To Density and Beyond

Chapter One

If there's one thing I hated about weddings, it's the kiss in the final ceremonies.

It's weird, I know, to hate something so romantic, so heart-breaking, that it can make your insides melt into hot, molten liquid. But I'm not romantic. I don't care how guys kneel at their girlfriends' feet, begging for them to take them back after a long fight. I don't care if girls can wrap their boyfriends around their pink manicured fingers. And I don't care about weddings, or passionate kisses in the end. Weddings were never my forte, and kissing means a lot of things. Like saying goodbye.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Sometimes it also signifies a new beginning.

"You may now kiss the bride."

But that sometimes is rare.

And right now in this moment, as I watch the bride in her lush white glory, kiss the man of her dreams, my heart tears apart.

But it's not because of the kiss.

"I can't believe she's married," My mom gushed beside me, her mascara painting black lines as they slowly dripped down her cheeks. "It seems like your big sister was just single yesterday! And now she's . . . now she's . . ." She didn't even finish the sentence before she burst out sobbing again.

I looked up at my older sister, Daphne, as she flashed a wide grin and waved at the cameramen poised at the entrance of the church, ready to get the best shot of the famous Daphne Greene.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

Daphne Greene.

Beautiful.

Famous.

Trash.

A Fraud.

She had her left arm wrapped around her husband, who was trying hard not to look me in the eye. I smirked. Daphne may be beautiful and famous, but she was also stupid. Even her husband, who happens to be my ex-boyfriend whom she stole from me, knew that in the deepest part of his ass.

"Samantha!" My mom called, interrupting me from my thoughts. I pulled my gaze away from the newly married couple to look at her.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't 'what' me!" She scolded, trying to dab her cheeks with a tissue. It only made her look worse, though. "I'm trying to tell you something, and you're not even listening to me! What kind of a daughter are you?" I started to protest, but she cut me off. "And then you'll start a conversation and in the middle of that conversation, you'll tell me you're pregnant! Oh god. You're so young, honey, and it's too much for a seventeen-year-old to get preggers! Who's the father? Where will we get the money -"

"Mom!" I interjected loudly, feeling the colour rise up to my cheeks. By some miracle, my mom stopped her babbling and looked at me, which was rare. My mom usually talks non-stop. And I mean non-stop, without the red and yellow lights.

"First of all, I'm not pregnant," I said slowly.

Silence.

"Second, I'm not pregnant."

Silence.

"And third . . . I'm not pregnant!" I was breathing heavily now.

Mom stared at me, her eyes wide.

"You're . . . not?" She whispered.

"For all the corndogs in the world, NO! I'm a god- forsaken virgin!" I cried.