**TWO**
THE SCENE SCENE
I blank. “What cake?”
“Your cake!” My mom yells back. “Joe, get the camera!”
My mom puts down the chocolate covered homemade cake, probably made by my dad. In sloppy white icing the words ‘welcome home, Pia’ are sprawled across it. Everybody crowds around, becoming silent once again. “To Pia!”
“To Pia!” They echo, clinking around glasses and downing beer and wine.
I take a knife and go to cut the cake. “Wait!”
Huffing, I look over at my mother. “What?”
“Make a wish.”
I wish I’ll find a college soon. “Okay.” I cut a piece of cake. Now I realize my stomach hasn’t eaten much in a while. Grabbing my cake, I maneuver my way out of the kitchen and into my backyard.
It’s not even a backyard. It’s a square block of cement with a patio table and chairs. My dad calls it the smokers lounge because this is where the smokers come out to do their thing. Ash trays and cigarette buds are spewed around, mixing in with the rubble and rocks around the square. The square is right in the middle of a grassy area with a couple of trees to the left side. The littler kids like to climb on them, and on the right side are large rocks that they like to hop onto.
Forking a bite of cake into my mouth, I almost moan. My dad’s homemade cake is the best. Too bad there won’t be any left to enjoy later. My piece of cake is gone in less than a minute. I put that down on the patio table and look through the clear sliding door that leads to the kitchen.
“Pia!”
Someone hugs me from behind, making me grunt and shut my eyes. “Who is hugging me?”
A feminine voice giggles. “Ally. Ally Rizzo.”
“Let go of our neighbor, Ally, you’re going to hug her to death,” A more manly voice shoots into my ear.
The arms untangle from my sides and I step around to see a girl. There’s freckles dotting her cheeks and hazel pin straight hair. She’s in a halter top and skinny jeans with some flats. The guy looks like her with the same hazel hair and brown eyes, only it’s cropped and a bit more spiky. He’s in jeans too, with a red football jersey hanging loose. He doesn’t have as many freckles as the girl does, though.
“Who are you?” I ask the guy.
“Mikey. We’re your neighbors, remember us? We use to play in the sandbox in our backyard?”
My eyes flutter with recognition. “Oh yeah! Oh my god, you guys look great!” I laugh, hugging each of them. Before I left, these guys were like my best friends. We would do everything together.
YOU ARE READING
The Jersey Girl
Romance'Scene doesn’t even acknowledge that Angelica, his girlfriend of two years, is in the room, watching us make out against my fake boyfriend’s kitchen wall. Wow, my life is screwed up with a capital S.' Pia Lombardi hates New Jersey. Period. When she...
