Meant to Be (4 page)

When my dad was alive, he had broached the
subject of taking me to a clinic many times, but mom always
intervened on my behalf. Of course if my mom knew how often I
dreamed about him, she probably would have felt differently. As far
as she knew, I only dreamt about him occasionally. My dad had
serious issues when he found out that the boy in my dreams was
aging with me. He was okay with it when I was young, but he didn’t
like the idea of me dreaming about some teenage boy.

“Mom, I’m fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about
me.”

“It’s my job to worry about you. I don’t like
the idea of you getting so upset while you are sleeping,” she
glared at me. “And even though you try to cover it, I know that
it’s following you throughout your day. You’re just getting over
your dad; I hate to see you upset all over again.”

“Mom, trust me, I’m fine. Come on, we need to
get a move on or I’m going to be late for the first day of
school.”

By the look on her face, I knew the subject
wasn’t closed. Next time, I would have to do a better job at
covering up the signs of my dreams.

We arrived at my new school with ten minutes
to spare. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I have my schedule, and
I’ve studied the school map enough that I shouldn’t get lost.” At
least that’s what I was hoping anyway.

“Try to make friends honey, okay?”

“Mom, you know I’m not good at that. People
just don’t like me.”

“That’s not true. People are just put off by
the way you study them. Sometimes you look like your searching for
something in them.”

She was right of course; I was always sizing
everyone up, searching for the same kind of connection with others
that I shared with the unknown boy in my dreams.

“Look mom, I’ll try, okay? It’s just hard for
me to meet new people.”

“I know honey. I just want you to be
happy.”

“I’ll try,” I said again, getting out of the
car.

I closed the car door behind me and looked at
my new school. I couldn’t help feeling a little awed at the beauty
of the campus. The brochures didn’t lie, it was a beautiful school.
The building itself was two sprawling stories that was as big as
the mall back home. The most appealing feature of the building was
the wide staircase leading up to the large imposing front doors
that were made from honey colored oak. Windows that sparkled in the
bright sunlight lined the exterior of the building and were placed
every six feet or so. Each window was adorned with a different
brick inlay pattern over it. Ivy ran up the sides of the structure
in abundance and made the school look more like an Ivy League
college than a private high school.

It was definitely more prestigious looking
than my previous high school. I couldn’t help feeling intimidated
just looking at it; I now knew why the tuition was so high. The
grounds themselves probably cost more to maintain than my old
school spent for all their teachers salaries put together. I had
once gone golfing with my dad and even that grass couldn’t compare
to what surrounded this school. The grass was plentiful and was
only broken up by the big oak trees that provided shade over the
many picnic tables that littered the grounds. Beautiful flowers
flanked the sidewalk leading up to the building, and ran along the
border of the building. The overall affect was quite pretty, and I
couldn’t help being impressed.

Glancing at my wrist watch, I saw that I
still had eight minutes until the bell rang. I looked around for a
place to sit while I waited. All the picnic tables were occupied by
students catching up on what they had done during spring break. By
the sounds of it, most had enjoyed a
killer
party at some
guy’s house. Others had obviously spent their time partying at the
beach during spring break, since many of the girls were showing off
their new tan lines.

I mentally shook my head as I settled under
one of the big oak trees. It didn’t matter if they were smarter,
teenagers are the same everywhere. I didn’t know why I felt so out
of touch with other kids my age. Maybe my mom was right, maybe I
should try to make more of an effort to get to know people better.
Maybe the connection I had been searching for all these years just
didn’t exist.

I studied a group of guys messing around with
a Frisbee. They all looked so carefree and happy. Had I ever been
that carefree? I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t thinking
about
him
with some part of my brain. Could someone be
carefree when they were always consumed with a hunger for something
else?

A shadow fell across me. Looking up in
surprise, I saw a very pretty girl looking down at me with
interest.

“Aren’t you afraid that you’re going to get a
grass stain on your skirt?”

“Excuse me?” I asked surprised. I wasn’t used
to someone talking to me; most times people treated me like a
leaper.

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to get a
grass stain on your skirt?” the girl repeated.

“No, if I do, I’m sure it will wash.”

The girl’s face widened into a big smile. I
felt my mouth spread into a matching smile.

“I knew you were my kind of girl when I saw
you plop down without a care of your clothes. I’m not sure I’ve
seen anyone sit on the grass since I started here six months ago.”
She said, still smiling.

She held out her hand. “I’m Sam.”

“I’m Krista,” I said, reaching out to shake
her hand. I gasped in surprise when I felt a small shock like one
of those hand buzzers you might get from a joke store, except, Sam
was holding nothing. It filled me with a warm feeling like I had
been dunked in a steaming bathtub. It gave me a feeling of odd
completeness.

“Did you feel that?” I asked in a shocked
voice. “What was that?”

“That was strange,” Sam replied, not looking
quite as surprised as I felt. Instead she studied me with
interest.

I felt a little flustered. It felt like déjà
vu, or like we had met somewhere before, but that was impossible.
The warmth from our handshake was still strong and I looked at my
hand in amazement. Who was this girl?

Sam continued to study me with interest as I
tried to make sense of what was going on.

Only mere seconds had passed, but I had the
uncanny feeling that this girl and I were lifelong friends. I
should feel foolish, but for some reason, I didn’t.

Finally, Sam broke the silence. “My real name
is Samantha, but I changed it to Sam. It fits me better, don’t you
think?”

It was like she opened a flood gate. Before I
knew it, we were chatting away like we had known each other for
years.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Sam asked after a few
moments.

“I know, I can’t believe it,” I said, still a
little flustered.

“They’re so funny how all they do is talk
about some party, or whether their tan line is even,” Sam said,
echoing my thoughts from earlier.

“Huh?” What a dope I was, here I was thinking
she was talking about our ease with each other. She was so
easygoing; she probably had no idea the inner turmoil I was going
through as I tried to figure out why I was so comfortable around
her. Here I was trying to make heads or tails out of why I had felt
a surge of electricity shoot through me when we had shaken hands,
and she could care less. She was probably this friendly with
everyone and considered herself
the welcoming committee
. I
felt my flush begin to deepen and looked down at the grass,
mortified.

“I feel like I have nothing in common with
any of them,” Sam said.

I looked up surprised. Sam was studying the
group with the Frisbee much the same way I had just done a few
minutes ago. I laughed in relief.

“I can relate. I always feel that way in
school, more like an observer, than a participant…”

I was interrupted when I noticed that Sam and
I had become the topic of conversation for a group of guys walking
by.

“Who’s that sitting next to
fridge
,” I
heard one of them ask.

“I don’t know, some new chick I guess, why,
do you think you can score with her?” his friend asked.

Neither seemed to care that Sam and I could
hear them. They stood there eyeing me like I was a steak or
something.

I could feel a familiar wave of embarrassment
approaching and tried to fight it back, but quickly realized it was
too late. I knew that I needed to get out of there before Sam saw
me get sick. The last thing I wanted was to puke in front of my new
friend like a freak.

I scrambled to my feet. “I’ve got to go.”

Dusting the grass abruptly off the seat of my
skirt, I spared one last glance at Sam before darting off. I felt a
twinge of guilt by the hurt look on her face.

The first bell rang as I rushed frantically
through the halls searching for a restroom. Students jostled me on
every side as they rushed off to their classes. It took me a few
minutes to realize I had no idea where the nearest bathroom
was.

What an idiot
, I had neglected to look
for bathrooms when studying the school map. Stepping out of the
flow of traffic, I leaned against the wall trying to get my
bearings back. I was hoping to avoid an episode like this on my
first day at my new school. The sweat was beading quickly on my
forehead, and I felt a burning sensation rising up into my throat.
I tried to calm down quickly before I made a spectacle of
myself.

I clamped my eyes shut, knowing from past
experience this would help speed the process along. It was best to
let the waves run their course and hopefully I wouldn’t throw up.
As soon as I could move again, I would find a drinking fountain and
sneak some Advil. I didn’t know what the school’s policy was about
taking over the counter medication. At my old school, you had to
have a doctor’s note on file in the school clinic in order to take
Advil. I opted out of bringing one in for the new school figuring I
would only be here for a few months. I figured if I had an attack,
I could sneak some. Of course, I neglected to put any in my
backpack that I had checked and rechecked the day before. I was a
dope.

The waves finally slowed their attack on me
and I felt like I was regaining control.

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt a
water bottle being pressed into my left hand, and two pills being
pushed into my right.

“Close your hand around the pills, they don’t
like you to take medicine without a note,” Sam murmured in my
ear.

I palmed the pills while I took a shaky drink
of water. As the water flowed down my throat, some of the sickness
from the emotional wave began to leave me. After a second drink, I
was ready to swallow the pills. I knew real relief was about an
hour away, but felt I might be able to make it to a bathroom.
Making it to homeroom on time no longer seemed feasible, but
looking like I might puke was not the first impression I wanted to
make in my new school, anyway.

Sam took the water bottle from me as she
grabbed onto my elbow and began to steer me down the hallway. When
the fogginess in my head finally began to clear, I opened my eyes,
but could only make out the shapes of the people we passed. My
eyesight would return to normal in a few moments once the Advil
began its work on my damaged nerves.

I was more than a little confused that Sam
had known how desperately I needed the water and Advil. It was if
she knew exactly what I was going through, which was
ridiculous.

“Can I help you girls?” asked a kind elderly
voice.

My eyes were finally fully focused and I saw
that Sam had led me to the school clinic.

“Yeah, this is her first day, and I think
nerves are making her sick,” Sam replied.

“Oh! You poor dear. Follow me. I know how
tough it is in a new school. Come lay down on a cot in the
back.”

“Can I come with her?” Sam asked. “I thought
I could walk her to class when she’s feeling better.”

“That sounds fine dear. Just let me know if
you need anything,” she said as she patted me on the back on her
way out.

I sat on the edge of the cot in the room
which resembled a daybed more than a cot. In my old school, the
cots were made of canvas and metal and smelled like the outdoors,
and not in a good way.

Glancing around the room, I could see more
benefits of going to a private school. Instead of the industrial
steel gray color walls that made up the clinic of my old school,
the walls in this room were painted a warm honey yellow. The color
had an instant soothing feeling that started to ease my frazzled
nerves. The yellow walls were broken up by white chair rails that
ran the length of the walls. Above the chair rails were a series of
appealing paintings. Each painting had the same exotic looking
tree. At first glance they all looked the same, but when you
studied them more closely, you could pick out subtle differences to
distinguish between each one.

Sam sat in the easy chair next to the daybed
where I was perched.

No folding chairs for private school
,
I thought as I studied the rich hardwood planks that made up the
floors throughout the room. I shook my head slightly, thinking that
even the flooring in this school was a far cry from the cracked
linoleum floors that covered every square foot of flooring in my
old high school.

“I’m sorry I walked away from you,” I finally
blurted, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“That’s okay. I could tell that those guys
embarrassed you. I could see it affecting you, trust me, I can
relate. My nerves sometimes become frazzled in embarrassing
situations, too.”

“Um yeah, but mine seem to be worse than most
people,” I said understated. I knew for a fact that no one had
emotions like mine.

“Well, you might be surprised,” Sam said.