Fallen

By,

C.K. Cooper

So, there she stood. Laurel Amber Grahm kicked the dusty earth as she walked up the long driveway of her best friend's house. Why did she come? That was the big question. This stranger pondered on the question. I pondered on that question. Why had I come? I was only setting myself up to see the very people I felt like avoiding. I was a complete stranger in my own body and I wondered who this girl was.

I was brought back to reality as Markee, native Mojave Desert girl, came storming down the driveway to invite me in. Her black dye was fading in her blonde hair. I was about half an hour late, only because I kept debating weather or not I should have come until my brother practically threw me into his truck to drop me off. I gave her a big hug and handed her a birthday present. She smiled and we walked into her garage. Nothing was really different about it. At least, it was the same setting as last year's party. Two couches, a sectional, and a chair were our seating. A coffee table by the wall for the food, an ice chest for the drinks, the stereo on the shelf, long sheets hanging from the rafters to hide the boxes in the back, a big HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner hanging from the wall, and a few streamers and ribbons hanging from above.

Yep, nothing was really different from her last birthday party. So who was there and who was on the guest list? Well, I should know. I mean, after all, I did help pass out invitations. Speaking of which, let's go back a few days earlier.

Welcome to my life, before complications. It was a chilly morning in the city of Hesperia, right? Right. Well, ok. Here's how it starts...

"Sierra, c'mon." Elizabeth says to me, only realizing that she did it again.

It was like the billionth time that she had called me that. And I really just didn't get how people mistake me for Sierra.

"Oops! I didn't mean to call you Sierra, Laurel. I'm sorry."

"Liz, that's the billionth time in two years. What have I got to do to make you realize I'm NOT SIERRA! I don't even look like her." I said.

I walked away, pissed as usual whenever she calls me Sierra. So, I wound up at our usual morning table at the patio. I tossed my backpack on the top of the blue picnic bench that was buried by everybody else's backpacks. Amber's folder had tons of pictures in it, but today it looked different. An invitation was inside of it. Two actually. They weren't birthday invitations, but funeral invites. A picture of Dino was on the cover. A while ago, a short while ago, Dino had passed away in a car accident. They were racing one night, and he was in the car with his brother, I heard. He and I had been pretty close and it brought tears to my eyes when I found out, about two seconds after it happened. At first, I only thought Jamie was joking when she said that he died, but I knew that she wouldn't mess around on something serious like that.

Sierra walked up from behind. And I stared into stranger's eyes. She had changed so much from last year. I didn't even know her, anymore. Her once honey dip brown hair was singing an anthem of "Wannabe Paris Hilton" and she was such a poser now. She actually used to be a real bike rider, and we'd go to the Motocross Track every other weekend, now you could just see that she didn't even know how to change gears. The blankness of her soul was so visible, yet so unreachable. Label designers, like Louis Vuitton, practically pasted onto her as if she were this walking, living, breathing billboard. And she didn't even care. She was so consumed in her popularity and conceitedness that she forgot who she really was.

She pulled me away and asked to help pass out invitations with them for Markee's Surprise Party. We walked around the school passing them out to people like Kerry, Evan, Ashley, Monique and Monet, and Jesse. The bell rang and I was off to class. I walked with Candy and Daniela after we grabbed our bags. We separated as they walked up the ramp to Spanish class and I walked up the ramp to Jackson's class.

At lunchtime, Sierra ditched her fifth period to be in B Lunch with us. We tried to dodge Mr. Onley and Mrs. Griggs as much as possible. The period went by pretty quickly, Damon and Jesse kept asking girls for kisses. They said that they felt unloved. Before the bell rang, Markee sort of pushed me into Jesse to kiss him. It was only on the cheek, but he cheered up. Sure, it was simple and nowhere near mesmerizing. But after that kiss, it was all I could think of. He still didn't say anything about it and it was driving me crazy. I had to know what he thought of it. I mean, if he even thought of it.

On Friday, it was her party. So in between those days, my life got crazy. I mean, Jesse's kiss was still on my mind, Liz and I were fighting, my parents were talking about moving at the end of the year, Dino's funeral was creeping up ever so slowly, and Steven, Christina, and Autumn had this love triangle. I personally didn't like Autumn, neither did Christina, but the two girls were in love with him.

Anyways, so here I am telling you my story. Sitting next to Markee in her garage, playing with the beaded necklace like they throw in New Orleans' Mardi Gras, I watch Jesse peripherally. And I can make out that he's staring at my hands that are fumbling with the metallic blue beaded necklace. What is he thinking? If only I knew then my head wouldn't have been in such an overdrive.

There are only a few people there. Kara, who's in my Orchestra period, sits next to Karla, a total Sports Goddess. The two dial numbers in someone's cell phone to invite them to the party. Then there's Kali, next-door neighbor, who's practically throwing herself at Jesse. Rochelle, Markee's sister, and her friend go inside the house. So we all sit there in a sort of silence except for MxPx's cover to Aqua's "Barbie Girl" blaring from the stereo. It's a quiet awkwardness that's soon broken by the sound of tires driving down Hesperia's bumpy, dusty, unpaved streets. We all stick our heads out of the garage to see this red corvette with a middle-aged man and a fourteen year-old girl who looks about nineteen. Jessica steps out of the car and Jesse practically fantasizes over her matured body. When she walks into the lighted garage, a conversation starts about how her parents are taking a limo out tonight and how they'll be going on a cruise next week to the Bahamas. Jessica is like the richest girl out of our group of immensely vast friends. It still amazes us why she lives in Hesperia when her parent's are loaded with a ton of money.

"Oh, I invited Chris, too." Jessica flashes her pearly white smile and without thinking flips her red locks behind her back.

Surely enough, Chris and Kyle come riding up the street to join the party. Fast forwarding, now.

Rick, Kyle, Jesse, Chris, and Joey are the only five boys. They are totally overpopulated by the girls. Markee, of course, Jessica, Kali, Kara, Karla, Sierra, Rochelle and her friend, Christina, and I are all dancing to Christina Millian's "Dip It Low" single. The lights are off and you could make us out by shadow. The guys are outside talking to Anthony who decided to show up. It's 7:30 p.m. and the sun is starting to set. It's actually funny how we're listening to 99.1 KGGI on the radio. We're all practically what others would stereotype us as "Punkers". With loud usually Screamo music from Jesse, and melodic, fast paced, rock your heart out music from me, who wouldn't call us that? The stereotype only comes from our appearance, I guess.

Jesse's blue Mohawk practically screams from attention. My fading burgundy hair that's slowly turning back to it's original brown matched with Markee's blonde hair dyed black sort of do the same attention yelling. With the exception of Sierra's "I love the Misfits" poser wife beater tank, Karla's Sports Queen, Kara's pristine first chair violinist, Chris' gangsta style, and Rick's casual apparel, yeah, I'd even consider us "Punks." My anthem of Sugarcult's "Memory" starts to blare from the stereo as Jesse sticks in Kali's cd. God, he knows that this is my favorite song. I've only told him about a million times. I guess that you're thinking now, "This story has nothing to do with any of my interests." And you know, maybe it doesn't, but you're the one that heard the beginning of my story. Will you listen to the rest of it? Will you follow me as I begin my journey to finding out who and what I really am?