Jenna Louise is a girl with a dark past, which Michael Torrez, her new neighbor, is trying to uncover. Slowly they find themselves in a web of past mistakes, secrets, heartbreaks, and loss while trying to form a new future of their own. Michael soon finds out that age does not restrict love and Jenna learns that your future doesn't always have to be shaped by your past.
The sun beat down on us as the convertible appeared to glide over the road—it was that smooth of a ride. I watch all around us as people take in the sight of the vintage convertible and I proudly glance at my father sitting in the driver’s seat beside me.
“Drives beautifully, doesn’t it?” He always talks smoothly of his cars.
My dad is a vintage car restorations expert and this had been his latest assignment. I simply smile at him as a response to his cocky question. The sky is a brilliant blue, without a single cloud in the sky and I can almost hear the birds singing. I feel my dad pick up speed as we head out onto the high way and I prepare myself. My hair has always had a problem with being tangled by the wind, thanks to the extreme length of it. When I had been younger my dad had always told me to never cut it, that it was a part of me that would be unique and now, at age sixteen, my chestnut colored hair lay long down to my hips. My boyfriend, Tommy, always plays with it, twirling it in his fingers and sweeping it gently from my eyes.
“People don’t know how to drive these days,” Dad speaks casually, but I know that he is secretly annoyed, he never liked letting me see him upset. “You okay there Pumpkin?”
I laugh, “I’m all good over here dad.”
I remember when I had been seven and my dad had taken me on one of these rides for the first time. Back then it had been a vintage Chevrolet and I had liked sitting in the back eating a strawberry iced cream cone and my dad’s constant inquiries as to how I was feeling in the new, fixed up car.
I smile to myself remembering the moments from when I was younger and casually turn my head to the side (I always liked seeing people stare at my dad’s incredible handyman abilities) and I saw it. The new Pontiac drove almost drunk, weaving in and out of lanes. My dad didn’t see him in time and it hit our convertible, hard.
I will always remember the loud sound of crunching metal and the high pitched scream that had escaped my mouth. I will also remember looking over at my dad after we had spun several times on the road before coming to a halt in a ditch. Blood blurring my vision and the dull ache of broken bones pulls me in towards unconsciousness I stare at my father. He sits pressed against his steering wheel, blood spurting out of his mouth as he painfully reaches a hand covered in scratches over to me. I feel tears mingle with the blood coming from some cuts on my forehead as I touch his badly injured hand.
“Dad,” I quietly say, my words hoarse. I see tears come to his eyes and his hand sweeps my cheek. I feel a sob coming from my throat as I watch him struggle for his breath and slowly lay his head on the steering wheel. “Dad?” I gently tug on his shirt and get no response.
I painfully look all around me and watch as cars stop and people rush towards us. I hear someone calling 911, but I know it is too late. I am never going to see my father again, the image of him reaching to me will forever fill my mind.
Back then, when the accident happened I was Jenna Louise, the long haired girl with no worries. Now I’m still Jenna, but I am no longer a long haired girl.