At 16, I had no life. Not a good one. Not one that involved boys or girls and kissing them. On the lips. Or maybe seeing them naked. The good stuff. My life skipped right over that and gave me shit. My grandma was dying, and because I have no say in anything ever, we moved to be with her. I love grandma and I want to be an understanding person and stuff, but in all honesty, I miss my house. My neighborhood. My old friends. My old crushes that didn’t even realize they were crushes. Nothing was good anymore. Even my iPod started its shuffle on junk. Some boy band I must have liked when I was 8.
Then I look into my mother’s eyes and see the tears camping out back there. Always. Every single morning. Even the mornings where grandma is awake, drinking coffee and chattering away like she isn’t about to die. My grandma is optimistic. That’s what my dad says and I have to agree. It makes us smile. It makes me forget my old life. The one that is too far away to even imagine it still exists without me in it. It does. My best friend told me she started dating Brian. My crush. Seriously. I don’t need her. Or Brian.
But when my world starts slowly falling apart, I look to grandma and she says, “What about cookies?”
She doesn’t even know about Brian, because I haven’t told her yet. But somehow. She does know.
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