On May 8th, I had been a fairly average resident of Los Angeles, California. I got A's and B's in school, I liked boys, my big brother protected me, I got happy and angry, and every once in a while I would cut my arms to distract myself from sadness. There were tons of people more interesting than I was. On May 9th, a man lost control of his big SUV, and hit a dirty Sedan. In this Sedan happened to be a beautiful women whose hair had been thinning for the past fifteen years, an intelligent man with glasses and a mustache, and their twenty-year-old son who had wanted to visit his family and take a break from college. In this Sedan happened to be my family.
On May 10th, I was sleeping on the brown carpet of my brother's girlfriend's house. She and I had instantly become good friends when she and my brother first started dating. At one in the morning, I could still hear her weeping. I had spent the past two days sobbing into my hands, I had run out if tears. Staring up at the white ceiling, I anticipated the following day when I would be taken into foster-care.
I was only sixteen when my family died. I wouldn't inherit any of their money till I was eighteen. My grandparents had died of old age a few years ago, my mother was an only child, and my father's one brother was in jail for drug trafficking. There was nowhere for me to go. If I had had my way, I would have moved in with my brother's girlfriend, Caravel Souza, or my best friend, Arjoo Minhas. But the law was the law.
Caravel's alarm clock began to beep noisily, signaling the second six o'clock I had faced as an orphan. Caravel rolled onto her side stretching silently. I was glad she had gotten sleep; I hadn't. Silently, I grabbed my backpack filled with some of the things from my room and entered the small bathroom. Later that day I would have to go back home and bring the rest of my room to the foster-home I would be living in. I was happy to be allowed that, but I didn't want to leave my home.
I looked into the mirror straight into my green eyes. The usual dark bags under them were prominent as ever. As an Insomniac, I was used to little sleep, but being without even a nap for thirty-one hours straight was almost too much for me. Slowly I ran a brush through my dyed-black hair, not even wincing as it tore through the tangles. I didn't bother styling my hair as I usually did, I didn't have the strength for all the backcombing and hair spraying. Arjoo would certainly be surprised by my flat hair. Reaching into the green backpack, I fished out a pair of grey jeans and a long sleeved shirt. I threw them on carelessly. Out of habit, I covered my eyes with too much black eyeliner. I almost smiled when I looked back into the mirror where I saw myself hiding behind the dark makeup. I looked so much like the Melanie I had looked like back at on May 8th; But I was so different.
"Mel?" Caravel called quietly, startling me with her soft voice. I opened the door to see her still in mismatched pajamas. Her long thick hair hung over her shoulder in loose curls. I had always been jealous of her hair. I never really was a fan of my thin locks. The color had originally been an ugly brown that didn't even match my eyebrows. I had taken the initiative and dyed it as dark as I could. My mother had never let me bleach my bangs, as I had always wanted to. Caravel smiled gently at me and asked if she could use the bathroom. I sat on her desk chair waiting for her to get ready.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, she traipsed out of the bathroom lightly on her small feet. Like always, I was taken aback by her beauty. The first time I saw Caravel, I thought she was the most gorgeous human being I had ever seen. Her flawless pale skin was stretched over her petite frame. Only her dark hair and almost-black eyes marred the white flesh. She was two years older than I was, and even compared to me, an average 5'4", she was very short. Today she wore a floral pink romper that hugged her small body perfectly. "Ready?" she asked in her soprano voice. I nodded quietly. She bent down to hand me my school bag and oboe case where they lay beside her closet. I forced a small smile.
That morning consisted of the most irritating moments I had ever endured. Constantly, strangers came to ask me how I was or say how sorry they were about my parents. I could recall the majority of the people making fun of me for being fat and having bad acne when I was younger. It was really pissing me off. By the time the seventeenth person came to pester me, I couldn't restrain the "Fuck off," that had been building in me since seven o'clock that morning. For first period, I had French with Ms. Lopez. It was always my least favorite part of the day. Everyday I couldn't concentrate on my text book or my homework, I only found myself going over how the fuck this lady had been hired as a French teacher. Frankly it made no sense.
With the shrill ring of the bell, I collected my things as fast as I could. I sighed in relief seeing the tall, slim figure of my best friend. "Arjoo," I called out lightly, my voice hoarse from the sobbing and lack of talking throughout the past few days. She turned to look at me, her usual emotionless expression plastered in her face. I hadn't seen her for a few days, and I missed her dreadfully. Taking a small step, she bent a bit to wrap her long arms around me. It was so out of character.
Arjoo Minhas had been quiet, and quite unpopular, when I first met her in the third grade. At the time, I was loud and had so many friends. As time went on, Arjoo kept on growing and I suddenly stopped. Arjoo became more comfortable with herself and I became more self-conscious. And in between all the differences, we found that we were both not the coolest people in the world. We listened to sadly uncommon hard rock and were almost too mature for our age. We had been in specialized advanced classes as kids and moved onto AP classes in high school. When we reached the sixth grade, I started to cut myself, and three years later, Arjoo was diagnosed as "clinically depressed." We were alike in so many ways, but our differences seemed so noticeable. Arjoo had thick black hair that waved down past her shoulders. She had flawless dark skin, small brown eyes, and was quite underdeveloped. I was quite the opposite with fine hair that I constantly had to dye to hide it's hideous light brown color. My skin was very light with terrible acne, my eyes changed from hazel to green, and I had a figure that had been one of a pleasantly curvy twenty year old (although, by the terrible modern standard that a size six wasn't small, I would be considered almost fat) complete with big boobs that were probably my best traits. I liked to walk beside Arjoo and see the shadow of her large nose beside my small one against plain walls. I thought it was quite funny.
"How 'ya holdin' up?" she asked, pulling back. I shrugged and she left it alone. That was one of the greatest things about her: she knew when to shut up. We walked to second period talking about the meaningless topics we usually hung onto for a few days. On our way to English with Mrs. Ara, I spied Alina Asefi, a gossipy girl I had known since the second grade. We had been close friends for the past few years. She waved weakly at me but, wisely, didn't come to ask about my parents, knowing it would never be the time to talk about it.
We rounded the corner, Mrs. Ara's room just a few feet away. I saw a tall figure blocking the doorway. I had seen him a few times, his name was Bryan Smith, he was an aide for Mrs. Ara's first period class. But he looked much different. Before my eyes, this boy I hardly knew began to change. His blue eyes turned into a very close shade to mine and his features morphed just a bit. Suddenly, he was my big brother. He stood there five feet in front of me, his eyes crinkling up into a closed-mouth smile. It was too much.
I fell to my knees, not feeling the sharp pain if contact nor did I hear the loud crack that bounced off of the hard marble. My hands went to shield my eyes, my eyelids squeezed shut. I might have been screaming for hours or days before Arjoo lifted me off of my feet, hugging me tightly. "Mel, it's okay; it's okay." She said the words over and over knowing exactly the cause of my distress. Hot tears were flooding off my cheeks feeling cold as ice against my numb face. And as if a murderer had pulled the trigger of a gun right against my skull, everything stopped and went black before I was far away in my mind, hoping that I could stay unconscious for the rest of my life.
I saw slits of bright light that slowly became wider and wider. The blurry images of too near faces became clearer and clearer. The feeling that people were talking about me came closer and closer to my attention.
"Melanie." The call seemed far away even with the materializing face of an elderly woman very close. I had seen her once or twice before. As the white cupboards and blank walls became less than shapeless blobs, I realized I was in the school nurse's office. I had been in the cramped room a few times before for Arjoo when she got sick or because I had puked… or something along those lines.
Finally, the room and the people within it took on their proper appearances. Kathy, the school's nurse, stood by the hard gurney-like bed where I was laying. Her wrinkled face and bright blue eyes were full of concern. In the far corner in an old blue chair was a woman I had never seen before. Tight, dark curls framed her coffee colored face. Her face was thin and long and her body followed the pattern with legs that seemed to stretch on for miles. Big, almost black, deer eyes were plastered perfectly on her face above prominent cheekbones. She was quite gorgeous. Noticing my stare on her, the stranger stood up to stand on the opposite side of Kathy. I noticed how her pastel pink skirt was just a tad too short for being in a high school. She smiled happily, showing a very white, very straight teeth. (I also took notice of the unusually sharp canines.) "I'm Brenda Jackson!" I hope you noticed the exclamation point. I winced from the sickening amount of cheer in her voice.
The next half-hour consisted of Brenda explaining herself as my foster-mother. She talked about herself for probably half of that time. She started off by telling me how when she was my age, she had been a very popular girl, how she had been mistreated by her parents, how she had had a daughter when she was seventeen, of her acting career that was on the verge of taking off, and finished her autobiography by telling me that she had an audition in just twenty minutes. On the way to the parking lot and in her fairly new Mercedes, she might have realized there were more important things to discuss than her life story. She might have just figured out that it had not interested me. Judging by the sour expression that had replaced the cheerful one, it had been the latter.
Speeding down the road, she informed me that she had six other foster-kids living in her apartment in West Hollywood. "I usually have auditions or interviews around this time so they walk home. They're probably their already," she said with a grimace as a red Toyota cut her off. She honked her horn and shot the driver the bird. Well then. So long Preppy Brenda. Then suddenly I became alarmed. I had been unconscious for nearly six hours? It was about three thirty. I was supposed to start bringing my things to my new home at three thirty. All I had with me was my school bag and my oboe.
"What about all my things?" I cut into the silence. She cursed, suddenly seeming to remember as well.
"I'll have Max drive you later." Was her quick response as we pulled into an apartment complex parking lot. I jogged to keep up with her as she stepped into an elevator, ignoring the stairs right beside it. She hit the five button and we slowly made our way up. Walking down an empty hallway lined with doors on both sides, she scavenged through the multitude of keys on her hey ring. She stopped near the end of the corridor at a door marked "12E."
the apartment was fairly large. It had a small kitchen branching into a good-sized family room. An old plaid couch and an un-matching black recliner were situated in front of a TV set. It was quite nice, to be honest. Three doors were open side by side and a fourth was closed in the opposite wall. "Max!" she yelled. The quiet chatter in the rooms ceased and a tall girl hurried out of one of them. I was certain I had seen her around school before, but I didn't know her name. She had tangled blonde-streaked hair that hid brown eyes and a pretty face. Her lips stretched into a friendly smile. I returned the gesture. "You have to drive me to work; I'll stay at Ricardo's. Take Melanie to get her shit later," Brenda stated forcefully. Max didn't hesitate, catching the keys that were tossed at her.
"Nudge is in the second room, she'll make you feel at home," she said quickly, the smile still in place. I nodded and added in a fleeting "thanks" before she scurried out the door trying to catch up with Brenda.
I took a deep breath and forced a small smile onto my face. My hand tightened around the handle of my oboe case. My feet walked towards the second room but I still seemed to be at the doorway as I went to meet my new family.
AN: Oh my golly. That took me so long, sorry. :P but it is longer than the first! Yay Mel! Heehee. So I'll try to update faster but no promises. Pleeeeeaaaasse review! Or I will be forced to send my people to bomb your house. Yes threats are joy. :D haha.
Lovvvveee,
MrsMartinJohnson (Melanie)