Last Chance, Caroline

January

January 18, 2008

Seventeenth birthday.

I have finally figured out what life is. A downward cycle of pain and misery, swirling into the dark pits of hell. The Demon Doesn't Sleep blasting on my laptop-the crappy one I'm totally ungrateful for. Yes, I said it, I'm going to hell. Proof that I'm a total asshole. Because I really don't care where I'm going at this point, and I know I'm pathetic. Congratulate me. So, I turned 17 today. So effing ecstatic. I'm not like my next-door neighbor, Lucey Myers, because I don't need a car to celebrate my seventeenth. Did you know? We have the same birthday? Except Lucey's turning sixteen today. Lucey moved here eight years ago from some prissy city god-knows-where in California, and so did her extremely rich, extremely blonde parents, Lana and Dean.  I don't know why they'd move across the street from the dump I live in. Probably because eight years ago, it wasn't a dump.

For our sixteenth\seventeenth birthdays, Lana Myers came up with the brilliant idea that we should celebrate together. Me and Lucey. Like one big happy family. Unfortunately for me, my pothead, alcoholic mom and shitfaced step-dad agreed.

So, Lucey's family obviously went over the top for Lucey's sweet sixteen with a brand new car. I don't know what the hell the kind it was, I don't pay attention to that crap. But they were exuberant and nearly bawling their eyes out when they saw Lucey's amazed expression. And Lucey doesn't know how to drive. I know how to drive, but I don't have a car, because either Mom's too poor, or she's afraid I'm going to crash it off a cliff some day. But now she decides to pipe in offer that I can give Lucey Myers a ride to school every day. The Myers very reluctantly agreed. What, Lucey? Am I not good enough for your high LA\Maui\whatever expectations?

For me, the Myers got me a journal. It was black and outlined with gold on the cover, with a heavily gold CAROLINE CHANCE in the middle. I hate to admit it, but it actually was a really kind gift, considering because my own parents are too lazy to get me something. Also because I write a lot. And not for school, either. I skip nearly every day, and now that I had the keys to Lucey Myer's car, I'm probably never going to school again.

 January 21, 2008

Weekends suck. I hate having to go to my stupid job at the movie theater, with all the choker-chained, tattooed people who work there. And I'm the one stuck selling diet cokes and large popcorns. It's Kadey who has the fun job - two tickets for P.S. I Love You? (P.S. I Love You? Jesus, watch Saving Private Ryan).

Today was the first day I had to drive Lucey to school. Her parents were all prissy and blubbery, saying "We love you Lucille! Don't be late! Be safe!" (I never knew her first name was really Lucille). I could tell that Lana and Dean weren't in with love with the idea of having me drive precious Lucey to school.

Neither Lucey or I said a word the entire way there. Well, that's a lie.

"This is a nice car," I managed to muster. She said thanks, and asked me why I didn't have a car of my own. My answer? "I'm not a billionaire." It was meant to be a joke but it sounded cruel. A quick "I'm only kidding," helped lessen the awkwardness.

I dropped Lucey off at the front of the school. She gave me a weird look. "Aren't you getting out, too?"

"Nah, I'm just going to find a place to park. Students can only park in the back parking lot." I slowly watched Lucey enter the school, and once she was out of sight, I bailed. Screw the eleventh grade, I'm going to see Nico.

Nico Thompson lived in a rundown apartment with four other crack-addicts, including Kadey from the movie theater. His parents had died long ago, so he took solace with Chaze, Jeff, Kadey, and Russell, who made a living selling crack.