The alarm woke me up but I didn't open my eyes at first. I sat up and dreaded the feeling of putting my legs over the edge of the bed. The alarm was still going off so I reached over and grabbed my phone to turn it off. The only thing on my dresser other than my phone was an essential oil diffuser that my dad got me for Christmas one year. I keep it out so he knows that I acknowledge how hard he tries. He really does. When I reached over, my arm hit the diffuser. Lavender scented water draped over the side of the dresser, creating an oily puddle of diffuser tears on the floor. The paper towel I placed on the puddle stayed there until it was clear. 

I walked through the maze of boxes on the floor to get to my closet. With the few pieces of clothing I took out, I picked the same thing I wore everyday: baggy jeans and a hand-me-down t-shirt from my sister. She goes through clothes like a madman so I never need to get my own. I stumbled to the bathroom to splash water on my pale face. The water was too cold for comfort, but nothing in my life was comfortable. 

I listened to the diluted shouts from downstairs. My sister was complaining about a party she wanted to go to tonight. I wondered if she had ever thought like me. If she ever thought, Why should I make friends here when it's temporary? When we were just going to move again. 

Cloe worries about the small things. Boys, parties, her clothes. I worry about the big things, like when we are finally going to settle someplace or if my dad was going to fall asleep on the couch again so I would have to make dinner.

My mom hasn’t been around since I was really little. My dad never told us what happened to her. I don’t know if she didn’t want us, or the world didn’t want her, but I do know that if I ever meet her it will not be a happy family reunion. She's not my family.

Cloe looks like her I think. I look like my dad with my pale face, sharp nose and heart shaped lips that are the color of melted strawberry ice cream. Cloe looks nothing like us. Her tan skin had the glow of dawn, full lips, green eyes and she looked like she was a descendant of apollo. But she wasn’t. She was a descendant of our mother. We both were. 

We have lived in so many different places, but it was never hard to count. My dad’s job causes him to move a lot, so my mom leaving didn’t exactly fit into his lifestyle. We usually move to different places around the same state. Seven places in New York (the city and the part nobody talks about), four apartments in Chicago, three condos in Los Angeles, two small, one bedroom houses in Florida and a few places elsewhere that aren't even in America. In the past 5 years. Before that, I don’t even remember where we were. My childhood is a jumble of different memories all mushing together. Christmas? That's in New York, the not so fun part. Easter is in California and the smallest apartment in Chicago, and Florida is scary. Right now we were in a small brownstone back in New York City. We never stick around long enough for anywhere to feel like home.

My only friend that I ever made was named Jack. Jack was a city kid, like me. He had green eyes like emeralds and auburn hair that got lighter in the summertime. We had been living in an apartment and he lived on the same floor as us. We had the best time together. This was only a couple years after mom had disappeared. Jack and I used to go to the playground together after school everyday and we would laugh and play, our messy hair blowing around in the crisp autumn breeze.

Where did it go?

Why was it so easy?

When can I have it back?

I fought my knotted, dirt colored hair into a ponytail, with the too-short front pieces falling out, and grabbed a zip up hoodie and my bag on the way out the door. I had my hand on the knob when my dad said from the kitchen,

“Aspen, you’re not going to school today.”

I opened the door. 

I shut the door. 

I didn’t have to turn around to know what was going to be said next. 

“I’ll go pack up,” I said. 

Except this time I was wrong. This time he said, “It’s Saturday Pennie.” 

I didn’t look at him and made my way out the door as planned. Although I know knew that it was Saturday, I didn’t want to have to face my dad and the smirk he definitely had on his face. 

I walked along the city streets as the wind bit my face over and over until it was hard to keep my eyes open. I stepped into the coffee shop Cloe goes to when she meets a new guy. Same place, different person, no hard feelings. The smell of grounded coffee beans warmed me up so I took my jacket off. I ordered a tall hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. I was always confused about the names of the sizes. Why is the smallest size tall, and the medium is a grande, but the biggest is a venti, when the two smallest sizes actually mean the same thing, which is large? Venti is a fancy way of saying twenty, which I learned in my two months living in Italy. Besides the interesting cup size names, the stuff inside them is usually pretty good. As I was taking a sip of the “way too hot chocolate,” as I call it, I felt someone bump into me. The cup happened to have a loose lid. The delicious steamed chocolate milk drenched not only the table and floor, but my t-shirt. I was already mad at my dad, and lucky me, I had another person to be mad at. 

I turned around to see who was the culprit. 

He was taller than me, looked around my age, and was wearing a dark green hoodie which made me notice his eyes. They almost looked like-

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “Let me pay for that, please.”

He had a familiarity that I couldn’t put my finger on, but I was still mad.

“That won’t be necessary, thanks,” I tried my best to sound passive aggressive, something my sister taught me. 

I grabbed my hoodie and started to leave, but a hand with a hot chocolate in it stopped me. I looked at him one more time and smiled. I accepted the peace offering and sat down. 

“You seem familiar, do I know you?” He asked, his top lip covered in whipped cream.

“I don’t think so,” I replied, denying the fact that I felt the same suspicion. 

We had a short conversation about traffic and the weather, but it was so much more exciting. 

And easy.

Words were gliding out of my mouth, like I was a poet or something. The conversation came so naturally.

I excused myself to go wash my hands after a croissant decided to be messy, and when I came back he had left. I stayed a little longer and did some homework, but I couldn’t get my mind off of him. I finished my hot chocolate as I was working and I almost threw it out, but I saw something on the cup. There was a phone number in black sharpie. Beneath it was a semicolon and a parenthesie. 

;)

I smiled and took out my phone to take a picture of it. I then gagged at myself because it was so Cloe of me to do. 

I still couldn’t get his eyes out of my head. I felt as though I had seen them before. 

I was tempted, but I was not going to text that number. 

“You have to text that number!” Cloe exclaimed, panting from running up the stairs so fast. I got home from school and stupidly left my phone downstairs. 

“This is not my first priority C,” I said, dreading the fact that I had taken the picture at all, “I should not be chasing some boy when there's other things to worry about like food, school, dad…”

Cloe cut me off. “Of course you should be chasing him! Aspen, this is like a movie, I’m so jealous!”

I had never heard her say that she was jealous of me before. My whole life I had been the “stuck-up younger sister,” who never had any friends. Cloe had everything I didn’t. Friends, boys, she was pretty, and she didn’t worry about stuff a teenager shouldn’t really worry about. But that wasn’t me. 

Everyday for the rest of the week I went back to the coffee shop not realizing I was going so I could see him again.

“What? I just like hot chocolate,” I told Cloe. 

He didn’t come back, and before I knew it, it was Saturday again. 

The week went by too fast. And the news came too soon. My dad wasn’t joking when he said that we were moving. It was to a house in Albany. Out of the city. We packed and were out by Monday night. 

The new house was nice, not too big, not too small. I didn’t unpack. 

I thought back to the Saturday before. I regretted not texting the number. If I texted the number now, it wouldn’t matter anyway. I would probably never see him again. It was too late. 

Cloe and I sat on her bed. I put my head on her shoulder. 

“Life is hard,” she said, “You should take chances when you can. I do. Dad does. You have to adapt so you can live life.”

It was like she looked into my brain. 

“Don’t wait for life to happen,” she said, and left to go downstairs.

Don't wait for life to happen.

I opened my phone and put in the number. 

I typed, “hey! it’s aspen”

Send.