Eighteen year-old Zach Curtis has lost everything: his girlfriend, his job and his scholarship. Nothing in the world matters anymore, until he receives a rude awakening from a stranger.
Petite and awkward, Terra Quinn is living the life with her bes...
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– Terra –
I sprint into the loving embrace of my parents the instant I see their teary faces. It makes the tedious bus rides and crowded subways worthwhile.
It has only been a year, and I never realized how a year can pass by both so quickly and slowly. When Abby and I first left home for college, it didn't occur to me that the excitement of exploring what was beyond this small town could be nothing compared to being home. It'd be an entire month until I return to Glenworth again by the last day of summer, and while I really enjoy being home, I also hate the separation from one of the most important people in my life.
"Dad, you look younger." I joke.
"Young enough to be your brother?" he winks, beaming from ear to ear.
"Definitely." I play along as we enter the house, clicking the door shut behind us.
I glance around the living room, looking at the frames of faded photos decorated in a geometrical pattern on the sky blue walls, the grey three-seater couch with poorly matched pillows, the white flickering lamps curving towards the black television, the green potted plants that Dad struggled to decide where to place when it was first delivered. Nostalgia hits me like a truck as I inhale the sweet scent of vanilla from Mom's favorite brand of air freshener.
Nothing has changed at all.
It is a little past dinner time now, though Mom and Dad had waited for me to return home so we could share our first meal together, like how I knew they would.
"So how was Glenworth?" Mom asks, scooping a spoonful of chunky mashed potatoes to my plate.
"It was great." I beam, excited to share my stories. "I did a lot better this semester compared to the last, surprisingly, and Ms. Montez also got me into a club. I met some new friends."
"Any guys?" Dad asks, cutting straight to the chase. How very typical of him.
I am in the midst of swallowing my first bite of crispy rosemary chicken when Dad asked that. I simply grin, mostly because I'm not about to speak with my mouth full.
Mom and Dad exchange glances and I can physically feel my cheeks turn bright pink under their intense stares.
"Who is it?!" Mom asks like an excited thirteen year-old. That is what I always love the most about her, her innocent child-like reactions that eases the flow of our conversations.
"Um..." I clear my throat, feeling a little queasy inside. "Well, his name is Zach–"
"Zach." Mom echoes.
"Zach." Dad nods, and I didn't have to ask to know they are having their own versions of Zach imagined in their mind. I also know that they probably got him totally wrong.
