Quarters
If you asked anyone who their closest friends in school were, I guarantee you they would say Maya and Julian.
And I would say that too, as Maya. We grew up in the neighborhood. Our moms are best friends; our moms live together. We both have... how do I say it? Well, complicated relationships with our dads.
Julian's dad's goals were a lot different than his mom's. His dad chased money, while his mom chased peace. Though it wasn't a very peaceful divorce. I remember that week when his parents divorced; Julian hid that entire week in the sanctuary of his bed. He wouldn't even come out for dinner. Julian was different that week—I've never seen him so sad before. I understand him though. I mean, not the divorce, but we both have a lack of dads in our lives.
Julian's mom and my mom were the definition of opposites attract. My mom was a businesswoman, but unlike Julian's money-chasing dad, she takes time for family, and so did my dad. I really miss my dad. I haven't seen him in, well, years. He died when I was 10. I don't like to talk about him much though; I don't want to be a burden or be the person with a tragic backstory.
I'm not the person to dwell on the past. I like to bury my feelings in a box inside that doesn't explode, but gets bigger, allowing more room. I know it's not healthy—I really do know—but there are people out there who have it way worse than me, and people who want to see the best in me, not the worst.
Okay, enough with the tragic backstory.
Today is my first day of sophomore year. I remember thinking that high school was going to be a magical experience filled with dating and sneaking out. I'm 15 years old, never been to a high school party, never had a boyfriend, never had a first kiss. To be honest, high school is kind of a letdown, and besides, I've never pictured myself being with anyone (in a romantic way). My life just should have stopped after my dad died. I'd rather stay 10 years old and be with him than be 15 and forced to mature. I don't want to go to sophomore year.
"Maya, your mom made breakfast," Julian says, knocking on the door, still sounding half asleep. "Hurry up before I eat all the waffles."
I perk up at the word waffles. I run downstairs in my PJs, knowing that Julian may actually eat all the waffles. When I arrive, I see Julian sitting there, already stacking his plate a mile high with waffles. I sit next to him, stealing a waffle off his plate.
"Fuck you, Maya!" Julian yells. Being mean to each other is like our way of showing love.
"Julian, don't swear at Maya. She's younger than you, you're supposed to be nice," my mom chastises.
"Mom, for God's sake, I'm 15!"
She playfully rolls her eyes at me. "Oh, the teenage attitude."
"Julian, give Maya a ride to school," Mrs. Velasco, Julian's mom, orders.
"Okay, okay, I will."
And that's my family. We may have messy, depressing backstories, and we might not all be blood-related. But one thing's for sure: we are each other's missing quarters.
Here is what a 15-year-old's morning routine looks like
Chaotic family breakfast
Hair (especially me—I have bad bedhead)
Get dressed
All the other personal hygiene stuff
I usually skip makeup; it takes too much time and isn't needed. I was right in the middle of trying to tame my hair when a knock hit the doorframe.
"Hurry up, Maya," Julian says, standing in my doorframe, his brown curly hair covering his eyes, his hood pulled up as if his hair wasn't doing a good enough job hiding his blue eyes.
God, why is he always going to school looking depressed?
"Kind of hard with 30 minutes of sleep," I mumble.
"Go to bed earlier."
"Be quieter when you bring girls over."
His face turns red.
"Give me ten bucks and I won't tell anyone." He knows he can't get in any more trouble.
"Take it," he says begrudgingly. "And I thought you needed a ride?"
"I do, Julian, just wait one second."
"Okay, okay, I'll wait."
He exits my bedroom, and a minute later I hear his car engine turn on down in the driveway.
I quickly finish getting ready, run downstairs, and spring out the front door.
Through the car's front windshield, I see Julian tapping his watch. As soon as I reach for the door handle, he reverses down the driveway a few feet. Then a few feet more.
That little...
He finally stops, grinning. I swing the door open and settle into the passenger seat before he can try anything else.
And just like that, I'm on my way to sophomore year. I'm not excited. All I want is my dad right next to me, driving me to my first day of third grade.
