Meant to Be (The Saving Angels 1)

“That’s okay. I could tell that those guys embarrassed you. I could see it affecting you, trust me, I can relate. My nerves sometimes become frazzled in embarrassing situations, too.”

“Um yeah, but mine seem to be worse than most people,” I said understated. I knew for a fact that no one had emotions like mine.

“Well, you might be surprised,” Sam said.

I shrugged it off not wanting to alienate myself with my new friend. There was no reason to show what a freak I was.

“Believe me; I’ve felt that way many times over the years.” Sam said so empathetically, that for a brief moment I had the crazy notion that maybe she did know what I was going through.

I shook my head at my stupidity. I had once tried to look it up on the Internet, and many diseases showed similar symptoms to mine, but none of them were a perfect match. The doctors my parents took me to ran countless tests, but everything turned out inconclusive. They had planned on taking me to the Mayo clinic, but I pleaded with them to just give it a rest. I was sick of being poked and probed. After that, my parents tried to make light of my sensitivity issues and told me I was one of a kind. I had come to terms with the fact that I would always be a freak, and as long as I didn’t humiliate myself by throwing-up in front of others I could live with it.

I thought about confiding in her just how out of control my emotions could get, but figured I would wait before I showed my true freakish emotions around her.

Sensing my mixed feelings, Sam changed the subject.

“So have you lived in Santa Cruz your whole life?” She asked.

“Um, no. We moved here a few weeks ago. I like it a lot and the weather is unreal.”

“Yeah it’s definitely easy to get used to. I’ve been here for awhile and have become quite spoiled wearing shorts most of the year. Of course I don’t get much of chance to wear them here at this prep party,” she said with a slight edge.

“You don’t like it here?”

“Well, it’s definitely not my ideal school choice, but my foster mom went here, and she was so excited when I got in, I didn’t want to bust her bubble.”

“Foster mom?’ I asked, not wanting to intrude.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal. I’ve been in foster care pretty much my whole life. This new set is pretty cool though, and it looks like they’re going to keep me until I’m legal, which is sweet because it’s a drag to constantly pack up your crap to move to a new location.”

I could tell it wasn’t quite as blasé as she was making it, but I didn’t push the subject.

Briiiiing.

I jumped as the bell above my cot rang.

I glanced at my watch, shocked; we had spent all of our homeroom period talking. I was never one to skip class, so I was surprised that I didn’t feel guilty about skipping. Maybe it was the fact that this seemed to be so much more important than some class. After all, I had just met a girl who I could finally relate to. The mere idea of it was too cool.

We scrambled to our feet, grabbing our book bags off the wood floors. With wide smiles on our faces, we both raced out the door together.

Even though the clinic was hopping with students trying to get out of class, the school nurse noticed our hasty departure and yelled after us.

“You girls better hurry.”

“We will,” Sam yelled back over her shoulder.

“What’s your first class?” Sam asked, trying to catch her breath after we finally slowed down.

“Let me see,” I said, pulling my schedule out of the front pocket of my book bag. I handed it over to her.

“Oh good, we share all the same classes, except fourth period. That works out great; fourth period is just before lunch. We can meet back up and eat lunch together.”

I was relieved to hear that Sam shared most of my classes. Though I was a little disappointed our schedules didn’t match up completely, but beggars can’t be choosers.

I glanced at my schedule and was relieved that I at least had Reading for fourth period. Reading was of course my best subject, and at least I could bury my nose in a book during class. Most reading teachers expected the same thing, read a story and either write a report on it, or answer a series of questions.

Sam glanced over and looked at my schedule.

“At least you have Mrs. Rod for reading. She’s a piece of cake as long as you bring your own book. She assigns an essay every six weeks on the book your reading, grades it, then averages the grades together, and that’s your grade for the class,” she said confirming my thoughts. “That’s if you like to read.”