It’s a terrible thing, not knowing who you are or what your place in the world is going to end up being. Now, imagine not knowing these things and having your mom tell you that you are spontaneously packing up the little bit of shit you own and moving across the country.
I found myself in this very same situation, and giving my mom the silent treatment didn’t seem to be doing very much. She probably enjoyed it, because usually when I talk to her the things coming out of my mouth are hardly appropriate. Call me bitter if you want, but you’d be pretty damn bitter too if you were practically a coke baby who didn’t even know who their father was. Every time I point this out to my mom she gets really quiet and depressed. She doesn’t like to talk about that part of her life, she tells me.
As if that all isn’t bad enough, I’m now being forced into attending the most prestigious school on the west coast. Please. I’ll last a day, if that, and then I’ll be expelled. These golden people cant handle my raw New York style.
“You know that you can call me, right?” my mom asks me from the passenger seat of the car. The driver is nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
Oh, yeah, that’s another thing. As if my mom hasn’t royally screwed me over already, we get to Los Angeles and she informs me that the real reason we’ve moved is because an old friend of hers offered to support her. His name is Vince, and supposedly he owns a night club or something. And I’m sitting here thinking, great, that’s just what my mom needs. A guy with a nightclub. But, again, I’m not saying anything. These are her stupid choices to make.
I nod once, hard, because I’m giving her the silent treatment, so I cant very well say anything. Duh. It sort of defeats the point. “We’re only a few minutes away,” she goes on. “Besides, I’ve already lived through it once, honey. It’s not so bad.” Here I roll my eyes, because she is so clearly full of shit.
I get out of the car, squinting against the bright California sun. The sun never shined like this I New York. I don’t really think I like the sun very much. I’m more of a sulk by candlelight kind of guy.
So far as I can tell, Coatal Bay Academy is a total breeding ground for disaster. Everywhere I look I can see shining faces plastered on robotic people with tans and designer clothes. It’s just screaming conspiracy. I hear my mom’s car pull away- well, Vince’s car- so I allow my footsteps t slow. The piece of paper in my pocket reads room 506. I’m guessing that’s where I’m supposed to go. I feel so weird walking up with empty hands, but I don’t have a lot of stuff to begin with, and everything I do own has already been brought in. My mom says that’s the way you do it here at CBA. You, like, pre-set up your room. I don’t get it, but I also couldn’t possibly care less than I already do.
When I open the doors to what I’m really hoping is the dorm building, I’m instantly swept into a huge wave of people. Everywhere I look are sparkling, perfect people gabbing on their expensive phones or power-texting or drinking Starbucks. Huh. CBA gets brownie points. It may be a franchise and therefore every time I drink it I’m feeding into corporate greed, but it is damn good coffee.
I push my way through the masses and step into a hallway that’s mostly deserted. The first door is labeled 500. Well. Talk about luck.
Down the hall a few feet, and I’m standing in front of room 506. I reach out for the door knob, and, what do you know, it’s unlocked. Good, because I have no idea what the key code is. Still, you’d think these rich kids would be more cautious. I pause to thank God that I’m so poor I have nothing for a thief to steal. I’m being sarcastic here. In all honestly, I don’t even know how my mom managed to get me in. She probably had to blow the whole board of directors.
I open the door slowly and step inside. The rooms here are the shit- like a five star hotel or something. My bed is queen sized, all done up in black just the way I like it. There is a bay window that overlooks the ocean. Some people pay thousands of dollars for an ocean view, and I get to see one every day at school. Plus, there is a full bathroom right in the room.
CBA just might have potential.
I don’t know how long I stood there staring around in awe at everything. I could hardly imagine living like this every day of my life, having enough money to buy something like, I dunno, a fifty dollar salad. Someday. Someday I will buy myself a fifty dollar salad.
The door swings open behind me, and I whirl around to see this guy standing in the door way. He’s got the blondest hair I’ve ever seen, so platinum it could be white, and these eyes that are so blue they almost seem unnatural. His chin is held high as he looks at me in disregard. Usually when someone looks at me like I’m a worthless piece of shit I’d let them have a piece of my mind, but let me tell you, this guy is ripped. All the while I’m silently praying he isn’t my room mate, because as if my life wasn’t hell enough.
“Don’t tell me this is your room,” he mutters, his eyes narrowing slightly. I nod quickly.
“Shit,” he says, none too discreetly. “I told the board not to fuck up my rooming. I knew something like this was going to happen. Administration is utterly incompetent.” He sighs, clearly attempting to compose himself. I hope for both our sake’s it’s working. “My mother is not going to be happy about this. Clearly Morgan has no consideration for public image.”
I’m shaking my head now, never mind I have no idea how, because the plan had been stand silently and don’t move.
“Who’s Morgan?” I ask stupidly.
The blonde boy looks at me for a moment, and then a loud laugh escapes his lips. As soon as the fit has subsided, his scowl returns. Too bad. I thought the smile may have had potential to be friendly if it was slightly less wolfish.
“The principal,” he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it should have been. I dunno. “But, more importantly, who are you? If I’m to be stuck with you until my mother can figure this all out, I’d at least like to know your name.”
“It’s Tavin,” I tell him. “Tavin Kale.”
A frown creases his brow, and for but a moment his vibrant green eyes go somewhere else. “Kale,” he murmured. “I don’t know that name.”
I shrugged a little. “I’m from New York, actually. I just moved.”
He nodded, but it was blatantly obvious he didn’t care in the least.
“What about you?” I prodded. Hey- at least we were making conversation. That alone was a miracle.
“Me?” he asked. Again, his tone was full of astonishment, as if I should have just magically known these things. Then he was extending his hand like we were in some formal business meeting or something. Whatever. I took it, shaking it as best as I could with him trying to break my hand. “Raziel. Raziel Willard. I'd rather have my mom's name, though. She's the one with real power."
I wasn’t catching his drift, but at this point I couldn’t have cared less. I wasn’t even supposed to be here, and the last thing I cared about was names and whether we have our mom’s or our dad’s. I mean, I’d have been happy just to know who my dad was, whether or not I have his name.