Another New Life Read online

  Copyright© Sydney Aaliyah Michelle 2014

  All rights reserved

  Published by SAM & Associates, LLC

  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  http://coveritdesigns.net

  Editing by Allyson Whipple

  Proofreading by Jenny Sims

  http://www.editing4indies.com

  Book Production by Black Firefly

  http://blackfirefly.com

  No part of this publication maybe reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photography, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person, living or dead or places, actual events or locales are purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To my family, who support my schemes with cautious optimism and faith in God.

  Mom, Dad, Kevin, Jimmy, Patrina, Robbie and the rest of the FAMILY (you know who you are) – love you!

  I’ve always been fond of the saying, “If something is to good to be true, it probably is.”

  Or how about, “If you always expect the worst, you won’t ever be disappointed.” That was a good one, too.

  I wasn't born with this impending sense of doom in the pit of my stomach. I acquired it somewhere, but I couldn’t seem to get rid of it. For the past ten years, I managed my life but never lived it. I swayed somewhere between panic and numb, and the only way I managed to avoid full-on nervous breakdowns was by pounding away on a piano at least once a day.

  Imagine where my nerves were; I’d been on campus a week with no access to my lifeline until today. My new life was taking a bit longer to get used to then I hoped. Ha. Hope. That’s a new one for me.

  As I crossed campus, the music hall in sight, I felt my anxiety dissipate. I exhaled, but the shriek of my phone made my chest tighten. I knew it had to be my parents. Besides my roommate, no one else had my number.

  I sat down on a concrete bench beside the door. The grass would have been more comfortable, but the solid bench seemed a more appropriate place to have a conversation with Mom and Dad.

  I answered the phone.

  "Betsky," my dad yelled.

  I pulled the phone away to avoid damaging an eardrum. At the same time, I cringed from the use of his invented nickname for me: a clever combination of Beethoven and Tchaikovsky. He loved the idea of having a classical pianist for a daughter. I didn't have the heart to tell him I related more to Rachmaninov and Bendel. Believe me, Dad didn’t know the different between Rachmaninov and Rumpelstiltskin.

  "Hi, Dad."

  "It's so great to hear your voice," he said.

  "Yeah."

  "You are doing okay." It wasn't so much a question, but a suggestion. Every sentence he uttered ended in a silent, “I’m sorry.” I shifted from one butt cheek to the other, trying to get comfortable.

  He had things to be sorry for, but it didn't matter anymore.

  "Miranda." Mom's false compassionate voice she used on clients came crawling through the phone.

  "Hi," I said.

  "How are you? How's school? What have you done since you arrived?" Her questions came fast and quick, and she continued to speak without giving me a chance to answer. "I noticed you left a few things in your room. I was going to ship them to you, but then figured you'd be home for Christmas in a few months. You can get them then," she continued. I pretended to listen.

  At eighteen years old, my mother and I looked like twins. I'd grown into the spitting image of her, which wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t hate her so much. It unnerved me. We both stood five-foot-seven inches tall. We had the same thick, naturally wavy brown hair and light brown eyes. While mom preferred designer labels and heels, I’d made leggings and oversized shirts my uniform.

  I know hating your mother was cliché, but I had good reason. My mother was delusional. Not in a crazy, mentally ill kind of way, but in the strict translation of the word. She believed things with strong conviction despite evidence to the contrary.

  I heard her tell a friend once how she molded her moody and reclusive daughter into a brilliant musician. It was her patience and focus, which enabled me to earn a scholarship to the University of Texas at Austin. To Mom, it didn’t matter how I got here; the fact I got here proved she did something right. Did I mention my mother was delusional?

  Silence filled the line. I hadn't noticed that she stopped speaking.

  "Hello."

  "How's your roommate?" she asked and paused this time to allow me to answer.

  "She is fine," I said.

  "Well, tell me about her, where's she from, what does she look like?" The interrogation started again.

  I avoided her questions once again, holding strong to the promise I made to myself when I arrived on campus. I didn't want my parents in my life any longer. The decisions they made for me during my first eighteen years didn’t work out so well. It turned me into someone I didn't like very much. Moving far away gave me a chance to forget about all of that and start my new life.

  I pretended to listen for a few more minutes. I sensed an opening, which may or may not have interrupted my mother’s favorite speech.

  “Don’t hide behind your piano. Get out there and enjoy yourself.”

  “Ahha, I got to go.” I hung up minutes later. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to speak to them for another few months.

  I continued to sit on the unyielding ground; my butt protested, but I didn’t want to take my anxiety into the practice room. With limited access until next week, I would only have a couple of hours, and that wasn’t enough time to get rid of the pounding in my head. For the first time, in a long time, I took my mom’s advice and headed back to the dorm to find my roommate Darcy and see what freshman orientation activity was on tap for tonight.

  ***

  Freshman orientation had me feeling like the first day of kindergarten all over again. I recalled how scared I felt. Not knowing what to do or say. Hoping no one made
fun of my clothes and praying I wouldn’t pee in my pants before the day was over. That was exactly how I felt now.

  I came to school in Texas to get as far away from my old self and my old life as I could. The idea was to create a new life, but I had no clue what type of life I wanted. Normal felt too grand of an expectation. Darcy came to school to find a husband. Not my goal, but if it allowed me the opportunity to experience a normal college life, Darcy would be the perfect guide.

  I found Darcy near the dorm, and we headed to Jester Hall for dinner. As we entered, my immediate reaction was to turn around and walk away. The constant motion of students made me dizzy. School had started.

  We grabbed some sandwiches, and I followed Darcy as she worked the room. She waved and smiled at everyone as we made our way across the crowded dining hall. She’d been on campus for three days. How did she know everyone? I started to rethink my escape plan, but I was too far in, Darcy wouldn’t let me escape even if I wanted to.

  My new roommate, Darcy Jane Albritton, was a true southern belle from Magnolia, Arkansas. When we received our dorm assignments, a handwritten letter from Darcy followed soon after. As soon as I opened the envelope, little multicolor pieces of Longhorn confetti spilled out on my lap. That was Darcy. She invaded people's space but in a pretty, glittery, charming manner. It would have made anyone smile, but not me. It freaked me out. Glittery and charming I was not, but maybe I needed to be in order to survive attending college in the South.

  I wanted to make a good impression, or at the least not alienate her before we actually met in person. I answered her letter with an email, and we continued to trade emails until we were due at school. Her emails were peppered with questions. I answered them, but if my answers were vague, she didn’t seem to care.

  Her emails were filled with detailed descriptions of life in the South, and she even provided me with a little glossary of southern terms, phrases, and other tidbits of information she deemed necessary, including this one.

  "Never date Arkansas boys, only date Texas men. Arkansas boys may have farming money and ranching money, but Texas men have oil money. Enough said."

  I laughed out loud when I read that, but that pit in the bottom of my stomach I told you about, it was growing as I thought to myself, "What am I getting myself into?"

  ***

  When we arrived on campus a few days ago, our first night as roommates went something like this.

  "—place beautiful?" She seemed to start sentences in the middle. "I have been looking forward to this day my entire life. Haven't you?"

  I tried to answer, but she continued.

  "I feel like such a grown-up. I am a college student. How cool is that?" She started making her bed. "I mean, you're from a big city, but where I'm from, kids don't go away for college, and even if they did, they always came back home after graduation, if they make it to graduation. I'm not going back." She crossed her fingers and showed them to me. "My ex-boyfriend goes to the University of Arkansas. Oh boy, he was so mad when I told him I got into UT."

  My head ached from trying to translate her words through her thick southern accent.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" She pulled out more stuff animals and sat them on her bed, one by one. Her question caught me by surprise.

  "Well?" she asked.

  "Well, what?" I rubbed my forehead.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  "Oh, no, I don't."

  "Oh, goodie."

  I'd never met anyone who used the phrase "oh goodie." She pranced over to me, which was impressive considering I sat four feet away from her. She sat down on my bed and put her arm around my shoulder.

  "We can scout guys together."

  "Scout guys?" I stood up, not used to someone being so close to me; well, not a girl. "I don't think I've scouted guys before."

  "Well, what do you call it up in Seattle?"

  I smirked at the way she put the accent on the Sea and not the attle. She giggled, which made me giggle. Our ability to laugh at nothing, we had that in common.

  I sat back down on my bed. She moved beside me, testing which distance was appropriate. I relaxed a little. It couldn't hurt to have an actual southerner on your side when you're a northerner going to school in the South.

  Funny, these things never crossed my mind until I moved to Austin.

  Darcy craved attention, but in a humble, sweet manner. Five days in, and I didn't want to kill her. I counted that as a small victory.

  ***

  Darcy guided me over to a table. Two girls stopped talking as we approached.

  "Hello, ladies, you mind if we sit here?" Darcy asked.

  "No, please. My name is Brooke," she said. "This is Becca."

  "Hi, Brooke and Becca." Darcy sat down and pulled me next to her. "I'm Darcy, and this is Miranda."

  "Your hair is gorgeous," Becca said as she glared at me while tucking her own thin blond hair behind her ear. "Is it real?"

  Brooke hit her on the leg. "Becca!"

  "Well, I was wondering."

  "That's okay," I said. "I get that all the time. It's real."

  "Sweetie, where are you from?" Brooke asked.

  Did she just call me sweetie? Oh no, I've been branded an outsider.

  "Seattle, Washington." I waited for the head tilt and nod. I've seen that a lot when I tell people I'm not from around these parts. Becca didn’t disappoint.

  "I went there last summer on a trip with my parents," Brooke said. "My dad is a huge Pearl Jam fan, and we took a pilgrimage to see where it all began." She made a grand sweeping gesture with her arms.

  We all laughed.

  By the end of dinner, my one friend turned into a group. Social circles formed fast in college.

  As we strolled back to the dorm, I looked around at my new friends and smiled at the realization that college agreed with me. I knew it had only been a few days, and I was totally freaking out on the inside, but not bad. All those little annoying things about people that used to bother me didn't bother me as much anymore. The people I had met so far seemed excited to be here, ready for a new adventure, like me.

  Maybe I belonged here. I haven't belonged anywhere in a long time.

  We arrived back at San Jac, the freshman dorm, and sat in the quad. The discussion turned to boys.

  "Okay, my goal is to find a boy before the end of the month," Darcy said.

  "A boy or a boyfriend?" Becca asked.

  "A boy at first, then I'll turn him into a boyfriend."

  "You need an upperclassman for that," Brooke said. "UT freshman boys don't have girlfriends. I think they warn them against it in their acceptance letter."

  "Do you have a boyfriend?" Darcy asked Becca and Brooke.

  Brooke took out her phone and flipped through the photo app. The photo showed Brooke with a brown-haired guy at least a foot taller than her. His ocean blue eyes sparkled in the photo. Brooke looked younger sitting in front of us then she did in the photo. Her boyfriend stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist. When we sat down, I noticed Brooke's beautiful smile, but it wasn't the same smile in the photo. I wondered which one was real.

  "Oh, he's cute," Darcy said.

  "That's my sweetie. That's AJ."

  "He is cute," I whispered.

  Becca took out her phone and showed us a dozen photos of her and her boyfriend, Mike.

  "He's back in Dallas. He'll be down most weekends." She stared at the photo and wiped her eyes. "I love him so much."

  She kissed the photo before putting it away.

  I looked off in the distance in an effort to control my gag reflex. I was trying to make a good impression on my new friends.

  "So, Miranda, do you have a boyfriend?" Becca asked.

  "Uh, no, I don't."

  "Miranda and I are going to find Mr. Right by Homecoming," Darcy said.

  "Well, what kind of boys do you like?" Becca asked.

  I hesitated. Well, of course I knew what type of guy I liked. For the life of me, I couldn
't think of one distinguishing character trait I liked at the moment. Articulating the kind of guy I liked to strangers seemed... strange. I mean, I was eighteen years old, of course I knew my type. I wasn’t weird or anything. I’d been with so many different guys; maybe I didn’t have a type. I pictured my perfect guy. He had shaggy blond hair, green eyes, and was tall, strong, and muscular. He would be sweet and sharp and funny, but not silly. Yeah, that was my perfect man.

  Darcy interrupted my fantasy and spoke up, pulling her long blond hair off her neck.

  “I love tall guys, at least six-foot-four."

  "Darcy, you're what, five-two?" Brooke asked.

  "Five-foot-three, thank you very much." Darcy stood on the seat of the picnic table. "I want to have to stand on this bench to kiss him."

  "What else?" Becca asked.

  "Dark hair, dark eyes, big hands." A grin crossed Darcy's face. "Huge other things."

  She cracked up and blushed, jumped off the bench, hugged me, and sat back down all prim and proper like.

  "Tall, dark, and big. Got it," Brooke said. "We'll keep a look out."

  Soon after we thoroughly dissected Darcy’s wish list, Brooke received a call from her boyfriend and headed up to her room. Becca called her boyfriend and spent two minutes whining at him for not calling her. Darcy and I headed upstairs.

  I grabbed my clothes and was headed to the shower when I felt Darcy's eyes on me.

  "What?"

  "I wanted to ask you a personal question, but I’m not sure if it's. . . appropriate," Darcy said.

  I waited for her to continue.

  "My brother said there were a lot of lesbians in Seattle, and I know he was joking, but it got me wondering. Are you a lesbian?"

  “Oh wow, uhm, yes, I am.” I sat down on my bed and faced her. “And I’m in love with you, Darcy.”

  I held on for two seconds before bursting into hysterics.

  "Shut up," Darcy said. "I didn't know, and my daddy told me if I don't know something, I should ask."

  "I don't think you should go around asking people those questions unless you know them first."

  "I know, but you seemed uncomfortable talking about guys.”

  I stopped laughing.

  "It's cool. Oh, this will be fun." Darcy started hopping up and down on her bed. "I can be your guy coach."