(December 10, 1999)

My life, plainly put, is hell.

If you doubt it, let me explain.

When I was 12, my parents died in a car accident, leaving me and my brother Jay orphans. My aunt Sheryl fortunately took us in. Around the time I was 14, Jay graduated from high school and went off to college in New York, leaving me at the mercy of my aunt, and cousins Stacey and Becca.

On the surface, Aunt Sherri was wonderful after Jay left. But about a month later, I found myself in the third floor bedroom of her house, alone and forced to do her dirty work. I had to wash dishes, vaccum the whole house, and on rare occasions cook meals for her and my cousins, with the assistance of Monica, the hired maid. Oh, did I mention that I get verbally harrased and have to provide myself the basic nesscesities a 16-year old girl needs?

Told you my life's hell.

*********

I woke up one morning, almost forgetting about the virtual insanity that is my life. It was pretty easy: I was having the sweetest dream. I was at a concert-a Backstreet Boys concert, and the guys were serenading me, singing "All I Have To Give" to me. I had the biggest grin of happiness spread across my face when the song was interrupted by this annoying beeping noise.

My eyes flew open, and I came crashing downto reality with a bone-jarring thud. I was once again in my drafty third floor bedroom, a poor orphaned girl on her 16th birthday.

My birthday! I'd totally forgotten! "Great, happy birthday to me," I grumbled. I switched on the lamp on the nightstand. The light cast long, lonely shadows across the room.

I crawled out of bed and began to go through my drawers, looking for something to wear. The clock radio was playing "Tearin' Up My Heart", and I hummed it, inattentive as I pulled out a forest green long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. I plugged the iron in, turned it on, and waited for it to heat up. As I did, I sank back into the warm bed and stared at the ceiling and walls.

At the same time a year ago, my walls had been bare. Now they were covered with pictures and posters of my friends, as well as the celebrities I admired. On the north wall I had a vanity and on the wall were pictures of my friends and I.

The west wall was where the door to my cramped abode was. Pressed against that wall was a chest of drawers I'd bought for $10 bucks at a yard sale. This wall had pictures of female celebrities I admired: Mariah Carey, Geri Halliwell, Brandy, Tatyana Ali, Christina Aguilera, and more.

The south wall was bare, but on that wall was where my black loveseat and my desk were located. My boombox was placed on one of the shelves on the desk, and when I was in a bad mood, I'd put one of my favorite CDs into it and listen to it to my heart's content.

*NSYNC posters wallpapered the east wall. These were some of the pictures I loved the most. If I woke up on my back, I could look up and see Chris Kirkpatrick's adorable face. Even better was waking up and looking directly at the ceiling. That part was covered with Backstreet Boys posters; so many that there wasn't enough wallspace for them. I loved BSB and *NSYNC, but BSB held the biggest spot in my heart. At night, I would gaze upon the pictures that covered my ceiling and I would stare at the dark eyed, curly haired member of the group whose sweet voice had won me over. It was only at that time that I truly felt serene and at peace with all the madness in my life.

I know it sounds incredibly stupid, but I would dream amazing dreams as I stared at the photos, pinups and posters of my "dream man": Backstreet Boy Howie Dorough. In my dreams, he would see me, and after just one glance fall madly in love with me. He would propose to me in front of of a packed arena, and everyone would cheer on, and well..... you get the picture. But I knew that those dreams, and the man himself, were unattainable. I had a harsh knowledge of reality and I knew that adolescent dreams had no chances of really coming true.

So, as I waited for the stupid iron to heat up, I looked up at the ceiling and all of the posters that wallpapered it. From there, my eyes averted to my favorite picture of Howie, in which he wore a white suit and had his curly hair-one of his best assets-straight and the most self-assured smile was spread across his face. I loved that picture with a passion.

"And now it's 5:50, and the temperature is a mere 55 degrees...."

Snapping out of my dazed state, I got off the bed and ironed my clothes. I then got dressed, unplugged the iron and snuck downstairs to leave. I silently crept to the kitchen, grabbed a package of Pop Tarts, and walked out the back door, making sure to lock it as I exited.

The sun still hadn't risen when I got to Christy's at 6:15. I ran to the side of the house, stood under her window, and blew the whistle that was on my keychain. When that didn't work, I preceded to throw a handful of gravel at the window. Fortunately, that was enough to send Christy to the window. "What the--?" She looked down and saw me standing in the cold.

"Good mornin'!" I shouted up to her.

It took her a minute to reconize me, then she said, "I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

I waited on the front porch and stared at the horizon, silently willing the sun to come up. Christy finally walked out the door to find me there, shivering. "Hey," she said, watching me as I jumped up and down, trying to regain any lost body heat.

"Yola, what's up?"

"Oh, nothin'. Have any luck getting the tickets?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. I've called and called but no cigar."

"Man, that sucks."

I sighed, and as I exahaled my breath came out in a small cloud. "You don't have to tell me twice." Ever since I'd found out about the BSB concert that was to be held in Raleigh February 18, I had been calling G-105, the local radio station, begging and trying to sweet talk one of the DJs into providing Christy, and our friends Shiara and Julie with tickets to the sold-out show. So far my efforts had proved fruitless.

"Geez, you think with the way you've been sucking up they would have taken a hint," Christy said. "You must have them on speed dial or somethin'."

"Ha ha. I gotta get those tickets, Christy! I'll go insane if I can't."

"Well, don't crack up your birthday. Today is your birthday, right?"

"You forgot?" I stared at her in utter disbelief.

"You think I'd forget?" Christy raised an eyebrow suspiciously at me. "You've been dropping hints like a madwoman!"

For a brief moment, I could have sworn my heart stopped. "You got me the tickets?!" I shrieked.

"Heyy.... don't get your hopes up now. I wish I could have gotten you the tickets, but I didn't. I hope you like this, though." She stopped walking for a minute to unzip her backpack and pull a gift bag out of it. "Happy birthday."

As soon as I opened the bag, I let out a scream of joy. "Ohmigod, Christy! You didn't have to get me this!"

"I didn't have to, Christy said, "but I wanted to. I knew you'd love it."

I held the jacket out in front of me, just so I could admire it. It was a quarter length leopard print jacket with fake fur trimming the sleeves and the neckline. Ever since September, when I'd first laid eyes on the jacket, I'd been in love with it. And now... it was mine. I pulled my Old Navy pullover off and tried the jacket on. It was a perfect fit. "Thanks so much Christy," I gushed. "You're a saint!"

Christy bowed. "Thank you, thank you."

I shoved the pullover into my backpack and walked on. "This would be perfect to go wear to the concert."

"You really want to go, don't you?" Christy asked. I simply nodded.

"Well, I heard that JoJo's giving away a set of four tickets tonight around like, 7," she said casually.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You have to call in and tell why you're the biggest fan, or something like that."

Now I knew I still had the slightest shread of hope. A smile crept across my face as I said, "I feel lucky today. I feel like something's going to happen." Just then, as if it were some sort of omen, the sun came up. "Better yet, I know something good is going to happen."

chapter 2
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