It's been two days since Katie's disappearance. Tuesday, he and I went to the warehouse to see if she was there, even after the letter said she was leaving. I guess we just wanted to be sure. The place was cleaned out top to bottom. There was nothing there even to give us the slightest hint to where they were going.

I look down at the note she left for Ryder in his room. The note Ryder refused to read to me over the phone; he drove over her in the middle of the night so that I could see it for myself.

I read over the letter for the hundredth time.

I'm sorry, thank you for everything. I got a hold of the house phone in the main house, don't worry, I wanted until your parents left out. I called Travis, we talked. He said he wants to do this; he wants the baby... he wants me! I know we are not the perfect couple, but we are both trying. He apologized for all the times he's hurt me. I forgave him, he begged me to, and I did. So we're starting over and we're getting out of here. By the time you read this, I'll be miles away. Never in a thousand years did I think I would be on the road pregnant with my drug dealer boyfriend, but I am. I gave up Yale and Everything for him. I know you think I'm stupid. And maybe I am, but I love him. I remember Jayda saying once that being in love and being stupid was the same. She's probably right. I know I'm dumb for giving up everything for him, but I love him too much not to. I know you're going to give this letter to Jayda, so Jayda, if you're reading this, don't worry about me, I'll be fine. I know you don't like him because of the things he has done, but he's changing. He wants to do better for the baby and me. He promised he would be different. I believe him. Something different about him, I don't know what it is, but I can see it. So yeah, that's pretty much it; I guess I will see you guys in another life.

                                                             -Katherine

I fold the white paper back in half; I knew Travis was going to break our deal. I was heated at first, but it is what it is; Katie made her choice. She really is stupid to think Travis will change; he will never change; how could she be so dumb and go back to the man who hit her, the man who raped her. I sigh; I don't need to stress myself out about this; it's Katie's life.

I'm happy Travis kept up the other part of the deal, the part where he leaves Ryder alone, and me. He's gone. I don't have to look over my shoulder while I'm out anymore; I don't have to sell for him anymore. It feels like a boulder has lifted off of my crushed back; I feel like I can finally breathe... I feel free.

You are free

The doorbell rings, a huge smile comes to my face; it's Caleb. Yesterday, he told me that he would take me to school today.

I march down the stairs, then again, I float like a feather down the stairs and towards the door. When I open it, my body immediately lunges at him, embracing him in a tight hug. He has to bend down to hug me back because of the significant height difference; I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. His strong arms wrap around my waist. "As much as I am enjoying this, what's it for?" he asks.

"No reason, I just missed you," I say in his ear.

Someone clears their throat from behind us that someone is my father. Caleb lets go of my waist; I remove my arms from around his neck and turn around. "Hey, Mr.King," Calebs greets him formally.

My father puts his hand out, "Marcus, just Marcus; calling me Mr.King makes me sound old."

"You are old!" I state.

My father rolls his eyes, "Forty-three, isn't old,"

"Sure." I laugh. My relationship with my father has been different lately. I was always more playful with my mother than my father; it seems like roles have changed now.

"So Caleb, big game tonight. Are you nervous?" My dad asks him.

"A little," he replies; I close the door, and we both walk more into the house. Even though we shouldn't be, it's already eight-thirty we should leave now.

"I heard a scout from Notre Dame is coming, and USC will be there," The two best colleges for football in the country. It didn't hit me until now that Caleb will be going off to college soon; he'll be going halfway across the country. We haven't talked about what we will do when he leaves; I don't plan to bring it up anytime soon. I don't know if he sees a future with me; I don't want to embarrass myself and bring it up.

Caleb rubs the back of his head. "Yeah, my coach has been drilling that in my head all week,"

My father says, "Don't let the pressure get to you!"

Caleb smiles.

"Well, uh, we should get going," I but in. "Don't want to be late," I smile and pull Caleb out the door.

...

Caleb pulls into my school's parking lot. My phone rings for the fifth time. "Who's calling you?" he asks.

I turn my phone over and hang it up, "It's this girl, Jessica; I was supposed to do my senior project with her."

"Was?"

"I'm not doing it anymore."

"Why not?" 

I shrug my shoulders, "What she wanted to do was dumb,"

"And what did she want to do?" he asks, searching for more answers.

I turn and look at him, "She wanted to do a project on mental health and the effects, and something about telling my story,"

I expect him to be as upset as I was, but he's not. His eyes search mine. "I'm not seeing the problem,"

"Caleb," I whine. "I can't do that,"

"Why, not?"

I hesitate before responding, "Because no one wants to hear my story,"

"And you know this because?"

I sigh. "I know the people here; trust me, they don't care,"

"What if there's someone here going through the same thing as you?" he states. "What if they're just like you, hiding the things that they're going through? Do you think you're the only person who has depression?"

"No, of course not," I half snap at him. I've never really thought about the fact that other people could be going through the same thing as me.

"Well, if you know that, then why don't you want to help them? Sharing your story could show them that there not as alone as they think,"

He's right; I didn't think about it that way. I was selfish, thinking of myself. Not wanting to share the things I have been through because of the fear that no one would want to hear. I'm not the only one who gets bullied at this school; there are others.

What if they are going through the same thing as me?

How many kids go home and cry? Because of the things that were said and done to them on a daily basis here.

How many go home and cut their wrist just as I did? Or attempt to take their life like me, because they don't want to come to school the next day and do it all over again, or because their home life is not what everyone thinks.

Caleb puts his hand under my chin; I look at him, "You can help people Jayda, you shouldn't view what you have as something to hide or something to be ashamed of; it's who you are. It's what makes you special."

...

"Jayda," Mr.Brooks reads my name from the wooden popsicle stick.

Crap.

I grab my paper and walk-up, to the front of the class. I'm not as nervous as I usually am. I know this is because there's barely anyone in class today; most of the seats are empty. Cheerleaders and football players make up the class, but being as though today is the championships, the jocks are practicing plays, and the cheerleaders are practicing their halftime performance.

"So are you reading an interpretation essay for one of the freedom poems we went over, or are you reading an original you wrote?" Mr.Brooks asks.

"An original,"

He nods his head, clearly pleased; I have never read my original writing to the class. I have read my interpretations, but never something that I have written. I guess this is an excellent way to end out my last day here in this class. It was fairly easy to write this poem; our word for the week was freedom, which I have recently encountered and never letting go of.

"Whenever you're ready," Brookes takes a seat at one of the empty desks.

I open up the paper and begin to read the short sentence. "The key to freedom is to be happy. Find what makes you happy and hold onto it, because only then will you be truly free."

Soon as I finish reading, he and the class applaud, cleary elated; I'm glad they like it. "Amazing!" Mr.Brooks says, still clapping; he stands up from the desk and places his hand on my shoulder. "Wonderful," he adds, and I smile. "I'm going to miss you being in this class,"

"I'm going to miss being here,"

I lie; I can't wait to get the fuck out of this class.

...

After about an hour of frivolous talking at the lunch table, James comes out and says, "You know I'm glad you're leaving Brookes class; now we can stop getting our asses handed to us, so tired of having my writing seem like shit compared to yours,"

"I liked your poem," I tell James. I can't even keep a straight face while saying it, me and Violet both burst into laughter,

James rolls his eyes, "Okay, you bitches keep laughing." he stabs at the lettuce in his bowl.

"Anyway, so that poem, was it about Caleb?" Violet comes out and asks.

I don't answer the question right away; I don't know if it was or wasn't. When I was writing it, I don't recall thinking of him,

"Of course it was," James answers for me, "Who else is making her 'happy'? he jokes.

"Oh, my God!" her eyes fill with excitement, "Did you guys have sex?" she asks bluntly.

"No!" I say sternly, "Why would you think that?"

"If you're happy with him, it has to be because you had sex with him," she states foolishly.

"Uhm, no, that's not why," I shake my head.

"Then how are you happy with him?" she asks, clueless.

"I'm happy because what we have is good; he makes me feel good emotionally, not physically," he does physically, too, but not sex-wise. I won't tell them what we did. However, they'll probably view it as something insignificant with them being so experienced and all.

I look towards the cafeterias doors; they fly open, and in comes Ms.Moore; she has a black bullhorn in her hand. "Can I have everyone's attention?!" she says through the horn. Everyone's talking ceases, "So today is the championship!" People burst into cheers and screams, waving around the black and white rally poms they were handing out earlier.

The cheerleaders burst through the doors; their energy, as usual, is annoyingly on a thousand.

"Let's bring out the knights," Ms.Moore says into the bullhorn also. The football players march through the doors, already in their gear.

I don't see Ryder amongst them. I haven't seen him since he dropped me off back home from searching the warehouse. We haven't talked since then.

I'm not upset we haven't talked. I'm more relieved than anything, it's only been two days, but these last two days have had to be the calmest two days of my life. 

All because he hasn't been in it.

It makes sense for him not to be here; I can't picture him being amongst the cheerful, energic players. Ryder isn't a 'school spirit' type of person.

"Let's wish our knight's good luck today at the game! Bring home that Trophy!" Ms.Moore shouts, and the whole cafeteria bursts into louder excitement.

...

I'm standing outside, waiting for my dad to get me, when I spot Jessica walking towards her car. I march over towards her, "Hey,"

"Hey," she says back,

"Look about the other day I'm-"

"No, no, um, don't worry about it. It was stupid of me-" she starts to ramble, and I cut her off.

"No, it wasn't; I shouldn't have snapped at you like that; it just caught me off guard,"

"Oh," she says, surprised at me apologizing.

"I want to do the project with you," I state.

"Okay," she says, agreeing with a smile. I take a deep breath and look around the parking lot.

"Are you coming to the game?"

"I don't know," she says.

"Well, I'll be there if you want to come," I suggest.

She nods her head slowly. "I'll think about it."

A car horn honks, my father pulls up across the street. I smile and then turn around.

"Jayda," Jessica places a warm hand on my shoulder. I turn back around. "Screw what they think,"

I smile and then turn around again, walking away towards my father's car.

I hate what people say about me; even though they are all lies, they still bother me.

I've never felt the need to defend myself because no one deserved to know the real me, so I thought I would just let them criticize who they think I am.

I'd rather have them do that than to criticize me, the real me; if they hating the fake me made me want to end my life, what will I do when they learn about the real me.

...

There's a knock on my room door, "Come in," I yell. To my surprise, Caleb comes walking through. "What are you doing here?" I squeal, it's like seven twenty, the game starts at eight he should be there already. He has on his Blue and yellow letterman jacket.

He shuts my door and walks over to me, wrapping me in his arms and placing a gentle kiss on my lips, sending shivers through my body; when his lips part from mines, he says, "I wanted to see you before the game,"

"You didn't catch the bus with your team?" He told me early, that's what he was going to do earlier.

He shakes his head, "No, if I caught the bus with them, I wouldn't have been able to stop and see you," he says and then kisses me again. "Who are all those people downstairs?" he asks.

"My dad's friends there here to watch the game," The doorbell has rung over twenty times in the past hour. I know it's a full house.

I would've left already but just thinking about going downstairs with all those people gives me anxiety. They're going to hug me and ask me questions. my heart beats faster at the thought.

They'll ask, "How's school?"

I'll respond with my usual "Good" along with a smile.

I'll say that a hundred times before I reach the door. I'm so tempted to leave out the window.

"Caleb, you should be at the game getting ready!" I state.

"I wanted to talk to you first,"

I narrow my eyes, "Talk to me?" He grabs my hand and pulls me towards my bed; we both sit. "What's wrong?" I ask nervously.

"Okay," he looks into my eyes, "I'm going to Notre Dame," he says.

My mouth drops open, "What?"

"My coach said that Notre Dame is going to give me a full scholarship if we win!"

"If?" I question, "You seem really confident," I don't want him to be hurt if he doesn't win. I've never seen him play, but I know he's good. Ryder is also good, and he'll be playing against him. The idea of them going head to head in this game doesn't sit right with me. I have a feeling it won't end well.

"Of course, I'm confident because you'll be there," he says enthusiastically.

"Okay?" I don't understand.

"You're my good luck charm," he says, and I burst into laughter. "I'm serious," he adds.

"Caleb, me being there doesn't necessarily mean you will win,"

"But you being there gives us a good chance," he says confidently.

"Sure," I nod my head sarcastically. If he thinks I'm lucky,or a symbol of luck he's crazy. I'm the unluckiest person I know. We both stop talking for about a minute and sit in silence. "Caleb?"

"Hm,"

"If you get into Notre Dame, what will happen to us?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, trying to assure me that everything will stay the same, but I know it won't.

"You don't know that,"

He cups my face with his hand, "I do, I love you, nothing will change that, not even college. I will still feel the same way I feel now even over there,"

I stare into his brown eyes. I want to believe him, but I can't. "I can tell your doubting right now, so after I win the game, we'll talk about it," he says, "We will talk about everything, you, me, our plans for the future,"

"Our future?"

"Our future," he repeats. He wants to have a future with me; my stomach twists at the thought of us... in the future. I've never thought about a future us, a present us, yes, but a future us, no. His phone rings, he pulls it out of his pocket, "I have to go, there looking for me!"

He stands up from the bed, and so do I, "Caleb," He turns around. "I love you,"

He smiles and says, "I'll see you after the game,"

...

I grab my black hoodie off my bed; I need to leave, like now, if I don't want to be late. My phone rings; I pull it out of my back pocket. It's an unknown number; I hesitantly swipe and answer. "Hello,"

"Jayda," the voice sounds familiar,

"Ms.Rodriguez!"

"Hey, I'm so sorry I wasn't able to make it to the school today to talk to you,"

"Oh, that's uh, that's okay," I guess she's back in town; I wonder how she got my number. "Where have you been?" I ask.

"I was in New York!" she states, "I went down there to talk to Mr.Shepard, to find out what happened; he didn't answer any of my calls or emails, so I had to come down here,"

"What did you find?" I ask uneasily.

"Uhm, I don't-"

"Tell me," I urge.

"I don't really know how to tell you this," she says. My chest starts to ache, and my hands shake. "Jayda, Uhm, it was your dad," she pauses, my stomach clenches, and I take in a deep breath.

"He knew you had a meeting with NYU, he found out, and he... he paid Mr.Shepard to reject you," My breathing hitches. "Im sorry,"

I remove the phone from my ear and hang up. As soon as I do, there's a knock on my door. The energy in the room switches, alerting me as to who is at the door,

"Hey Jay, come downstairs; I want to introduce you to someone," My father says from behind me.

I can't turn around; I can't move, my feet are nailed to the floor, the floor creaks as he walks over to me and touches my shoulder. I pull away from him and face him, staring him down angrily, allowing my rage to burn into his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"How could you?" I shake my head,

"How could I what?"

"You know what you did!" I yell, "You paid NYU... Mr.Shepard to reject me, you paid him to say those awful things about my writing," My throat burns as the words come out my mouth.

"I didn't--"

"Don't lie," I growl. I can take anymore lying; I can't take any more secrets.

"Im s-"

"No!" I put my hand in the air, stopping him, "Don't say it; I'm so fucking tired of everyone telling me they're sorry for treating me like shit,"

"Jayda!" he scorns my words, but I don't care.

"What was your purpose? Why would you do that?"

"I-" he shakes his head, trying to find an excuse knowing there isn't one.

"Did you do it thinking I would go to Yale.. UCB...UCLA" I shout even louder, naming the school he desires me to attend. "Did you do it so I could run your business?"

"No," he spits, "Of course not,"

"Then tell me what made you want to take your daughter's dream, her only hope, and crush it," he opens his mouth to speak, but I don't want to hear what he has to say. "You know what, I don't care," I press my lips together, "You can forget about me doing anything for you, ever! You can forget about me being you perfect little girl, your perfect daughter because I'm done,"

"Done?"

"I'm no longer your daughter!" The words literally break my heart to say.

"Ja-- he steps closer to me, and I step back,

"I hate you!" I spit the words out,

Guilty tears fall from his eyes, hurt ones fall from mine; I walk past and out of my room.