Hey peeps,

I'm going to go ahead and post chapter 2. However, that will be it. The next 8 chapters will come on April 1, and I will post two chapters every week afterwards. Thanks, amigos! ;)

KAILA

I am screwed.

Period.

And I am going to kill my dad, too.

Because we are moving. Again. Just as I had gotten settled down and began making a pitiful amount of friends, we are leaving. This has got to be the fourth time we’ve moved this year. Record-breaking.

Ever since Mom died when I was ten, Dad has been distant. Instead of breaking down or moving on, he dug himself into his oceanography work and hasn’t come out since.

Dad is the epitome of a workaholic. When his work requires him to leave home and travel half across the globe, he runs for it eagerly not unlike a dog chasing a squirrel. He gets so excited and happy that I really can’t say the words, “No, Dad, I am not moving halfway across the world with you. Again.” Because I am such a great daughter, I let him drag me along with him.

Because of these abrupt and countless trips, I’ve been all around the globe, from Mexico to China to Australia. Anywhere by the sea. Yippee.

There’s a serious downside to this lovely travelling: I have no life-long friendships with anyone. My best friends are my dad and my suitcase. I had a few friends, Amy and Rosa. We hit it off pretty well but once I left Australia, we lost contact. I tried facebooking them a few times…but they never replied. 

It’s pretty sad.

Anyway, we are leaving our small apartment in San Francisco, California to go halfway across the U.S. Our destination is Lewes, Delaware, some god-forbidden place or town. When Dad first told me, I imagined an old-fashioned town with horse carriages and pocket watches. I really hope there is wi-fi for my phone.

I stare around the empty room and a wave of sorrow sweeps over me so suddenly that I sway a little. We are leaving again and moving far away. Every place we move to seems further away from Mom.

I wish she were still here. Sometimes, I close my eyes and wish hard, praying that God could bring her back. It’s stupid but I pray that I could turn back time, back to sitting in her lap and smelling her warm jasmine breath. I pray to be back by the Christmas tree, the scent of pumpkin pie and roasted turkey in the oven, the sound of laughter filling the air. I pray we are all back in one big, happy family. But when I open my eyes, she’s not there. And I miss her. A lot.

Dad and Mom collided into each other’s lives. No, literally. Mom was an undergraduate student and Dad was a graduate student. They met in the library when Dad crashed into Mom and she dropped all her books. Yes, it is cliché and it happens all the time but that is how it went. He asked her out and she said yes and they fell in love quickly and deeply.

That is why Dad withdrew so much when Mom died. I mean, I know you feel the loss of someone you love greatly but they were each other’s world. They were soul mates to the very end and their kind of love was the kind that I scoffed at when I was little but now yearn for. I kind of hope that one day I will matter than much to someone. But right now, I have school and Dad to worry about.

Dad and I look very similar. Before Mom passed away, when Dad’s hair was still very brown, a random person in the supermarket thought we were brothers and sisters. Yeah.

We both have dark brown hair but his is a bit darker than mine and more towards the curly side. I wish I inherited that. I have the type of hair in between. It’s wavy. And I hate wavy hair. It’s not curly or straight but in the damn middle. Sigh.

I stand average height. When I got a growth spurt in 4th grade, I was so happy. Then I got sick of it after always being the outsider and the one the teacher called on because I was taller than everyone else. I was scared that I would keep growing until my head went through the ceiling. Dad and Mom laughed at me, called me cute and only now do I realize how stupid I was. Luckily, my growth spurt stopped and I turned out relatively alright.

While Dad has brown eyes, I inherited my skin tone and eyes from my mother’s side. This is probably my only two traits that I actually like. My skin is smooth, pale and olive. It does not tan easily but I get very, very flushed after any sports or activities. Dad used to tease me when I came back from school, looking like a ripe tomato for picking. It was annoying.

Then, I have my eyes. My mom’s eyes were passed down to me. Hell, she was beautiful, inside and out. She was petite, black-haired, cheerful and optimistic and had the greenest damn eyes you’ve ever seen. Dad called them the allure of the ocean because they were the most treasured jewels of the ocean that you looked for years and he was lucky he found them.

A knock on the door jolts me from my thoughts. Dad comes in, his brow furrowed as he inspects something on his tablet. He looks up and gives me a smile.

“Hey, you ready, kiddo? We have to go. The plane’s about to take off in two hours. ” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose but they fall back down.

“Yeah, I’m done.”

He pushes back his mop of brown-gray hair. A forlorn look entered his green eyes as he looked around the room, as if taking in its features. I wonder if he’s thinking about Mom again. Before I can say anything, he says, “Okay, let’s go.”

I sigh, yanking my suitcase off the bed. Giving my old room one last glance, I turn and follow him into the hallway. The thought of a new school and a new place made my stomach turn.

…………………………

We find ourselves, 11 hours later in a small rented car, driving down a deserted highway. I have a sudden, horrible flashback of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and nearly pee my pants. The car is deathly silent and I want to check the backseat to see if there isn’t a murderous hitch hiker there.

Dad is silent and the only sound is the swipe-swipe of the window wipers and the sound of light drizzling. I shiver. It is pretty dark already.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “What do you want for dinner later? McDonald?”

I shrug. “I don’t care.”

I honestly didn’t care. I just want to lay down and go to sleep. My head is pounding and my brown hair is a rat’s nest. I looked in the mirror before we got off the plane. It is not a pleasant sight. My temple aches and my stomach is slowly cramping from being in such a small space.

“Burger King or McDonald?”

“I said, I don’t care!” I want to take back the words as soon as I say it. Looking at Dad’s wounded expression, I feel even more guilty. “Sorry,” I mumble.

“It’s okay. I’m ready for some McDonald. Do you want that?” he says hopefully. I want to reach forward and hug him but I don’t know how he’ll react. He’ll just brush me off or sit there awkwardly. So instead, I sit there, silent.

“Sure.”

Dad nods before turning back to watch the road. We didn’t say anything.

An hour later, we turn into a small neighborhood. Through the rain, I see the crooked red sign reading proudly, “Redemption Springs” Dad obviously sees it because he says in a confused voice, “What an odd name.”

I smile.

The car moves down the lane of houses and Dad slows and stops when we reach a small white house with reddish shutters. There is a small porch with a blue door. It looks small and homey. The numbers 1732 are stamped in gold on the door.

I tug on the seatbelt impatiently. My butt fell asleep halfway through the car ride and my legs feel like jelly. I am more than eager to get out.

“Can we go in?” I ask.

Dad nods.

I push open the door and run through the rain and onto the small porch. The raindrops are getting heavier and it’ll probably start pouring soon.

The blue paint is peeling on the door but the house looks relatively new. Dad plucks up the FOR SALE sign on the lawn and follows me up the porch.

He hands me the keys silently and I jam it into the keyhole. It clicks and I push away the storm door and open the door inside.

The air inside is slightly damp, probably due to the weather. It smells slightly musty, the smell of mothballs thick in the air. I fumble for the light next to the door and look around, satisfied.

A small table occupies the room in front of me and the kitchen sits on my right. I walk in, staring at the quaint cupboards and the tiny counter. A bathroom with duck wallpaper is on the left and I find a medium-sized living room waiting for me near the bathroom. There is a pink sofa and a couch. It feels small but cozy. There is a tiny fireplace in the corner.

“The people before us left some to us.”

I turn to Dad. He smiles wryly. “I might have told them that I was a widower with a teenage daughter.”

I muster a grin back. He stares around, avoiding my gaze.

“Could I go see my room?” I ask.

Dad nods. “Go ahead.” I walk up the narrow staircase and turn to my right. I find a small bedroom with pink covers and wallpaper. I roll my eyes. Of course, they heard “daughter” and ran with it. I would have to change it to blue. I inspect the room further.

There is a small bathroom that is linked into my room and the blue curtains clash terribly with my covers. The window is next to my bed, facing the gray ocean in the distance.

 My fingers reach out to touch the bed. It is soft and firm. I sit down gingerly. I didn’t want some bat-shit crazy rabies-infested critter to jump out. Content that there wasn’t anything there, I collapse in the bed, groaning in relief.