"So when are you going to teach me how to ride your motorcycle?" I ask Issac.

One of his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You, ride my motorcycle?"

"Yeah. Why are you surprised?" I ask and take a bite out of my sandwich.

"You were afraid of surfing. I mean you did that...kind of, but now you want to ride a fully powered machine."

"What could go wrong?" I drink some of my soda while waiting for Issac's response.

"3 months ago I had to practically beg you to come on the motorcycle, now you want to ride it."

"3 months ago, I disliked everything about you."

"Why!?!?"

"OK. Let me rephrase that. I didn't like everything you stood for. The popularity. It's like you sucked it all up and hid behind all of it."

"Shit. That hurt." We both bust out laughing with me nearly spilling my soda. I wipe off some ketchup that was on his chin and wipe it on a napkin.

"But...I realized how much of a mistake that was and you aren't actually a completely fake asshole. You are sweet on the outside and on the inside."

Issac sniffles and wipes some invisible tears under his eyes. "That was so beautiful."

"Shut up!" I yell and throw a few waffle fries at him.

"I am not agreeing to teaching you to ride the motorcycle. It's not made for everyone. I won't risk you getting hurt."

"You risk your life everyday you get on that thing and you are here and in one piece."

"By luck and I know this thing and how to operate it and how to ride it. It takes months to learn how to handle a motorcycle."

"Well luckily I have the best teacher as a best friend and we have 7 months until graduation."

Something flashes in Issac eyes, but he quickly masks it with his usual optimistic attitude. "I will think about it."

"Good enough. Can you come over today?"

"Uh...why?"

"I can't have my best friend over my house?" I ask with my eyebrows creased.

"UH- no. I didn't mean it like that. I just kind of have...a date."

My eyes widen and my heart beat slows.

Huh?!

"A date?"

"Uh yeah. A friend asked me for a favor. And they kind of set me up with this girl. The date is tonight."

"Does she go to our school?"

"Uh yeah."

"Do I know her?"

"Not sure. Maybe she is in a few classes of yours" he responds and shrugs his shoulders. My mouth feels suddenly dry and my hands feel clammy. I keep my poker face on knowing any indication of my real emotions will have him ask questions.

"I am happy for you Issac. I'm glad you are getting yourself out there." I say with a smile on my face.

"Thanks Bay. It means a lot." He says. The bell rings indicating that free period is over.

He gets up and gathers up the trash.

"OK. See you tomorrow?" He asks.

"Y-Yeah definitely!" I say a little too enthusiastically. He gives me a weird looks and for a minute I am afraid he knows that I am feeling a little uneasy.

"See ya" he says and walks away. I watch as he leaves feeling this weird feeling in me that I can't identify. All I know is that I feel weird and uneasy. I walk down from the bleachers and off the field and back into the building. I go to my locker and quickly get my books and rush to class.

...

It seems like everyone in the school is buzzing about Issac and the mystery girl having a date. She does go to our school. I don't know her name or anything, but I figure I will have a run in with her one day. People in the hallways keep giving me looks and then continue whispering about Issac's date tonight like I am not there.

It's quite annoying.

I slam my locker shut and walk out the building and to my house. I need the walk to help clear my thoughts and I don't have the patience to go on the bus alone. Zoe has debate practice today.

The cool fall breeze flows through my hair and leaving chills down my body. Brown and auburn leaves fall off trees that are succumbing to the chill that is slowly creeping up on us for the winter. Starting tomorrow, I will need to start wearing long sleeves or sweaters.

About 20 minutes later, I reach home and I go straight up to my room. I take out my diary under my bed and start pouring out my feelings on paper as a letter to my father.

Dear Father,

It's been 7 years and 360 days since you left. 5 more days and it will make a year. Congratulations. Father of the Year. You have abandoned your family for 8 years. I am turning 18 soon. Apart of me wants your head on a silver platter as my birthday gift, but that soft part of me wants you here for my 18 birthday, so that you could give me life advice since I will be going to college. Oh, speak of, I applied early admissions for UPenn. Forget that. I have been trying to be happy dad. Really trying. But every time I think of the fact that I am the daughter of Sean Stewart, I feel ashamed. Don't you understand dad? I am ashamed of my last name! I want to change it to Johnson or Smith or something else that isn't Stewart. Stewart belongs to a coward. I don't want to hold your legacy. I don't want to hold your name.

I have met someone. Someone important to me. Someone who I will cherish for the rest of my life because they deserve it. He has been there for me. He has made me smile. And I mean genuinely smile, not the fake smiles I would put on my face for fancy dinners with mom and her co-workers or with your sister, Seraphina. I am really happy dad. He makes me happy. He is just my best friend. I wish you were the typical, PRESENT father who would be here to threaten his life or something. I don't know. It's stupid. Even though I am happy, I am still unhappy. I have been burying my feelings for him and avoiding having a real relationship like he wants because I can't trust a guy with my heart because of what you did. I gave you my heart father. I loved you, Adored you. Trusted you and you had my heart in your hands and you clapped. Then you left. I can't trust and I know I can't do that with him in a relationship. Now, he may have moved on and I can't do anything about it besides be a supportive best friend.

Thank you for your never ending contribution in ruining my life without even being here. I hope you have the life you wanted. The one you fought tooth and nail for to get. I will continue to stupidly pray for you at night because for some reason despite all you have done to me, I continue to pray. Pitiful, i know.

Bay

I stuff the diary under my bed and look down at my phone beside me. I turn away from my phone and lay down on my pillow and look at the ceiling that I have decorated with inspirational quotes and my some pictures of goals I want to reach. This wall used to be filled with pictures of perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect everything. Of course, I grew out of that. Now it has picture of the colleges of my dreams, doctors, powerful women who have changed the world, etc.

My phone rings beside me and I glance at it. I don't want to answer it.

But what if it is Issac?

I sit up and look at my phone.

My eyebrows crease together and I look around with a weird look on my face.

I answer the phone and put it to my ear and quickly speak first.

"You have 5 seconds, how the hell did you get my number?"