticed Caty had disappeared. I was getting panicky, wondering where she was. She was a total socialite; she hated walking to classes alone, much less being away from a party in her own house. It wasn't like her, at all. This only fueled my nervousness. I went to the kitchen and down an unfamiliar hallway in a frantic search.
I heard some laughing coming from a nearby door. I opened it and found a huge room I had never been in before, or at least I didn't recognize. It had boxes and boxes on top of each other. I found Caty and a couple of girls I didn't know hanging out. I asked her what this room was and she answered, not seeming at all like herself, that it was black market stuff- illegal animal pelts, skins, and shells.
My memory flashed back to when we were eleven and what she had told me that night when we had snuck in to a large, dark, room in a hallway off of the kitchen. I hadn't known what "black market" or "pelt" meant back then. I didn't understand what it as, not at all, except that I had to keep it a secret.
My stomach started to turn and I bolted. As I ran, my mind wasn't in panic. In fact, it was logical and clear. I put the pieces together in my head. Her father's frequent business trips, environmental campaigns, and their sudden windfall. At eleven, I hadn't known what to make of the situation.
The part that affected me most was that her father would do such a thing. Caty's father was a great guy, with frequent donations and environmental rallies. He was on the town board, and was running for mayor. I felt he was one of the people I could count on. He and I could always talk about problems with macaws in South America or the turtle population in the Gulf of Mexico, just like I had with my Dad before he died. Instead, he got my complete trust while destroying exactly what I thought he was helping. After my Dad died, he had been there for me. He wasn't anything close to a replacement, but he was a father figure that loved animals and was kind and understanding. He was an adult, that besides my Mom, I felt totally safe with. I had known him since I was, like, two. He had betrayed me and totally went behind my back. Who could I trust?
Animals, in a way, were my way of hanging on to my father. It was our special thing. Something no one else could really tap into or understand. Seeing the room full or things my father had worked against made it like all the things he didn't matter. Or happen. Or exist.
All of my friends asked me what my problem was when I got to the main party room on my way out. My best friend Macy stepped in front of me. She asked what in the world I thought I was doing, running out of a party. She said my attitude was ruining it for everyone. She said that if I walked away now, she was never talking to me again. Instead of trying to work it out, or explain what had happened, I fled. Before reaching the front door, I grabbed their home phone, dialed the police, and left it lying on the counter.
I passed the volleyball courts as I sprinted home. Someone called out to me to wait and asked what was wrong. I looked back over my shoulder but continued to run away. My life had changed so drastically in the last 10 minutes. A man-practically my uncle-who had helped me get over my father's death had completely lost my trust. My best friend had vowed never to talk to me again. Looking back, I don't think she meant it when she said it. She had assumed I would stay. But I hadn't.
The police came wailing to Caty's doorstep by the time I got to my house. Noah was home but my parents were at dinner. I told him I felt horribly sick and went to bed. When my Mom came home and found Caty's house surrounded by police cars, I said that I felt sick, never went to the party and I had no idea what happened.
I have never told anyone outright that I called the police, but it was common sense to figure I did it. Everyone thought I had done it because we were all alone and having a party. Only Caty knew my real intent. It was a reflex reaction to call the police because of their illegal black market. My father's words had echoed in my ears-to call the police for whenever I was in trouble, and he would be there to help me."
I was done. I took a deep breath and looked out to the sea of faces. My mother, tears in her eyes. Noah, Kirsten, Mrs. Rontell, and Macy were smiling at me. The judge thanked me and sent me back to my seat. This was the second time I had read my speech to anyone besides myself. I smiled to myself, remembering the first time, in communications class a couple of weeks ago…
I had been dreading my turn up to the podium. I was last to read my speech in the class. I only had 5 minutes to speak. I was barely done by the time the bell had rung. I didn't know what I had just done. I possibly made myself even more of an outcast then before. Instead of feeling like I had gotten rid of an old burden, it felt like I had a new burden-what to do when Caty found out I had just busted her. I sat down on the bus in the front seat hoping no one would talk to me. News travels like an electric current at my high school. I kept my head turned towards the window even when I felt Kirsten sit down next to me.
"Mia, I don't know what to say but that I'm sorry," said a strangely familiar voice. I looked at the girl next to me to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. Macy Rogers was sitting next to me with an extremely guilty expression on her face and her eyes brimming.
"I—, "I managed to choke out before she gave me a bone-crushing hug.
"What I did was totally wrong and uncalled for. Listen, I've missed you too, and I had no idea why you really called the police. I know that was just right after your Dad, and I had no idea how lonely you were until I was just talking to Kirsten, and I just want to be friends, if that's okay with you. I know how much all that stuff meant to you and your Dad. I can't blame you for leaving."
Macy and I talked the rest of the bus ride. Though I know most people couldn't forgive someone that easily, I had missed my best friend and I knew she meant what she said.
That afternoon we got a call from Mrs. Rontell saying she was going to see what she could do to get Caty's Dad "where he belonged". She asked me to explain what happened fully to my family, and wanted to know if I would consider speaking in court against Caty's Dad. I was hesitant, but agreed eventually…
I was so happy I had spoken, now that it was over. The jury conferred as I sat down next to my family. My Mom squeezed my hand and hugged me, her eyes glistening. She said my Dad would have been proud. And as I looked around at all the support I had, I knew I had made a lot of people proud.
My Dad had once said, "Life isn't fair, but you have to make the best of it." He's right. You definitely have to make the best of it.