The numbers Miles had written on the palm of my hand were smudged. I had to ask Mom for a second opinion on the last digit. It was either a five or an eight. Mom pointed out that it was clearly an eight and accused me of stalling. She was right.

Calling up a complete stranger and asking him for help on my homework made me feel hot. Like I was coming down with a fever. Was it possible to have an allergic reaction to human contact? My palms were sweaty as I dialed the number. My thumb hovered over the call button.

What was I supposed to say? What if I was bothering him or interrupting something important?

It wasn't always that difficult for me to make a phone call. Back in middle school, I was the bold one among my friends. I was the first to approach the group of cute guys. The one who made phone calls on behalf of my shy friends. I jumped into unknown territory, eyes closed, feet first.

Getting back to that version of myself was harder than I thought.

"What are you doing?" Mom asked as she stepped into my room. She was dressed in her purple nurses' scrubs.

"I'm hoping that if I stare at the phone hard enough I'll be able to communicate with this guy telepathically," I said, wishing it were actually possible.

"You're so silly," she laughed, looking around my bare room.

All I had in there was a mattress, my laptop, sewing machine and three boxes that contained clothes and shoes. I was still determined to repaint the room before fully unpacking.

"You should paint it pink," she suggested.

My nose scrunched up as I shook my head. "Having a pink room is too cliché for my taste."

She nodded in agreement.

"Oh, I got it!" she exclaimed. "How about white?"

"Oh my god," I gasped dramatically. "That is perfect. I can literally picture the white walls now. However did you come up with that?"

"It just came to me, really." She shrugged. "You know, it was my idea to paint the White House white."

"Funny, I heard it was James Hoban."

Her brow furrowed. "Who?"

"James Hoban," I repeated. "He designed the White House."

"You spend way too much time on the internet," she said before walking over and hugging me. "I'm going to work."

"Okay," I said as she pulled away. "I'll probably still be here staring at my phone."

"Probably not," she said, pointing down at my phone.

My eyes widened at the ringing that was now coming from the phone. Mom had disappeared out of the room before I had a chance to call her out on her treacherous behavior.

Reluctantly, I placed the phone to my ear and tried to think of what I'd say once he answered.

"Yeah?" a voice answered, followed by what sounded like someone slurping through a straw.

"Uh, is this Cameron?"

"Depends on who's asking," he said.

"Loren," I said, wiping my sweaty palm on my jeans. "Loren Reed. We sort of met at The Twins sleepover."

"Loren Reed." He slowly repeated as if trying to remember the night.

I didn't get a chance to find out if he had remembered me or not as a commotion erupted from the other end of the line. There were muffled voices I couldn't make out and it sounded like the phone had been dropped.

"Hello?" I said into to the phone once it got quiet. "You're not getting mugged are you?"

Listening closely, I heard the sound of footsteps, then a grunt, and finally a voice that was clear as day.

"Hey, Mermaid."

I flinched at the unwanted nickname. Why did he insist on calling me by it? Better yet, why did he interrupt my call with Cameron? The noise from earlier began to make sense.

"Did you steal the phone from him just to talk to me?" I asked.

He scoffed. "Now who's thinking highly of themselves? He dropped his phone."

"Yeah, after you tackled me, asshat!" Cameron shouted in the background.

"Wow," I laughed. "Can you put him back on so we can discuss this tutoring business?"

"Just come to June's, the burger place on nineteenth," he suggested. "That's where we're at."

"No, thanks," I said. "I called to learn about polynomials not to hang out."

"There will be learning," he argued. "Just don't forget your math book."

I glanced at my unfinished worksheet, then at my bag that was full of other assignments I hadn't even looked at yet. Better grades were a part of my plan, I just wasn't too sure if a study session with Mr. Ego would help.

However, the study group was taking place where there was food and I was hungry. So, I agreed to meet them their soon.

It wasn't until after I hung up the phone that I remembered Mom left with the car. The plaza was too far to walk, which only left the public transit system. I still had a bus pass somewhere.

After searching through my wallet and the few boxes in my room with no luck, I went into the garage where the rest of my belongings were. It was hard to stay focused on the task while going through the boxes. I had packed up most of that stuff months ago and seeing the familiar items that once decorated my room sent me down memory lane.

After a while I found the bus pass, tucked away in another one of my wallets. I had so many brightly colored wallets I was practically collecting them. There was a small box full of them actually and before I knew it I had gone through all of them. There were notes and pictures from before everything fell apart.

The longer I looked through these things, the more my heart ached to get back to that girl I used to be. The girl who had friends and didn't sweat about making simple phone calls. Maybe I can get that again here.

I was all ready to get up and catch the bus to June's when something at the bottom of the box caught my eye.

It was a news article that I had printed out. I knew what it was about. The accident from four years ago. Funny how I'd find it now, when I was ready to move on. It was like the universe needed to remind me of what happened.

Pulling the paper out of the box, my heart seemed to stop at the sight of the picture. There were five people in the photo. Five teens who had their lives unexpectedly cut short.

I knew most of them. Tasha's older brother Ty, his girlfriend Shanice, and Preston, one of Ty's teammates. There was another girl, Elizabeth, but I had never seen her before. Apparently, the picture had been taken hours before the accident, posted on social media with a caption about finally graduating high school.

I read the article a million times. I knew their names, their faces, what their plans were after school. Those things were burned into my brain, never to be forgotten. It wasn't until a tear fell onto the page that I realized I was crying.

They all seemed to have their lives mapped out before them and now they were gone.

The sole survivor of the horrific crash. That's how the article referred to me. Going on to say how lucky I was. Not that I felt lucky. All I felt was guilt.

Survivor's guilt is what the guy running the teen support group called it, that one time I showed up. He said it was normal to feel that way and the best thing to do was to live your life, not waste it.

How could I live and be happy when I set off this chain reaction that cost five people their lives? If I had stayed home that night, everything wouldn't be so screwed up. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I put the article back into the box. Burying it once again where I would momentarily forget about it. Until the universe decided to remind me of my mistakes once again.