I texted Liam (Liam Carson Lee) as I waited for another five minutes inside my car.

Since six-fifteen in the morning, I've been sitting inside this car and it's almost seven-thirty (in two minutes) while the classes start at eight. For about thirty minutes, the two students inside the car that was parked beside mine were making out. I don't understand how some people manage to do that... or even longer.

On Facebook last night, I suddenly became friends with Liam Carson Lee when I was stalking our school's Facebook page. I saw a post that was made three hours earlier when I was scrolling through the school's Facebook page, and it says: We ARE excited to see you again! Don't forget that you ARE: Absolutely a Respected Equal, in this school.

I read the comments and read something hysterical. You mean: (an) Absolutely Repulsive Environment. Which was from Liam.

It didn't take us too long to become friends, especially when I told him that I couldn't agree more with the comment he made on that post. We agreed (more likely, he insisted) that we should meet tomorrow, that night, at school... which was today.

My phone started vibrating the moment I received his texts and now deciding to head out of the car immediately. It made a loud beeping noise when I pressed the car button that made the students who were making out jump in their seats, receiving a look from the guy as I threw a salute at him before walking away.

Liam received a comment on his comment, claiming that if he would not take down his comment on that post, it would reach the Principal. Liam chuckled at that, referring to the following comment: Fake Admin.

Since there were false Facebook pages about our school, insulting them and their mission, I wouldn't blame him, honestly. But when Liam learned that it was the official admin, he was promptly informed on Facebook by a student body representative about his statement, which prompted him to delete his own comment.

Before classes begin, I watch students chatter away for the remaining free minutes and the bell begins to ring.

If I had the choice to pick, I wouldn't think twice about picking a new city or town to move into. I wouldn't even think twice about whether coming back here is a wise choice because I already know my answer: no. But I don't have many options.

My mom wanted to come back here, even though she's not going to tell me the actual reason, I already know, and somehow my dad is still here out of 114,253 people in Carlsbad. And my mom is just waiting, hoping that one day, he'll be back home, again.

The moment that I got inside the building; I noticed that the school didn't change a bit. I remember coming to this place before when I used to go to Carlsbad Academy to attend school. In the middle of a hot spring day, they made us wear these thick long-sleeved blouses and topped them with a thick, grey blazer.

That school I really despised. I despised the suits. I hated how I was affected by it. Carlsbad East High was always getting in trouble with the students at Carlsbad Academy. The students were stuck-up, affluent people who had always started fights with the students, here.

I recall my friends calling me out on Thursday night, February 13th, preparing to sabotage and wreck the preparations for the Valentine's Day dance, here at Carlsbad East High. I recall getting caught here by one of the staff. I recall running away with my peers, laughing as if we were the only thing that mattered, having fun and destroying the rival school.

Yet it was childish and dumb. Thinking about that makes me really want to forget all of them, but that's not possible. There's always something that reminds you of who you used to be; how fucked up I used to be, how I ruined my life, particularly my relationship with my dad.

Light blue backpack. Light blue backpack. Light blue backpack. As I look for Liam, I repeat it inside my head like a mantra. I felt an immense relief wash over me as I spot a light blue backpack from a distance by the lockers.

"Hey, you're easy to find," I say as I approach him by the locker, busy with sticking his head inside. "I was actually wondering what—"

The moment the locker door was shut, I suddenly stopped talking. A brunette-headed girl stood in front of me with a questioning expression written all over her face.

I feel my cheeks flush red, "I'm so sorry," I managed to say. "I thought you were someone else."

She wore a khaki blouse that almost suited her skin tone and a pair of baby blue jeans that were clear enough to have been purchased from Levi's. She looks tall for a girl. Around 5'6. She looks like a madwoman gazing at me as if I were some creature.

When she was looking at me at that time, it struck me. Once in a tabloid, I saw her face with the headline: Sanders Couple Found Dead: Mystery Unsolved?

She didn't look shocked when I tried to point out that it was her, but she seemed angry at the possibility of me, pointing out about her sister. I mean, maybe I would, too, knowing that hundreds or even thousands of people are reading a news story about you in a newspaper and then watching you get stalked at your house by some TV reporters, hoping to get a comment from you about what happened.

"I'm sorry," was all that I had to say to her after I noticed how uncomfortable she was starting to feel about what I brought up.

When I said something, she suddenly fires back, "It's intriguing? Why? Do people expect me to kill myself instead of trying to make ends meet because of what happened to me?"

I grew quiet immediately as I saw her rage surge. I hear her sniffle, smiling at me—a go-fuck-yourself smile before I could even apologize again. She walks off, and then I feel my phone vibrating again inside my top pocket.

I frowned, rolling my eyes at the text from Liam. Asshole. I unintentionally said that out loud out of frustration, which got me detention after school.