Dahlia Martinez. A girl with attitude, wit, and an extreme need for academic validation.
Blake Austin. A compassionate guy who has priorities...mostly.
Home troubles and past issues force Dahlia to a new school for her final year of highschool. S...
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My palms are sweaty as I grip the steering wheel. These red lights are taking too long, I need to be at her house now.
The light finally turns green, and I'm probably going over the speed limit. I cant find it in me to care though, because the only thing on my mind is getting to her.
10 minutes later, I've finally made it to her neighborhood. It feels like every road to get to her house has gotten longer.
I turn the road to her street, the anxiety is eating me alive.
What do I do if she's gone? Trust me, I've tried calling but it goes straight to voicemail. And my messages don't go through. She probably blocked me, which makes this 10 times harder.
The light yellow house comes into view, just a few more feet so I can see if she's there.
But when I finally reach her house, reach my same spot next to the curb, there's nothing. No car in the driveway, no boxes packed up, and no Dahlia.
I run out of my car and to the door, knocking frantically. Please, please someone be here.
I knock for 5 minutes, pleading and begging for someone to answer. But no one ever does. It's complete crickets.
It's too late.
—————
"Oh, Blake, honey how did it go?"
My mom gives me a sweet smile, one that would usually warm my heart. Right now, though, it makes me want to cry.
I hold the flowers in my hand, indicating that Dahlia doesn't have them. And I ate the sour candy on the drive home, but it didn't help, only made me think of her more.
"Wha- What happened?" Mom embraces me in a hug, and I can't even hug her back. I just start to shake as my body trembles with sobs.
Mom steps back with her hands on my shoulders, a worried look plastered on her face. "Why don't we get you something to drink, and then you can tell me what happened."
I can only nod, a small one if anything. She drags me by the hand to the kitchen, my dad sits at the table on his computer. When he looks at me, his eyes widen, and I'm assuming it's because he's never seen me cry.
"Woah, what happened?" He forces a laugh, but nothing is funny.
Mom gets me a glass of water, and I chug it down in seconds. I feel like I've cried out all the water in my body. That's probably not possible, but it's how I feel.
We sit at the table toward the end my dad isn't at. He's doing work, I really don't want to bother him.
"Can't we sit in the living room?" I ask.
Mom shakes her head. "Maybe your dad could help too, Blake." I give her a glare, dad rarely gives good advice. He's a good dad, but not the best at comforting.
