The Story of How We Met

Chapter 2

Sixteen years ago

Being a teenager sucked. Being sixteen years old was possibly one of the worst things that could happen to anyone. At least those were my thoughts as I was popping a pimple.

Getting sick or being hungry was much worse, but those were not the kinds of things I thought about while being a teen with a bad hair day and a pimple. "What's wrong with you?" I asked, staring at my hair. It had its days. Days on which my hair would fall in curls down my back. Well, today was not one of those days.

I should never have cut bangs with my school scissors. It was a bad, bad move. Being a rebel didn't suit me well. Or at least my hair didn't like it much.

I was contemplating this huge problem of mine when my mom called me.

"Alana is on the phone. She called you a trillion times while you were traveling." She handed me the phone. I had gone on my first trip outside the state with my uncle Joe.

He was a truck driver, and as I didn't have plans, nor money, I went with him to the South. I wouldn't say it was a comfortable trip, but it was fun. Better than staying at home where nothing interesting ever happened.

Or so I thought until Alana told me the news.

"You have a boyfriend?! How? Who? I mean, there is not a single handsome boy in this city."

"There was not, my darling. Now there are two. The Phillipses moved in while you were on your hippie trip with your uncle. Of course, as soon as I set my eyes on Julien, I knew I wanted him all for myself. You need to date his brother, Gary! Imagine how much fun it will be."

That's how things always worked for Alana, so naturally she assumed it was just as easy for everyone else. If there was something she wanted, she would get it.

Nothing else would matter; the world—or should I say her parents?—would stop to make her wishes come true. There was nothing wrong with it; it was just Alana's way of living life.

"Can you come over, like right now? I have so much to tell you about."

"I can go, but not now. I gotta help Mom. But I'll be free in the afternoon."

"I can't wait to tell you everything."

"And I can't wait to hear it."

Now, this was not a common thing, I thought, as I headed to her house later that same day. First, because no one ever moved into Halley. People moved out, just as my older sister did a couple of years ago, never to come back.

Second, guys our age were never beautiful, especially if they were from the same family. The closest, the ugliest. It was like a universal rule in Halley.

However, if it were to be true, it would be like winning the lottery or something.

"Hi, Mrs. Glynne. Is Alana here?"

"Hello, honey. Yes, she is upstairs. I am glad you are back; she was lonely without you around." 

"Thank you. I am happy to be back as well," I said, as I made my way to her room. I found her lying on her bed, crying her eyes out.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

"We broke up."

"Geez, that was fast." I sat on her bed, trying not to laugh.

"It's not funny, Sarah. I saw him talking to Mary Devil. Can you believe that?"

Mary Angel—that was her real name—and Alana used to be friends back in the days before they had a stupid disagreement over something I didn't remember.

Well, I never had a good memory; that's why I couldn't keep any enemies. I was always too busy daydreaming about some romantic story I read or watched on cheesy Mexican soap operas. Also, I had to help my mom out.

We were poor, very poor. And well, Alana was rich, very rich.

I used to roll my eyes at her and classify her problems as rich people's problems that didn't belong to my world. I couldn't remember what her disagreement with Mary Angel was about; what I did recall was that we had run out of food at home, and Mom was struggling to find a job that paid enough to pay our bills.

Still, Alana and I were friends.

Despite her hate for Mary Angel, we were friends as well. I used to go back from school with her from time to time.

She was crying again, so I decided it was not a good time to make jokes.

"He probably just wants to make friends. Or perhaps it was his equally hot brother."

"It's not like they are twins, Sarah I . . ."

The doorbell rang in the middle of her sentence, and we both ran to the window.

"Is it him?"

"Yes, it's Julien." She stared at me, her eyes wide open. "He can't see me like this."

"Why not? You look adorable, red nose, puffy eyes, and all."

"Don't open it!" Alana yelled at her mother.

"He probably heard you. So did the pope in Rome."

"Stop making fun of me, and go talk to him. Don't let him know I am crying. Tell him I already am with someone else, and that I don't care about him." She opened the bedroom door and pushed me out.

"May I know with whom? There are only two handsome boys in this city, and the other one is his brother. He would know if you were with his very own brother, I guess." I was not supposed to make jokes, but the whole situation was the funniest thing that would probably happen the whole year.

"Come on, Sarah, please. I'll never ask you for anything else."

"I don't buy it, but I'll go, anyway. That's just how nice I am."

When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a huge bouquet of roses; hidden behind it was a huge pair of glasses. 

Okay, Alana was exaggerating. He was not even near as glamorous as described, but he was cute. Really cute. 

"You are not Alana." 

"No, I am not. I ate her. Not that you are going to care since you already seem to have another girlfriend. You know, I didn't even get the chance to catch up on the gossip, and you already moved on. Let me tell you, this is not how things are done in small towns. You gotta give us time." Julien smiled big, just as big as his glasses. Deep dimples only made him look handsomer.

"I am Julien." He stretched his free hand out to me, and I only stared at it pathetically.

The romantic girl that lived in me could not believe I was having a hard time breathing while staring at him. Just like all the books! Except that the roses were not for me.

"You are supposed to grab my hand, you know? Shaking hands is an ancient custom that goes back to the ancient Greeks, but as far as I know, we continue to use it nowadays, and it is considered offensive not to return the gesture, you know?"

My jaw dropped, but as I shook his hand, I forced myself to recover, thinking about the pimple that covered half of my face.

"Oh me, oh my. Look what we have here? A historian boy." He shrugged, but we both smiled. "Come on in, Alana is upstairs, very pissed off, I might add."

I took a step back so he could enter the house.

"Do you think she will like these flowers? I didn't know which were her favorites, but my brother said girls like flowers so . . ."

"Yes, I think Alana will love them. I personally don't like bouquets because the flowers are already dead. I find it kinda morbid. Not that you asked." Oh my gosh, why was I talking so much? "I'll get Alana for you."

"Hey, funny girl." I stopped climbing the stairs. "You didn't say your name."

"I am Sarah Macklemore."