CHRISTINE
Rays of sunshine beam through the half-open window, and I can feel the comforting warmth on my skin. A familiar tune inundates the car. Instantly, I reach over from the backseat to the radio, and I turn the volume all the way up, a grin forming on my lips.
Mom groans loudly, rolling her chocolate eyes in exasperation. Her thick, chestnut hair is tied in a low bun, with some strays poking out at random places. Dad laughs but doesn't tear his eyes away from the road for a second.
"Christine," Mom starts, "this is the fifth time this song has come on the radio, and, frankly, I do not understand why it's so popular!"
I take a handful of gobstoppers from the packet inside my yellow backpack, but, before viciously devouring all of it, I explain, "I've said it a bunch of times now: you have to watch The Breakfast Club to understand how emotional, how devastating, how bittersweet 'Don't You (Forget About Me)' truly is." I wipe a non-existent tear from the brim of my eye while clutching my chest.
Mom just gives me humorous smile and replies "Whatever you say..."
Triumphantly, I shove the sweets in my mouth and dance goofily to the music, until the radio host cuts the song a few seconds short, and rambles on about the soccer scores and the weather.
Dad looks at me for a split second before returning his focus to the road, his brow raised. He cackles warmly when he says, "Not to sound harsh, sweetie, but you remind me of a five year old when you dance like that. I sometimes forget how old you really are."
I raise my eyebrows in mock offence. "18 is not old! At all! I'm practically fresh out the womb!"
Mom laughs again, and adds, "No, you're not. You're an adult now — you have responsibilities... and now that we're moving to Hawkins you could get-"
"Get a job, I know."
"And," she adds with a wink "Who knows, you might meet a handsome boy while working."
Awkwardly, I scratch the back of my neck and chuckle. I decide to not respond to what she says. Instead, my eyes wander toward the window, shades of oak and emerald blending together as we swiftly drive past. Fifteen minutes pass before we see a sign with the message 'Welcome to Hawkins!' in big pale yellow letters.
A fresh start.
I know I should be looking forward to it, but, honestly, I'm kinda fucking terrified.
I've never told anyone about this before, but I think my heart is broken. Every girl around me seems to have a perfect boyfriend who they love with their whole heart and would die for. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have had boyfriends in the past. I just didn't really... love them.
That makes me sound like a total douchebag. I swear I'm not. I promise that I tried to love them — I tried so, so hard. Kiss after kiss and boyfriend after boyfriend and I still felt like I was making out with a cardboard box. The only time when I ever felt a flutter in my chest and butterflies in my stomach was when I kissed my friend Vanessa as a dare in the 8th grade... which is... bizarre.
I don't like to think about it too much.
I need to get a boyfriend as soon as possible and I need to fall head over heels for him, even if that means that I have to fake it till I make it.