"No one recovers from anything. It's how that person encourages him or herself to keep going and to believe, that at the end the sun will show. " 

"What if the sun doesn't show?" 

"Then you're too far gone."

That scared me. 

 "Marlene," my mother's voice that is. "It's Wednesday not Saturday buddy. Gotta get up. " 

Maybe if I pretend I'm dead until 3:00 p.m. when school is over? 

"And no you can't pretend you're dead or you've lost conscious. You've done those in the past. You aren't seven anymore. Get up!" 

"Ok, alright," I say irritably. 

Some would think, can I go back to being seven? I, on the other hand, think that there really isn't a difference if you think about it. 

For example, at age seven, I had to make sure not to push kids off the slide so I won't get in trouble for injuring a classmate. I also had to do homework and had to remember not to mess up my room so mom won't get angry. 

Now, at 17, I have to make sure not to punch anyone who annoys me. I'm a teenager, what do you expect? Also, have to do homework. Including, the having to clean the room because if we have guests, who will be downstairs in the living room, they can definitely sence the mess in my bedroom. Wouldn't want that. 

Anyways, same thing only a little more or less. 

I sit up on the edge of the bed saying the same three lines in my head; I'm so tired, why did I read one more chapter, and why did I watch one more episode, after the next? God, I have to listen to my right shoulder more. 

After motivating myself to get up, I went over to collect my clothes for school and went into the bathroom across the hallway. 

"HEY," my brother, Michael's voice booms muffly out on the other side of the door, just after I got in. "You done in there Mar?" 

I didn't even get to putting my flannel on. Or my jeans. Or the brushing of my hair and teeth. Or the make up. Or...Well you get it. I didn't get to anything. 

"Hold up! I need ten more minutes. " 

Now, the average American teenager would most likely be living in their own apartment with a snobby roommate. But not me. Yeah, I had to get adopted and stuck with the overprotective parents with five brothers. Yup. Amazingest life I am living. 

Once my time in the  bathroom ended, I sulked my way downstairs to find the whole family eating. Without me. Nothing personal. 

"Mom," I start, as I reach over the table to get a piece of toast. "I don't need a ride to and back. Moana has it covered. She'll be here soon." 

"You staying after school?" 

"Yeah. We're going to the library.  I'm getting behind in math. Don't want that do we?"

"Alright. Oh, almost forgot. What are we doing tomorrow for your birthday? Just inviting friends and family over?"

"Yeah Mom. I don't want anything big. Only the food can be over the top."

"Nice one kiddo," Jensen says after snorting air out of his nose. He has been calling me kiddo since we were six years old, after learning he was born four minutes before me. "You definitely are my twin. "

Jensen and I, although we are twins, we arent really identical. Only our eyes and skin color are the same, and that is when our similarities end. He doesn't have mocha hair. He has blonde. He isn't short. He is hella tall. Talking, six feet and five inches tall. We are the only kids in the family who are adopted. 

I never understood why the Browns couple adopted us. They already had three other boys. 

Beep. Beep. 

"That is Moana," I say walking towards the door. "And Mom. Please don't call me every second. I'm going to be in the library. Not a club. Breathe." 

"Does Moana want any breakfast?" 

"Doubt it. Bye people. " 

The door screeches  as I swing it open over excitedly and close it after me. I stop in my place, as stiff as I can, and raise my hand over my head and wave my wrist,  in a silly manner, saying hello. I do that often. I can be childish too. 

"Get that behind, in the back seat," my best friend since forever, says.  

Moana. An interesting character. Dirty, white, skin with dark, olive, short hair. She's mature for her age and always has been. When she was 17, which was three years ago, she would act like a 20 year old, which she is now, but yet her heart and soul were of a 14 year old. 

"Wait," I mumble confused. "Why the backseat? I called shotgun last night on the phone. Who are we taking also?"

"Your Valentine. Sam. " 

I freeze. Oh god no. 

Sam. 

When I was adopted at age four, I found myself  living in the same neighborhood  as Moana, Sam, and a sister and brother. We all lived in the same block and grew up together. We would play all sorts of games and laugh and have mini parties, which involved any junk food we found in our house. 

Around age 7, Sophia, which was 9 at the time, and I, broke our arms running away from Sam because we didn't want to get tagged. Childhood was rough. If you got tagged, man...you lost your thug-ness. 

But, things then changed. Sophia and Chris, the siblings I mentioned, disconnected from me and Moana. 

Only our parents remained friends. 

Now Sam, he's friends with Peter, the second oldest son in the family, and also Jensen's best friend. So I see him often other than the fact he lives across from my house.  

I also forgot to mention the liking or love, (still confused on what it is), I have had for him since about nine years old.

Hard. 

I've learned to dealt with it. 

"Hey it's okay," Moana says snapping me out of my thoughts. "This will be good. You guys haven't talked in forever." 

I groan and go into the backseat of her Audi. Of course she would have this sort of car. Moana likes to be classy and own expensive, top model resources. 

I look over to the right once I hear a door open and close. Sam steps out of his house and jogs over to the car and climbs in.

As he was jogging to the car, his dark dark brown hair were bouncing, on the top of his head, through the wind. Many guys now have that one hair cut with most of their hair at the top long and brushed back. It looks amazing. His brown mocha eyes that makes you blush when it touches your own eyes, looked over at me through the window. His built structure just made me want to cry. He's beautiful. 

"What's up Moana," he greets. "Thanks for dropping me off at work. Busty car. Oh. Hi Marlene. How have you been? Don't see you much anymore. "

I wanted to state the fact that he is over at my house almost everyday, and that we always see each other. But decided against it. He obviously doesn't pay attention. That hurt. 

"I'm breathing...alive. How are you?" 

"Fanstic!" 

The whole car ride to the courthouse, where Sam works as an experience type job,  consisted of Moana and Sam talking about a party they went to, some people from their time in high school, and work. I know I shouldn't get angry, I mean Moana wouldn't do anything to hurt me in that way, but I just can't help it. It's too hard not to get upset. 

Once Sam got out and said goodbye to me and Moana, I climbed up to the passenger seat. I also made sure to purposely put my dirty, old Convers shoes on the seat to dirty it. Just to show that I'm upset and also just for the fun of it. 

"What are you," Moana complains. "An animal? You just dirtied the seat!" 

"Now my butt is sitting on it. Doesn't hurt you as it much it hurts me at the moment."

My mood swings are kicking in again. I get those a lot lately. 

Like, the other day, Michael was planning on taking me to my favorite store to pick out a birthday gift. I was excited about it. They had this shirt of my favorite fandom, Harry Potter, that I really wanted, and was looking really forward to getting it. Once Michael came down to get his keys and told me to hurry up, I got angry. Don't ask what I got mad at. I do not know. 

All I know is I told him that I don't want to go anywhere with him. That I was better off staying at home, and that he doesn't have to get me anything for my birthday. Obviously that last part was just for modesty, I really do want a gift, but I just said it. 

My dad says it's just a "teenage thing". I beg to differ. I say it's a "Marlene thing". 

"You want to tell me why you were just sitting there and not talking," Moana asks. 

"Well it was pretty hard to. I mean all you guys were talking about were about stuff and people I don't know about. Sorry for just sitting there. "

First Michael now Moana? I can't help myself. I just scoff a little and look out the window while the song on the radio drones out the awkwardness. 

"So," I clear my throat after a while, deciding I shouldn't be a jerk to the only person who will ever understand me.  "You still up for just coming over tomorrow?" 

"Of course. "

"God. I'm turning 17. Still in Eleventh grade. Next year twelth. Eww. Who wants to grow up? Not me, that's for sure."

"Try being 20, onto 21, kid. Everyone expects you to be an adult. Who's an adult at age 20?

"I have no clue."

My and Moana's friendship, it's different. Different from everybody else's. We aren't those classic friends who have to share every detail of a story or of anything we tell each other. We already know the details. We understand each other without the waste-of-breath explanation.  

I could have ended up being best friends with Sophia. But that didn't happen, Moana and I chose each other. Everything happens for a reason. 

As we pass Vatican Avenue, and make a right, past a plaza with a coffee shop everyone is really fond of, I see the red bricks that make up a building. 

School. 

The place every child and teenager goes to. The place the teenagers describe as hell or the place they really don't want to go, but end up going the next day. It's a weird system.