“No, silly, it’s not my birthday, it’s yours. And Momma says to tell you that you’ve got a phone call. I’ve got the phone. Here.” He handed me the telephone, and then scurried off into the “living room”, where he crawled into Mom’s lap.
“Hello?” My voice was met by the sound of heavy breathing at the other end, and there was a long pause. “Zachary?” I closed the curtain again, attempting to drown out the sound of the rain pouring outside. “Speaking.” I think I heard a gasp. I wasn’t sure. I assumed I was talking to some obsessed fan, who had somehow managed to get my number. I sighed and rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “Hi, Zac. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but…I’m Amber. Abby’s friend.” I held my breath. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I closed my eyes. “Yeah, I remember you. So, what’s up?” I heard her suck in her breath. “Abby left me her diary, with your phone number in it. Today’s your birthday, she said. She wanted me to call and wish you happy birthday for her. So, here I am.” I felt confused. Why couldn’t Abby tell me herself? “What? Is she mad at me or something? Why can’t she call me?” For a moment, there was no sound. Then, the sound of her sucking in her breath, and the sound of Amber, as she struggled not to cry. I had said something wrong—I just couldn’t place what it was. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not in a good mood. Thank you for telling me. Tell her to call me back, ‘kay?” She hung up. What a weird girl. I shook my head and pressed the off button, not understanding what had just happened. Maybe she had gotten cut off or something…after all, we were in the middle of a storm. I sighed and carried the telephone to the living room, where the rest of my family sat.
“Hey, son.” I smiled at Dad, who nodded at me. “You plan on buying another new car soon?” His way of saying “happy birthday.” I was turning sixteen that day, which was supposed to be a huge deal. I didn’t feel any different. I still had the same problems, the same joys, the same emotions. I was still just plain old me, Zac Hanson; confused, happy, musical boy. Nothing at all had changed. I hated change; but, in a way, I wanted nothing but to get a new life that day.
“Who was on the phone, sweetheart?” Mom, being too sweet to try to make up for yesterday. I shrugged. “Salesperson.” She gave me a suspicious look, but didn’t say anything else. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, your grandmother called to wish you a happy birthday. You were asleep. Tulsa time is different than it is wherever we are, and this family always seems to forget that.” I nodded and set the phone down on the table, not really listening to whatever she was saying. It wasn’t important.
I left the room and walked into the kitchen, where I found Taylor, his hair a messy, greasy tangle, sitting in yesterday’s clothes, thoughtfully stuffing his face with dry cereal. “Hey, brother,” he said, his mouth full. “Happy birthday.” I nodded at him, and reached into the refrigerator to get myself a glass of orange juice. “Thanks, but it doesn’t feel very happy.” He shook his head at me and smiled. “Awe, cheer up, kid. You’re turning sixteen today. It’s supposed to rock.” I scratched my chin. I needed to shave. “Sure it is. You’re just saying that. It’s just another year.” He shrugged and threw his feet up on the table. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I went through it, I should know. You’re really in for it. You’ve been too lucky until now.” I poured the juice into a glass and set the carton down. “Not really.” I ran my hands through my hair, combing it back.
“Tay, look, I’m sorry for last night. I was really stupid—“ Taylor put his hand up, trying to get me stop talking. “Zac. Look, it’s your birthday and all. Let’s just shut up and forget about last night, okay?” I nodded, sort of hurt by that. It seemed like nobody ever let me apologize. I screwed up so much, and I could never apologize. That bothered me a lot. I thought I would go to hell or something, just for never apologizing. I stood up. My brother grabbed my full glass of orange juice and tilted it towards me, making the orange liquid dribble onto the table. “I take you don’t want this?” He lifted it to his lips and began to chug. I shoved my hands in my pockets, smiling. “Guess not.” He set the empty glass back on the table, directly in the center of the pool of spilled juice. “Now, that’s the smile I’ve been waiting for from my little brother.” I shrugged and strolled into the hallway, grabbing my clothes off my bed on the way into the bathroom.
