Disclaimer: Everything in the story, the plot, the characters, are owned by Nicholas Sparks, not me.
CHAPTER ONE: Life and Drama
I commenced my senior year with the greatest optimism I could convene from my decrepit state. Throughout the summer, besides visiting orphanages, submerging myself into the all-encompassing Bible, doing community service without the intention of graduating but for the welfare of my town, trying to complete my wish list, and forcing myself not to mope but to live my days to their maximum, I came up with three resolutions to live by for my senior year, perhaps the last year of my life.
First, I must show the world, the school, especially, that I am superficially identical in health to any other students in the high school, and to cover up the fact that I wasn't. I must live like a typical, healthy senior but with an extraordinary quantity of optimism. In the wee hours of the night, in the private boundaries of my home domain, I had rehearsed my swagger to be exercised in the school hallways with broad, white smile. I wanted to be amiable, to be forgiving this year before I would lose any chance to magnanimous anymore. Indeed, it would be a substantial challenge: Everyone was certainly aware of the sadism that high school kids were capable of. However, in spite of my outwardly stance, I had to isolate and estrange myself from anyone in school.
My second wish was, I must make the Christmas play this year a smashing success.
And third, I had to witness a miracle.
The making of these resolutions could be considered as a deathly err: I was heavily dumping myself into reality, the ruthless reality that spared no mercy for any weakling. It was like tossing myself into the slicing chill of the Atlantic, with no island in hope, with no safety float in hold; alone out there without probable rescue was akin to staring at death squarely yet powerless to succumb into any haven. Such isolation, extremely parallel to my circumstance, lucidly pointed to the due fact that I had limited time in the world, too limited to live the life. Day by day, I swam through my ocean of tears, stifled on the abrupt notion of death that often caught me off-guard, and worse, I had to lie to myself that it would all be fine. The toughest thing was to smile through my predicaments in front of Dad.
And Landon Carter did not make it easier.
I was in all his classes since kindergarten, given that it was a small town in Beaufort. Surely, I had inevitable conversations with him before, but summing up the minutes of our conversation times, I would assume it was less than half an hour in total. And sadly, all these minutes were during school hours, not a second sacrificed in our leisure time. Apparently, it was either that I was too reticent to strike up a conversation with a person who was worlds apart from me, or that he was too condescending to belittle himself to hang out with me; either way, our acquaintance was about to undergo revolution, and I wasn't aware of that prospect, yet.
But during that decade preceding my senior year, I had never quite seemed to notice Landon much. However, I did, with a lot of revelations evoked from the workings of my mind during the summer, on my last first day of school. Like Landon but motivated by different reasons, I signed up for drama class, the last period of the days, most absolutely and definitely. If there was only one person who was ever this enthusiastic about Ms. Garber's class, it would be me. What I was so fervent about was not Ms. Garber's marvelous classes (don't get me wrong; Ms. Garber was not awful) but the upcoming Christmas play, ranking second on my bucket list. Apparently, the play was my beloved father's renowned work, renowned at least in the small town of Beaufort, North Carolina. Its remarkable significance would be incomprehensible to anyone, anyone in this cozy town except Daddy and me. Only both of us knew how much the play was based on Mom, who died because of my birth, and me. And this, again, with repeated emphasis, was exactly why I had to write this book. It was not right to leave Daddy alone to face this trauma all over again. He had suffered a great deal with Mom's death, and I would refuse, with anything I could sacrifice in the world, to watch him under the recurring torment. Such sight would be more horrific than the pain my disease had caused me.
Anyway, the play was a great deal in Beaufort with a full-house audience at the performance every Christmas. It amazed me how people never failed to be astounded by the play annually.
The play was performed by the seniors that year. It had become a ritual, by Daddy's wishes for reasons I did not comprehend. Perhaps Dad, the church minister of Beaufort, wanted seniors, those graduating from high school, to leave a memorable and pious imprint on our prominent little town. This year, much thankfully to the merciful and understanding Lord, I survived my eighteen years to be a senior before I depart for good, giving me the chance to commemorate my life journey that was short but good.
Hence, with the dream I reached to realize, I was the earliest in drama class. Ms. Garber was already there at the board, waiting. I headed for the front seat, figuring that I had to pay attention in her class this year since the play was of unfathomable significance to me.
"Jamie." Ms. Garber nodded in my presence.
"Morning, Ms. Garber," I sung out. I had rehearsed my voice the night before in the bathroom stealthily. Of course, it was after Daddy turned in for bed, and his snores had vibrated through the walls. I had exemplified a bright smile and an optimistic tune for my voice. I would never let my depression and fear leak out through my expressions or voice. A healthy life, I reminded myself.
Ms. Garber flashed a more cordial smile to me, probably stunned by the unusual happiness of a senior, especially on the first day of school. "How was your summer?" But before giving me time to respond, she shot me with another comment, "I'm glad you joined drama this year. It would be exceptionally successful with you."
Evidently, she was referring to the fact that I was Reverend Sullivan's daughter. I simply nodded politely and was about to reply when a group of girls swarmed into the room, transforming the area from a dilapidated outskirt to a bee farm. They took the seats at the back of the room, leaving me sitting in the front alone. Feeling out of place, I convinced myself that it was the due fact that students often crowded in the back of the class, away from the teacher. It was not me from which they distanced themselves from.
Reminding myself of the optimism I had promised, I tried to pull myself away from that fleeting pessimistic thought. I scampered with my thoughts, trying to find a diversion from pessimism and settled with the preoccupation of the Christmas play again. Yes, it was only September then – a long way before December. I had planned during the summer, already. The boy acting as the male leading character should be perfect. Perfect enough to lead the entire show to perfection. Perfect enough to make my dream come true. I calculated the chances. There were a few boys who would sacrifice themselves to Chemistry than to Ms. Garber's class. So I eliminated those impossible choices. Thus, the pool of possible candidates narrowed.
Simultaneously, Eddie, one of the few boys attending Drama, entered and took a seat beside me. He was an affable boy, truly, except that he stammered a lot. But this incapacity never bothered me. After all, I was the physically and severely sick person. Ironically, I could find solace in him. He could not hide his inability, but I was able to keep my sickness secret, at least tentatively.
"Hey, Eddie," I greeted him pleasantly. He struggled for a reply, and of course, I waited patiently for him to finish his "H-h-he-hey." I could not blame him for his deprivation in eloquence.
Before I could strike up a conversation, Ms. Garber summoned silence from the class. At the same time, there was a muffled shuffling at the back of the class. Everyone turned to take a gander. Of course, Landon Carter. There he was, late again. I could have rolled my eyes if an abrupt surge of relief and joy had not overwhelmed me. Yes, Landon was a defiant boy, but that was his disposition. I always saw something good in him that no one else could detect. It was deep inside him somewhere, I knew it. I had grown up with him, in the same class for twelve years, and it was improbable not to notice something about him.
I had decided over the summer, one of my umpteen contemplations during the vacation. I could make a change in people, in him, specifically. Daddy despised his family a lot because of his grandfather who had gained his wealth deceitfully. I'd heard the story over and over again, and I basically memorized every details of it and could recite it backwards. I knew of Daddy's loathing, but I never inherited it.
So, I had figured that Daddy could not live with that hate in him, not with his old, tender age, not with his frail health, not, especially, without me. He certainly had more to worry about, such as my health for the time being, despite the umpteen times I tried convincing him that I was infallible. With what I had left of my life, I had to make a change. I had to dissolve the tension between both families, the Sullivan and the Carter. It would never be healthy for hate to last. And to quell the stained relationship, Landon could join the play – as the male lead.
So I could entirely understand that sense of relief and joy that filled me when I saw Landon in my class. My plan had not gone awry. Landon was in drama this year, I knew it, since he was certainly too indolent for the chemicals. And there were only two boys for the leading male actor: Landon or Eddie. There was an equal chance for Landon, or perhaps the probability was more favorably inclined toward Landon.
But what I could not understand was the surge that had caught me breathless. Really, he was a plain, ordinary guy in high school. Subversive as he could be like the people around him, I had never…felt that way before, and I could not decipher its outlandish emotional accompaniment. He had somehow changed over the summer, no longer the boyish nature or the boisterous pranks he would relish in other people's discomfort. He had matured, somehow, in his features and stance, but perhaps not the attitude, perhaps just not yet. And his maturation was…well, if I had to concede, it was considerably attractive, perhaps.
That was merely an ephemeral moment, however. I quickly recovered from that bewildering sensation as Ms. Garber commanded the class's attention, deciding to ignore Landon's tardiness.
Ms. Garber started class with her well-known melodic "helloooooo!" and goals: "self-confidence, self-awareness, and self-fulfillment." It wondered me how she never got tired of repeating the same words to her drama class each year, knowing it bored the students to our entirety. But she still went on anyway, and I tried to listen. She was getting philosophical, but probably a bit too much. Dramatic.
Finally, she steered the lecture's direction toward the Christmas play. I slid upright into a straight posture in my seat, centering my focus upon the class. Of course, I had everything to do with the play, and expectedly, I received the role for the angel, the leading role. I was the daughter of the maker of the fantastical play. The significance of the role to me was inconceivable to anyone else. No one knew how much I had to do this play. It was the final, final chance I would ever have in my life to perform for my father, for the church, for Beaufort, and for my life before I take on the death kiss. It was my sole chance for my father be proud, to leave him an extraordinary memory, to allow him witness his own daughter carrying out his play extravagantly. This role was a strong way of connecting to my mother, since the play revolved around her. And I was the angel, the real angel that the character in the play really implied. This play was my life story, the story of my family. I needed the play this year to be impeccable, unforgettable, everlasting.
Ms. Garber announced the role to the class. She began the round of applause. It was a lonely applause with barely any contamination by itself. But she kept applauding, implying: "I would not stop until people start clapping." The realization dawned upon the students as they started slapping their hands together, and I could hear the reluctance.
"Stand up, Jamie," Ms. Garber commanded me. Submissively, I rose with the perfect smile on my face. I was getting better at convincing people. I scanned through the students and found my sight landing on Landon. Our eyes met, and my cheeks burned. My smile became more natural as I gave him the widest smile I could fashion then.
I quickly dismissed the thought of his attractiveness, even with his posture slouching in class. It was wicked, tainted, twisted, and selfish. I could be more altruistic than that for sure.
Author's Note: Finally, this chapter (that used to be divided into two) has been combined into one! :) Keep reading, my dear audiences. Without you, it'd be without this story.
And I believe, this is my fourth edit on this chapter. So much details to keep you guys notified of.
Enjoy the next chapters! I promise, as the story progresses, everything gets better. In fact, I felt that writing the subsequent chapters ran more smoothly as everything sets into stage neatly.
Without your delightful readership, there will be no story. :) All the best, cheers!
