"You're sure?" Dad's soft brown eyes studied mine with a look that was best described as no part of him believed me, despite three previous rounds of questioning.

"I am," I answered after the fourth time he'd asked if I had 'everything,' which was nearly just as bad as a 'They say' on the vagueness scale.

Someone's been reading too many 'What to Pack' blogs.

Streams of mid-day sunlight cascaded over his black and gray-streaked hair, which also looked nothing like mine, as Dad ticked off his inventory list again. I groaned at his near-ADD level of attention to detail here.

We activated our first fingers, his index and my middle one, as he asked, "School stuff?"

"Parking pass ordered and needs to be picked up. Supplies yes, books ordered and waiting at the bookstore," I replied in a flat voice. At the small head shake he gave my hand gesture, I assured him, "Just practicing for any guy that hits on me."

Dad flipped up a second finger. "Electronics. Laptop, phone, chargers, HDMI cord, surge protector, extension cord, headphones, extra batteries?"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,... yes." Mentally, I also added my dildos because, of course I'd remembered their extra batteries.

Because, let's be honest, Jake's ridiculousness aside, I'm not looking for anything that Bob can't give me.

No comment on whether I'll use his photo for inspiration though.

I mean, it'd be insulting not to, right?

"Bedroom linens and laundry soap?" Dad's sharp tone and third lifted finger snapped my mind back to attention.

"Packed in your car." My free hand pointed to one of the boxes in his car's back seat, which was stuffed to the ceiling with boxes except for a small window in between for his rear view.

"Bathroom." He raised up a fourth finger. "Shampoo, toothbrush, toilet paper, don't ask me to list out your hair, skin, and makeup supplies again."

Thought that would've gotten me out of doing this 'again.'

"Probably best you don't." I grinned and pointed at the largest box on his back seat. "Yes."

"Girl stuff?" At my lifted eyebrows, he coughed. "Pads, tampons,..."

"Yes," I assured him and suppressed an eye roll because I wasn't going to explain to my father how my periods had been nonexistent with my IUD for the past three years.

Like many things, what details he doesn't know doesn't hurt me.

Dad unfortunately had gotten the brunt of raising a daughter alone in the particularly awful, hormonal-driven pre-teen and teenage years. Given his job took him away from the house most of the time, in hindsight the man performed admirably. Just like my black AmEx expenses, he preferred a blind eye when it came to topics like birth control and why I needed it, thankfully, although he must have known I was anything but a virgin.

"Umbrella." Dad snapped his fingers. "There should be an extra one in your trunk."

"There is." I rolled my lips inward, pressed them together tightly, and prayed he didn't check to make sure.

Not the time to explain why I also have a couple of random power tools, a saw, and endless rolls of duct tape in there.

Throughout high school and college so far, my car trunk had become a repository for random shit that I wasn't sure what else to do with. I'd cleaned out most of the tools, piled them in the garage even though I knew Dad had no use for them, but kept the spare tire kit and a few random tools like a hammer and screwdriver.

My foot tapped a beatless round as Dad's eyes glazed over like he mentally searched for other possibilities. "We'll pick up some stuff down there, like a cheesy UCLA Dad sweatshirt you'll never wear. If you ask me one more time then I'm bringing a hot plate so I can burn my dorm room down. So, for now, are we good?"

An uncharacteristically somber look came over his eyes as he gazed down at me, which struck an unusual dryness in the back of my throat. The gravity that once we pulled out of this driveway that only Dad drove back into hit both of us. Within a blink, he tugged his arms around me in a gentle but surprising hug.

"Proud of you, Harper," he murmured into the top of my head.

I coughed at the tears that popped into my eyes, then rushed out, "Now you're making it weird, empty-nester. I'd better not find out that you've gotten inked, shaved your head, and bought a boat during a midlife crisis while I'm gone."

"I know, I said I wouldn't make a big deal," he laughed quietly. "Give your old dad some slack, I'm trying not to."

"You'll see me for another twenty-four hours, so you'll be begging to go back earlier," I reminded him that he'd planned to stay overnight then returned back here tomorrow. "Let's go."

After my thumb punched into my car's hard plastic ignition button, my chest lifted with a deep breath and I took my own mental packing inventory. My new school certainly lacked the close proximity Cabrillo Community college had offered me the last three years, so if I'd forgotten anything then either I bought a replacement, went without, or Dad shipped it to me.

My inventory was definitely less detailed than Dad's though.

Caffeinated car snacks? A little, I'll stop for more.

Phone, purse, clothes, makeup? Check.

New laptop Dad thinks will improve my term papers? Double-check.

Dildo supply? Why is this even a question?

Not a single fuck to give? Always.

Big girl panties? Never leave without them.

School stuff... ehh, that I'll pick up down there.

With my pink-tinted Blvgari's slid up the bridge of my nose, I pulled out of Dad's driveway and sent him a 'Yeah, I'll see you down there if we get separated' wave of my hand. Some girls were into designer jeans or shoes, my weakness was my sunglasses. I justified my lens obsession splurges by how in California, even the more Northern part where we lived in Santa Cruz, eye protection was a year-round investment. And I was headed south to UCLA, straight into the area of sunshine, heat-riddled smog, haters of carbs, lovers of botox, fillers, and lip injections, and designer-obsessed appearances.

I looked mostly like my normal self when Dad and I left in our separate cars. My sky-blue eyes felt well rested and looked bright, especially when enhanced by today's choice of light pink eyeshadow, soft brown liner, and dark brown mascara I'd brushed over the normally light lashes that I hated. The random light freckles that I also hated on my cheeks were well hidden with concealer. I went easy on my normal contouring and lipstick today since that probably melted after nearly eight hours on the drive south and opted for just a pale pink lip balm.

For similar ignorability reasons to my nearly bare lips, my long, sun-highlighted hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. When I was really young, I looked like one of the Children of the Corn kids. Fortunately, my cornsilk strands darkened as I got older, but even my lashes and eyebrows were a dark shade of blonde. I'd experimented with lots of different ombré colors when I was younger, a phase I grew out of after Dad snapped at me last year about adulting-up.

In my defense, I've gotten better. Finally figured out my certification degree, I should get credit for that.

Without the ponytail, I'd recently gotten my thick, beach-blonde hair cut to where it fell to the bottom of my shoulder blades. If it grew any longer then my split ends drove me insane, any shorter then I looked too close to how I remembered the woman who gave me these features looked.

The familiarity of Dad's single-story ranch house and its complete lack of curb appeal since none of our four thumbs were green blurred in my rearview mirror. When the sight of the only home I'd ever known disappeared, a combination of uncertainty and 'Fuck yes, finally' flooded into my consciousness. My hands clenched tightly around the leather steering wheel as one of my chunky black boot heels slammed down the accelerator.

There's something to be said about finally flying the nest. Especially after the fly back shame of living at home the first three years after high school.

The non-driver's seats of the three-year old, cherry bomb red Audi that Dad had insisted upon as my 'you finally made an adult decision' present were filled up with clothes, road trip snacks, school supplies AKA my entire personal dildo stash in case Dad decided to 'redecorate' my old room, and the sad remnants of my life over the past twenty-one years of my existence. Bright red attracted more police cars when I'd made my choice, but my clean driving record showed that I was the best of flirts.

As I left Dad's house, then the small, sleepy beach town of Santa Cruz, with streets so familiar I could've driven them while drunk, and the comforts it had provided me over the past almost twenty-two years, my mind traveled to Jake's weird text messages. While the physical fucking part was a train wreck in itself, our relationship was best described as quite the mind fuck but started within a few weeks after we'd moved here.

My history of issues with Jake, which not coincidentally coincided with my hormone levels, peaked in high school. Although I only admitted the truth to someone who held a gun to my head, at one point a very long time ago, there actually had existed a much purer, more naïve form of my interest in him that went back much further than our current state of fucked up, borderline toxic existence.

Fuck, it was even... cute at one point.

Jake started our pre-hate-sex-hate relationship when he'd left, of all things, a note in my locker the last school day before seventh grade ended and the summer started.

Roses are red, violets are blue
Harper Reynolds, I wanna kiss you

Ellie and I became instant friends the first day of seventh grade when neither of us had a lunch table buddy. A week later, she invited me over to her house and introduced me to the boy I'd found adorable since I first saw him in my health class. I was enamored at first sight of her older-yet-in-our-grade brother Jake but, seriously true I promise, was too shy and hadn't approached him.

Back then he looked nothing like he did in high school, certainly not now in college. Thirteen-year old Jake was like any normal, awkwardly cute preteen. He was still about my height, with thin and gangly arms and legs, greasy and acne-covered skin just like Ellie, full metal braces, and thick, brillowed hair. But, beneath the metal face, he had an endearing snaggletooth smile and the first time we really met, he stared at me with both his eyes and mouth hung open for a solid two minutes.

He was shy, awkward, geeky, and cute.

After dinner, I giggled with Ellie that her brother was cute, well I giggled and she gagged, and I kept my sentiments scrawled in the margins of my class notes. In hindsight, I'm sure the entire school knew how I felt, embarrassingly, by the time Jake's note found my locker.

Jake never acted on the note's words written in his horrible handwriting, or even acknowledged my existence during middle school. So, in retaliation because I thought he'd found out about my crush on him and teased me, Ellie and I taped two boxes each of tampons and maxi pads on the outside of his locker.

"Oh gosh!" Ellie's chubby cheeks pinched as she giggled behind her hands. "He's going to kill us."

"Looks better than I'd thought," I murmured, stepped back, and admired our handiwork.

The pads looked like abstract blue and white butterflies in flight while the tampons more resembled some odd clip of white cottoned ammunition... Or they did, until I spelled Jake's name out with them.

The loss of all those feminine products was worth the color of red that Jake's face had turned, redder than the paint color on our lockers. We also learned that the extent of his swear word vocabulary was impressive for a thirteen year old.

The hallway sea of kids parted as he marched up, hands balled into fists, eyes narrowed, and roared out, "What the fucking fuck is this shit on my locker!? Who fucking did this!?"

Since the entire hallway had erupted in laughter, points, and whispers, Ellie and I snuck away undetected.

Three months later, during the summer that followed, Jake fulfilled that note's wish. Our first kiss was not terrible, considering neither of us had any clue how the mechanics worked.

Jake, Ellie, and I were at the public swimming pool near the Harrison's house the summer before our last year of middle school. Jake was a month shy of fourteen, me two months. After Ellie and I had a day spent entirely too long at the mall, where we shopped for the perfect bathing suit candidates, that day was the first time Ellie and I sported bikinis. Mine was filled out completely from my almost overnight growth spurt into puberty but Ellie had no business wearing hers because her mosquito-bite A-cups barely filled out the top yet.

While my shrimp-sized best friend's breasts grew in later at fifteen, she maintained her cute, tiny figure throughout junior high school. My stupid female hormones flooded through me with my first period and I got the unfortunate recognition as the first girl in eighth grade who had seemingly developed disproportionately large boobs overnight. By the end of high school though, once the itty-bitty-titties started getting silicon boosters, I had the last laugh for sure.

On one of the more embarrassing days of my 'What the hell do I do with these!?'-chested glory, Jake and a few of his friends were already at the neighborhood pool when Ellie and I plopped down onto some sun loungers. After we laid out our stuff, I relaxed into a seated incline and smiled as the sun warmly flowed into my skin. Even the shrieks of kids and the tinged scent of chlorine and sunscreen in the air hadn't dulled my relaxed state.

"Ugh." I remember Ellie distinctly complained as her fingers slathered SPF-65 suntan lotion on herself like mayonaise onto a BLT sandwich. Or, technically, BLT-M.

"You know the point is to absorb the vitamin D, right?" I slid my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose and giggled at the random white smears she'd left all over her face and arms, highlighted by her dark hair.

"Stupid sun," she complained as she continued buttering her skin. "I don't want melanoma."

Before I asked her what melanoma was, I flinched as cold droplets of water pelted my outstretched ankles. I glanced up, shaded my eyes with one hand, and pretended I scowled at the perpetrator. There Jake stood, semi-tall, vaguely handsome, and dripping water everywhere.

Droplets of overly-chlorinated water - since kids like Tommy Johnson preferred the pool over the public bathrooms - ran out of Jake's slicked-down dark hair, the sides of his dark brown eyes, over his lean, tanned torso, out of his red-and-white printed board shorts, and down his thin chicken legs.

Jake Harrison before leg days was so... ordinarily normal.

At this point, Jake's braces had come off because the wide grin on his face revealed perfectly straight teeth. He also must've eaten his summer vegetables since he looked a few inches taller as he hovered over me like a drowned teenage poltergeist.

"Seriously Jake?" I swung my legs off the lounger, away from his water drips. "You're getting me wet!"

My hands gripped tightly around my steering wheel and I chuckled at the memory of those particular words.

Cracks me up every fucking time.

"C'mon Harper!" Jake reached over, grabbed my wrist, tugged me up to stand, and looked at the pool.

I followed his gaze, then looked briefly at those endearing, dark brown eyes, grinned, and nodded. Much to the annoyance of the lifeguard, we ran hand-in-hand into the pool and jumped in with our knees tucked inward. Our backs hit the water with a splash and I inwardly laughed as we sank towards the bottom. Once my butt bumped the hard surface, I hoped to the God my mother had made me attend church services for that, at the least, my bathing suit top stayed in place.

Thankfully, my suit was still in mostly all the right places. As with any cannonball though, a definite wedgie dug in between my ass cheeks. I pushed my feet flat to resurface, but Jake tugged on my hand to stay underwater. Before I knew why, he'd pulled me closer, released my hand, and grabbed behind my head. With one yank, he dragged my face towards his, then pushed his lips against mine.

I remember that first kiss so vividly, maybe because our feelings were so innocent and pure. Or maybe I never forgot because we floated weightlessly together like freefall. The memory could've gotten engrained because his lips were so soft that I barely felt them against mine. Or maybe the memory just burned into me just like the chlorine that went up my nose.

Definitely the chlorine burn.

I sputtered, shoved his shoulders away, and broke through the water in disgust. Hearty laughs followed me as I swam away and made sure I kicked my scissor-legs extra hard and splashed at the stupid grin that I knew was on his face. I hoisted my butt onto the rough cement of the pool's edge, wiped my face with my palms, and shot Jake two middle fingers. To any witness there, I was annoyed as he slapped high-fives with his friends as they sat on the edge across the pool. Up close, the corners of my mouth betrayed my façade as they quirked upwards.

"Do I even want to know what that was about?" Ellie blinked at me when I walked back over to our chairs, rubbed at the chlorine that stung my eyes, then wrapped my towel around my shoulders. Her small frame shifted under her umbrella's shade and she pointed at Jake, who still laughed with his friends.

I burst out laughing at Ellie's gigantic sunglasses and shoulder-width sunhat she now wore.

This girl really hates everything about California.

In hindsight, maybe that's why Ellie and I were friends, she hated certain things just as much as I did.

"No." I reached around and unceremoniously dug the gigantic wedgie out of my crack. "No, you don't."

After I got home from the pool that day, I found another sweet note inside my beach bag that was crumpled up, slightly damp, and smelled like chlorine.

Roses are red, violets are blue
Harper Reynolds I really like you

Those two lines and the happy emotions they flooded into me were the first domino tipped over, that led to further and further knockdowns towards my emotional detriment. The hand that knocked them over belonged to the eventually cocky, arrogant asshole Jake Harrison, who ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed every last innocent, happy, squishy girly feeling out of me.

In hindsight, I never stood a chance against this boy. Then again, given what happened to Ellie our first week of high school, the innocent and pure relationships between her, me, and Jake never stood a chance either.