Episode 2

Why the urge all of a sudden on this random Thursday night? I had no idea.

I refolded the note and placed it back into the backpack. Stopping to look at myself in the mirror, I caught sight of my runny mascara. The heavy eye make-up brought out my green eyes just as my light olive skin accentuated my black hair. Despite the hot mess, I liked what I saw and hated feeling that way. But I’d worked damn hard to look like this. Of course, the alcohol had probably given me a false sense of confidence.

I wonder what you’d think of me now, Landon.

The one thing I knew for certain: he wouldn’t recognize Rana Saloomi if he saw her on the street.

I had my ideas about how Landon might have turned out, imagining he went to a great college, had a high-paying job, a beautiful wife or girlfriend. I imagined him happy. I imagined he never thought of me. I was obsessed with my image of Landon, and I couldn’t figure out why it mattered. It was all in my head, but somehow his happiness was a reflection of my unhappiness.

Despite my confusion over these lingering feelings for Landon, tonight, in my drunken fog, I was just angry. I wanted to talk to him. And no one sane was here to talk me out of it. I had myself convinced I would never have the confidence again. This was my one and only chance. Calling him tonight seemed more and more like a bright idea by the second.

Opening my laptop and clicking on Google, I searched Landon Roderick. A listing with that name came up in Los Angeles.

Los Angeles?

Was it even him?

If so, he probably wasn’t going to remember me. But I didn’t care. Unable to talk my inebriated self down, I needed to tell him off. I needed him to know how f*cked-up it was—what his parents did. And I needed him to know that he was no better than me. Basically, I needed to say the things I had been yelling at him in my head all of these years.

I dialed the number and listened to the ringing.

A deep, gravelly voice came on the line. “Yeah…”

My heartbeat accelerated. “Is this Landon?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’m sure you don’t remember me. Well, with your fancy California life and all.”

“Excuse me?”

“You need to know something. I had feelings.”

“The f*ck? What?” He repeated, “Who is this?”

“Maybe all I was to you was the pudgy, little tomboy with the bad haircut and the hairy arms—just the girl who lived in the garage. But I mattered. Not only that, I looked up to you. I looked forward to every day spent riding my bike in circles in the front driveway while you skateboarded around me. I still have all your damn folded notes. I don’t know why I even kept them. Meanwhile, I bet you don’t even remember who the hell I am. Nooo…not my-sh*t-don’t-stink Landon Roderick…in his L.A. mansion, too good to remember the little people. In case you’re wondering whatever happened to me, well, everything went to hell after we moved. My mother left us. And my life was never the same again. So, even though you don’t even remember who I am, I remember you. Sadly, the last time I was ever happy was with you.”

With tears streaming down my cheeks and no words left, I hung up and threw the phone across my bed.

And then it sank in.

Oh, sh*t!!!!!

Oh, no!!!!!!!

What did I just do??!!!!!

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