Chapter Two - Samantha's Perspective
Samantha parked her car in front of her average sized, dilapidated old house. Good thing she didn't have a lot of friends. She wouldn't invite anyone over here if her life depended on it.
Locking her car, Sam jogged up the length of her driveway and pulled at the bottom hatch of the garage door. It fought her in lifting open, its hinges squeaking in discomfort.
Her lungs choked back a breath full of dust and mold as the garage door finally wheezed its way open. God forbid her parents ever clean this out. Dozens of antiques lined every inch of the floor. A number of old bicycles hung suspended from the ceiling, rust plastered on their spokes and wheels.
Samantha had long ago cleared a narrow path for her to get inside. She was noticing though, that the path was becoming smaller and more hazardous by the day. She never could understand the attraction with antiques. It's not like they were being used. Most of them were sitting here to rot in the garage. And yet her mother, whose occupation was a homemaker and stay-at-home mom, couldn't get enough of them.
"Sammy! Welcome home baby!" Samantha's mother shouted from the kitchen.
Samantha rounded the corner to the kitchen, a plate of cookies and a glass of milk waiting for her. How many times had she requested apples or carrots instead? It's not that she didn't like cookies. But she was made fun of enough at school. If she indulged her love for sweets, rolls of fat would be following shortly thereafter. Samantha cringed, thinking of all the names her peers would come up with if that happened.
"Would you like a cookie?" her mother asked, scooting the plate towards her.
In no way did Sam need to be treated like a child. She had told her mother countless times she didn't need an 'afterschool snack.' That should have stopped back in pre-school. But her mother still persisted, a new treat waiting for her every day.
"No thanks. Not hungry."
"Anything exciting happen at school today?"
"Did you make any new friends?"
Samantha rolled her eyes, getting up to leave and heading to her bedroom. That last question didn't even deserve a response. If she hadn't made any new friends after three years of attending that hell-hole of a high school, she wasn't going to start now.
Samantha turned on her computer, the monitor and PC buzzing to life. As she typed in her username and password, her house phone rang. She glanced at the clock. 4:45 PM. And that'll be Carl.
"Hello?" Samantha answered.
"Hey, Sam. It's me, Carl."
Samantha bit back a smile.
"I know. You've called everyday at the same time for the past five years. You heading over now or what?"
"Yea. But hey, did your mom mention to you anything about the school board director calling?"
Samantha frowned. No, her mom hadn't mentioned anything. Then again, she hadn't really given her a chance.
"No, she didn't."
"My dad said he got a call at work today and apparently our town is being re-districted. I don't know all the details. But what I do know? Our street is now considered a part of Carol Stream instead of Livingston."
A beat of silence.
"Sam, we're going to be transferred. Our senior year will be spent at a different high school."
As Samantha pulled away from her house the next morning, she couldn't help but stare at Travis. He lived across the street and two houses down from her. God, he's gorgeous. His normally gelled hair was tousled and unmade. A pair of navy sport shorts clung to his muscular legs, a sweaty wife beater covering his torso. It looked like he'd just gotten back from his morning run, something Samantha tried to witness at least once a week. Not that she'd ever admit it.
Was Travis's side of the street affected by the re-district as well? Sam pondered the thought. It'd be nice to continue seeing him every day at school. Then again, he paid such little attention to her that she supposed it didn't matter one way or another.
Travis peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, leaning against his car in fatigue. In sexy fatigue, that is. His tan, muscular stomach seemed to radiate in the morning's sun.
"Do I need to buy you a drooling bib?" Carl snapped from the passenger seat.
Carl had never approved for Samantha's choice in crush. She didn't know why it mattered to him. She could never get Travis. She was a loser, and he was a popular jock. And as unfortunate as it was, those two worlds just did not co-exist.
A small hopeful voice squeaked up in the back of Sam's mind. He asked for your homework though! And he even addressed you by name! Samantha tightened her grip on the steering wheel, bringing her eyes forward and focusing on the day ahead. Boy, did her inner conscious know how to make her feel pathetic.