His Mask Of Duplicity

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It's hard having divorced parents. It's not only hard, but it's also confusing, stressful, irritating—you name it. Trust me, I know because my parents are divorced. They divorced when I was four or five years old. It was hard at first but I got used to it. I guess I can say that at that age, I didn't really understand the meaning of divorce. All I knew was that I had live in two different houses on scheduled days. Obviously now, having divorced parents and my living situation becomes more complex, but I learned early to just deal with it ... but I can't. 

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I wake to the sound of the pilot's voice over the speakers. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Your flight from Manhattan to San Fransisco will land shortly in approximately five minutes. So please, fasten your seat belts." 

I fight myself to reposition my head to face the window, but the stiffness in my neck makes it hard. Leaning my head against the side of the plane, I struggle to keep my eyes open.

Still dazed, the plane suddenly hits the ground. I jerk myself upward and wipe the drool from my mouth. The plane feels unstable as the wheels roll across the runway. The gushing wind whizzes and a whistling noise fills my ears as the plane slows.

I look over at Mom who's tidying her seat area. As I pull out my phone, I hear the attendant's voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived safely in San Fransisco. The time is two thirty-three in the afternoon. We hope you had a safe flight. Thank you for flying with Delta."

My phone turns on and two texts force their way onto my screen.

They're from my best friend, Heather: 

7:23 A.M. Hope u have a safe trip! I miss u already. txt me when u land. xoxo

9:12 A.M. IM DYING W/O U!

"Hi, I'm Heather," she introduced. She sat down with me during lunch on my first day. of sixth grade. I looked up at her, wary.

"Um, hi?"

"Wanna be friends? ... Yuh know, 'cause you're new?"

I stared at her blankly. Back then, I had absolutely no intention of becoming friends with anyone.

"Er... Not really. I'm an independent girl. Thanks, though," I said, shrugging.

"Oh, um, okay," she nodded, visibly hurt by the rejection, then walked away. 

When I broke my arm the next year, Heather was the first to ask if I was okay and was the first to sign my cast. That was when our friendship began. I don't know what changed in me, but something caused me to want to begin a relationship with her. We were literally connected at the hip and never did anything without one another. We spent the night at both houses, went to the bathroom together (cause that's girls do), did our homework in the same room, and everything else imaginable—well, at least what was possible for us to do. Now, we're both sixteen and juniors in high school. The only time we've been separated is now— me, moving to San Fransisco.

I slide my phone back into my pocket and stand up to exit the plane. Grabbing my luggage from the overhead compartment, I follow my mom off the plane and into the airport.

"Welcome to San Fransisco," Mom greets as we step out of the hallway-like cover that connects the airport to the plane. My eyes skim Gate B, noticing the bored faces waiting to board their plane.

We make our way out of the airport, following the Baggage Claim signs that hang from the ceiling. Eventually we find the exit. Stepping through the sliding glass doors, a gust of wind hits us. My loose hair flaps and covers my face. Mom's hair is pulled into a messy bun, her hair impervious to the sudden blast of wind.

Mom slips two fingers in her mouth, her thumb and pointer finger, and blows, sounding a high-pitched whistle. A yellow cab skids to a stop, pulling to the curb. The cab driver helps us put our luggage in the trunk.

"Where ya' folks headed?" the cab driver asks after I shut the taxi door.

"Cupertino," Mom says without looking up from her phone. "I've been getting an endless amount of emails. My phone will burst if I don't check a large amount now." I can't actually tell whether she's talking to me or talking to herself. 

Ever since Mom got promoted to COO of Apple, she's been really busy with work. Of course I'm sad she doesn't "hang out" with me more, but I kind of like it. Go independence! When her boss informed her about the promotion, she was told that if she accepted the promotion, she had to move. Now here we are, moving to San Fransisco. 

Being the COO of Apple is a big deal; because it's such a big deal, the company gave us a really nice and fancy apartment—well, so I've heard— as a "congratulations gift". Crazy, right?

The cab accelerates and cruises down the highway. The sky is blue but little droplets of water start falling from the sky. They eventually become heavier, but the sky remains the same, blue and bright. Soon enough, the cab pulls into the valet lane of the apartment building. Unfortunately, there's no cover above to keep us from getting wet and the rain pours harder and faster.

After Mom pays the driver, we rush out of the car, collect our baggages and hurry inside. It's raining so hard, by the time we enter the lobby, I'm soaking wet. My hair is matted down and water drops from the ends.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," I tell Mom as she walks up to the check-in desk.

"You do that," she smiles and turns back to the receptionist. I leave my luggage next to her and find my way to the bathroom. I look down at the floor and notice I'm leaving a trail of water as I go. 

Still looking down, I examine my drenched hair as I wring it out, fully aware I'm creating a more obvious trail. I turn the corner and umph. I stumble backwards and my vision refocuses. I blink a few times and shake my head. 

"You okay there?" a voice of an older boy asks.

"I sure hope so," I say blinking again, then add, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Honestly, I don't even know. As you probably noticed, I'm a bit off," I say, playfully whacking my forehead.

"You're funny. I'm Adrian Warner, I'm apartment E4." He holds out a hand.

"Chloe Reed. I don't know what I am, I just moved here," I say. I take his hand and shake it firmly. When our eyes meet, I take in his brown eyes. His lightish-darkish brown hair is like every other guy, gelled at the top with the small swoopy-thing at the front and his face is perfected. He's tall and has a muscular build I can't seem to tear my eyes away from. I especially notice his sharp jawline. 

I stare too long and can feel myself blushing. I force myself to look away with a ton of effort.

"So, Reed, why is it that you bump into me and you're soaking wet?"