After I graduated high school, I’d gone on to attend UC Berkeley the past two years. Marcy and I had stayed in touch since I’d moved then last spring she’d called saying her roommate had moved out, that it would be the perfect time for me to transfer and I’d jumped at the chance. When I’d told my parents, they’d reacted about the same way they had with Tristan just not as emphatically since I was leaving on good terms. Their apprehension at my leaving was understandable since I was the baby and Berkeley had only been about thirty minutes away, so I’d come home almost every weekend to see them. But I was going to be twenty-one next month and I felt it was time for me to spread my wings.
So, yep, here I was, back in Seattle.
And that’s when the nightmares had started again.
Don’t get me wrong. I was ecstatic that Marcy and my dream of living together and going to Hallervan had finally come true. But according to her, being here had dredged up hurtful memories that I’d never dealt with.
Memories of Lochlan Powers, aka my archenemy.
See, Loch’s mom and mine had been friends while in college, and when Mrs. Powers had opened a daycare, well, that’s where I’d ended up when my mom decided to go back to work. So I’d practically known Loch since birth. We’d shared a crib a few times and had even once bathed together and Mom had the pictures to prove it. Ugh.
He and I had been buddies throughout elementary school, playing together on the playground and after school at his mom’s daycare. But when we reached middle school things had changed. Since I didn’t go to daycare anymore and the school we attended was bigger, we didn’t see each other as often and kind of lost contact. Oh, I always kept an eye on him. How could I not when he was the cutest and coolest guy in school? He was naturally good at sports and made straight A’s in class and all the girls adored him. Marcy had even once confessed to having had a slight crush on him.
But as for me? I’d been head over heels for him to an almost embarrassing degree. Yay me. Of course, he’d wanted nothing to do with the bespectacled, too-skinny, painfully shy, nerdy girl he’d grown up with who he often caught ogling him from afar. I hadn’t been popular or a cheerleader or on the Student Council. No, I’d been timid and reticent and nothing but background noise to him.
Our sixth grade year, our moms had conspired (unbeknownst to me unfortunately) deciding it’d be a great idea for Loch to escort me to the Spring Dance. When he’d asked me, I’d almost fainted, having been so out-of-this-world excited at the prospect of getting to spend time with him again that I’d failed to see the annoyed look on his face.
And you’ve seen how that turned out.
So since my return to Seattle, the nightmares had come back with a vengeance and I’d had no idea until now that what had happened at the dance had apparently been so traumatic for me.
Wait. I take it back. That was me being a big fat liar.
I actually did know I’d been traumatized because I’d stayed upset for a very long time afterward. I mean, I’d been an impressionable twelve-year-old girl and Loch had definitely done a number on my already fragile ego.
I also knew that the way he’d behaved had ripped me to shreds and caused me to have all those crappy nightmares.
Moreover, I knew I’d crawled into a proverbial shell and shut everyone out my seventh through ninth grade years only making friends with Emmalynn Talbot who was the sweetest person ever and friends with everyone and was now at LSU majoring in petroleum engineering.
And I likewise knew that it had taken Coach Hawkins’ coaxing me out of that shell at the end of my freshman year to get me to try out for the soccer team (which I’d made then played on the next three years and loved every minute of it).
Lastly, the biggest, most colossal thing I knew was that I hated Loch Powers.
A lot.
As in a lot a lot.
As in, if hate were planets, I’d be Jupiter, a lot.
I think you get the picture.
And, dang it, I was now pissed off to no end that I’d been such a frail little wilting flower of a girl who’d let a stupid boy’s actions affect me to the extent that they had. But I wasn’t going to let things get to me anymore because I was no longer the bashful, ugly, geeky girl he’d once insulted.
Well, crap. I take that back too. I’m still geeky but I can deal with that. Nothing wrong with being geeky.
Anyway, I wouldn’t say I was beautiful, but instead of the pop-bottle-bottom glasses that had once graced my face, I now wore contacts that with their slight tint made my blue eyes appear bluer, and I also wore my auburn hair in long layers of loose curls most of the time instead of the two braids, ala Wednesday Addams, that I’d worn for years. Yeah, starting in fifth grade, I’d had an Addams Family thing going on. Tristan had had DVDs of both movies and I’d gone through a phase where I’d spent hours in my room watching them. Looking back, I think my infatuation with Wednesday was that she was so mean and said whatever she wanted and I think I wanted to be like that. But in ninth grade, I’d changed my look, having matured and finally grown out of my obsession with the awesome albeit macabre girl. After that I’d been hit on a few times by some very handsome guys so I didn’t think I was lacking too much in the looks department. Also, soccer had been a great workout and made me proud of my fit body. I’d even once overheard a couple boys in my class saying something about my being built like a brick shithouse, which I think meant I had curves. I definitely had boobs and a booty and I dressed in a way that didn’t overtly flaunt them but I didn’t try hiding what I had either.