Still Here

22

After Cara's death, my family couldn't handle living in a place so full of her. We needed to get out and get a fresh start.

This is how Courier started.

We moved here when I was fourteen, in the middle of my freshman year. I was an instant nobody. Friendless and depressed, you could say that my transition into the new environment was relatively horrible. I was known as the weird, secretive girl who broke down crying in class without reason. Or so everyone thought.

I've flipped my picture of Cara back around. I stare at it.

You were the reason, I think.

The picture was taken in a place called Kev's Diner, back in our old town on Christmas Day. My whole family is having dinner, Cara laughing while clutching a soda and wearing a Santa hat. Her dark hair spills out from it, onto her tan shoulders. Her blue eyes are full of tears of joy - the type of tears I don't think she had ever again.

Porter and I sit on either side of her, giggling and wearing elf hats. It's a fuzzy memory, but such a happy one. We didn't even know Dad was taking pictures. He'd just gotten a new camera as a gift and had been trying it out all day.

I'm so glad he got it.

I wipe away the tear that runs down my cheek before I'm sucked back into my thoughts.

Anyway, Courier sucked.

A house without Cara was one we weren't used to, and we weren't about to get used to it. My father started pouring himself into his work and my mother started pouring herself a drink. I almost never saw either of them.

I became increasingly better at fourth grade math whenever Porter came to me with homework questions. He ended up coming to me for everything. It was a good distraction, but it wasn't permanent. He got older and started shutting me out. This was the cue for me to shut the entire world out.

Like I said, Courier sucked. For a long time, I had nobody to talk to.

Except for Michael.

I met him soon after I came to Courier. I was assigned to sit next to him in class, and he seemed to be the only person oblivious of what a complete and total loser I was.

But maybe he wasn't oblivious. Maybe he knew about me and chose to befriend me anyway. The thought makes my bruised heart flutter.

He was drawing when we met. His notebook was hardly composed of notes at all - it was mainly just art. I watched him draw, his hand quick and steady. It must've been halfway through the class period when he finally noticed me, his grey eyes falling on mine. He introduced himself and I did the same.

And so our friendship began.

He was my first and only friend here, meaning more to me than I'm sure he'll ever know. He talked with me before class (and during, though that got us in trouble quite a bit), invited me to parties (I always declined), and told me things he didn't tell anyone else. For some reason unknown, we trusted each other. I trusted him. Cared about him. Subconsciously, maybe I even loved him. Not that I ever admitted any of this.

But my heart knew. My now battered, confused, little heart.

And now that it's hurting, it seems to be starting to tell me everything it's always known.