In Orange County

Chapter three

As soon as I step off the plane, a wave of sweet smelling air like flowers and fruit and summer heat, hit me like a grenade. So this is what California feels like. I wonder how many beach babes I'll get to meet and talk to. Hopefully a lot.

After finding my bags on the carousel and checking my passport with the airport security, I make my way towards the exit. But as I'm walking down the corridor, I feel a flurry of butterflies start playing in my stomach. I have never met my mother before. I don't even know what she looks like. Did she have any other kids after me? Did she get married after she and dad divorced? Will she like me?! I have so many questions my head is spinning.

That's when I realize that I'm leaning against the wall taking in deep breaths and trying not to pass out. 'just calm down' I say to myself 'you'll be alright just be yourself ' I take one more deep breath for good measure and set off at a confident speed.

When I step out into the lobby, I scan the crowd for my mum. I'm expecting that she will look a lot like me. Dark hair, green ayes, and somewhat tall.

A sign off to the side of the lobby catches my eye. I says:

LOGAN JONES, WELCOME TO ORANGE COUNTY!

I make my way over to the sign and look at the person holding it. She looks in her mid forties, maybe early fifties, with darkish brown hair and a slight dusting of freakles. She has some age lines and a few grey hairs. She is also fairly thin but to skinny. I can tell at once that she is my mum. A closer look at her face shows that she is as nervous as I am. At least I'm not the only one.

I'm getting closer now. She can see me and she has a wide grin on her face and I realize I'm smiling too. When I finally reach her I am lost for words.

"um, hi."I say uncertain.

"hi," she replies.

"it's really nice to meet you ."I say.

"ya, you too, why don't we get those

bags of yours in the car and to our house, what do think hmm?"she says in a kind voice.

"ya sure."I say.

She helps me with my carry-on and I grab my larger bag. When we get to the car I see a girl leaning against the drivers door. She looks about my age maybe younger. She has long jet-black hair and light skin for someone who grew up in California. She is wearing a loose tank-top and some really short jean shorts. When we step up to the small red Porsche, she looks up from her white IPhone and says,

"well that took a while. My name is Sophie and I guess your Logan. Get in the car." She doesn't seem very enthusiastic to see me. From what I gather I'm guessing shes my half-sister.

After helping my mum put my bags in the car I go to sit in the passenger seat and that's when I notice that the steering wheel is on the wrong side of the car! Why isn't it in the proper place? There must be some sort of different driving rules in this country.

Now, as I strap myself into the back seat, I feel sort of out of place. I suddenly realize that I am the outsider here. I don't think I have ever felt like that before. Not when I was late to class, or when I was rejected by girls, or even when my ex-girlfriend cheated on me with my cousin.

She is my mother and I Don't even know who she is.