before dogs had problems

Chapter 1

I despised Glendale.

Perhaps if I hadn't be forced to grow up in such a place, I would have been less likely to hate it so; however, as I was born and raised there, I was never given to opportunity to grow fond to it. 

People always seemed to get stuck in Glendale; when you lived there, you never left.  My parents, and my parent's parents, and so on and so forth, were all residents of Glendale.  My ancestors practically founded the town - not that it mattered anymore by the late 20th century, other than the fact that my family was silently cursed to never leave, constantly carrying out the dying breath of a legacy that no one had cared about in decades. 

I've always craved change; consistency bores me beyond measure.  The thought of being trapped by something as worthless as a town disgusted me, and I was no older than six years old when I first started dreaming of a life I could live if only I could escape.  Looking back, perhaps if I had not created such idealized versions of a fantasy, I could have possibly enjoyed the present.  However, at the time, my dreams of being spontaneous and free in California trumped any possible desire to grow old in Glendale. 

I wanted so badly just to run away.

I was the middle child of seven children- three of whom were adopted, but my parents always seemed to be picking up more strays along the way.  They wanted to save every foster child they stumbled upon, but in the process, neglected the children they already had.  I was vastly overlooked, despite being one of their own, and it is something that still impacts who I am today.  On the other hand, I was able to get away with anything; my house was constant madness surrounded by a facade of generosity and kindness.  My parents missed my birthday every year after I turned five.  Sometimes I wondered if they'd even notice if I ran away at all.  To this day, I'm still not sure if they ever truly knew that I was their daughter.

Despite the chaos, I was always taken well enough care of; there was always food in our house and education was always provided.  It was in there, in the education system of Glendale, Arizona, where I first met Nathaniel Ruess. 

It was the very first week of freshman year, during homeroom, when he turned around from the seat in front of me, and asked to borrow a pencil.  He was always so absent-minded; sometimes I wondered how he even remembered how to breathe or blink without being constantly reminded; his mind was always so far ahead that it astounded me.  But, because of that forgetfulness, that day of freshman year was the one in which the entire course of our lives would be set into motion - and it humbles me to reflect upon how we had no idea of what was ahead of us:

"Yo, do you have a pencil I could borrow?"

I looked up from my sketchpad to see the lanky kid in front of me turned around, his blue eyes pleading over something so mediocre.  Out of instinct, I roll my eyes at him; I realize this immediately can be perceived as "rude", so I follow it up with a laugh, hand him a pencil, and hope he doesn't notice.

"Thanks!" He immediately places the pencil behind his ear, and I'm already certain that he's going to lose it before first period even begins.  I smirk.

I silently hope that he'll turn around and that I can get back to drawing, but he clearly has other plans.

"I'm Nate."  He offers his hand out to me to shake.  Who does that anymore?  I shake it anyway.  Surprisingly, it's actually a nice gesture.

"Rebecca." I say, matter-of-factly.  "People call me Reba."

He scrunches his nose at me in disdain, and immediately I am simultaneously self-conscious and amused.  I'm genuinely not sure how to read this kid.  He's odd.

"Eh, Reba doesn't really suit you."  He says.  I feel like I would normally take offense to a comment like that, but, for some reason, this boy is too charming for me to care.

I shrug.  "Well, I mean, it's my name, so..." I smirk.  "I can't change it.  At least not for a few years."

He cocks his head slightly to the right.  "Maybe you don't have to."  He says, thoughtfully.  "Just go by Becca instead.  You look like a Becca."

I scoff in amazement.  "No offense, but I've known you for three minutes.  Why should I change my name for you?"  I pick my pencil up and begin doodling again.

I can feel his eyes on me, and I know that he's grinning widely.  "It'll grow on you.  You'll see.  It suits you."

I look back up at him, my eyes slightly squinted, wondering why he has suddenly acquired such an interest in me.  He is charming and energetic; though not necessarily physically blessed, there is a youthful energy about him that is captivating.  He's certainly popular, at least among his own circle of friends.  I am not.  I'm reserved and quiet, and I definitely do not open up to strangers who have only known me for five minutes and put my pencils behind their ears.  Not to mention, he strikes me as the type to chase after vivacious cheerleaders with blonde hair and blue eyes, not girls like me, whose hazel eyes change as constantly as their hair color and personalities.

I pause, my lips pursed.  "You can call me whatever you want.  I don't care."  I place my sketchpad into my backpack as soon as the bell for first period rings.  Nate hops up with so much energy that it makes me physically wince out of shock.  If he noticed, he doesn't show it.  His grin, it's whiteness paralleling his naivety, never fails. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Becca.  Maybe sooner, if I'm lucky".

He's out of the classroom before I can even blink.  I find myself simultaneously frowning and chuckling to myself in a perfect paradox. 

That boy has to be absolutely insane.

I can't wait to figure him out.