Kenya Nomenyo

Tristan Kelly

Page Sawyer

Emily Woods

Christopher Daye

“This place isn’t much, but it’s yours for the next year,” Christopher Daye said, frowning as he handed over the keys to the small apartment.

Kenya Nomenyo rolled her eyes at his reluctance. It wasn’t like this was news to him. The man helped her get emancipated for peets sake.

“What’s your deal, Chris? You knew this was coming,” Kenya replied, pocketing the keys.

Chris wiped the sweat off his brow, frown still firmly in place.

“You might be fine with this but I don’t like it. 17 year old girls should be worrying about boys and what they’re going to wear to prom. Not living on their own in an apartment building that smells like cat urine and cigarettes,” Chris said, dramatically raising his hands.

Kenya agreed that the building smelled like cat pee but the small space was hers and that’s all that mattered.

“It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine. I wanted this, remember? And we both know why,” Kenya pointed out.

“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t mean I agree with the state’s decision though. I was hoping you would change your mind but you only became more determined.”

Kenya sighed. Out of all the lawyers, judges, fosters parents and psychologist she had encountered over the past 7 years, Chris, her guardian ad litem, was the only one she liked or trusted. He was the only one she knew that gave a damn about her; everyone else had an agenda.

“Like I said, I will be fine. Besides, you’ll be checking on me as often as possible so you’ll know how I’m doing,” Kenya reasoned.

“I suppose you’re right. Alright, I’ve got to get going. I’m meeting the wife at the doctor’s office in a half hour. I’ll see you in two weeks. Take care of yourself Kenya. And be careful.”

“Thanks Chris. Tell Beth I said ‘hello’.”

Kenya watched him drive away. Her brave front disappeared as soon as he was out of sight. She would rather die than admit to him that she was scared out of her mind. Yes, she wanted to be on her own, wanted control of her life, her future. Being bounced around from foster home to foster home had taken its toll on her years ago. Her previous foster home had been filled with so much hatred and mistreatment; she was surprised her sanity was still intact.

The unknown terrified her but determination won out every time. She refused to be another statistic, another failure, another poverty case. She was going to work seven days a week, including overtime. Her GPA would remain at 4.6, anything less was unacceptable to her. She was going to take her SATs again and this time she would get a perfect score. Chris thought she was too hard on herself, but Kenya disagreed. She saw the future she wanted and she was going to do everything in her power to get there.

To everyone around her, Kenya loved school, loved to learn but she secretly hated high school. She hated the popular kids, especially cheerleaders and jocks. She hated the false sense of belonging that the teaching staff tries to force down everyone’s throats. High school was such a cliché. Almost everyone was in some sort of group and when someone, like herself, didn’t fit with the norm, they made their life a living hell. She remembered getting things thrown in her face in the hallways, people she didn’t know jumping her after school.

Kenya hoped Central High was different. It was one of the richest public schools in Miami, Florida and she hoped the students there minded their own business. As a newbie, she was obviously going to attract some attention but she hoped it lasted no more than a weak. If she was left alone, she could get through her senior year with no problems.

Glancing at her watch, Kenya walked back inside her apartment and got ready for work. She would forever love Chris for getting her the job. True, he didn’t know the grueling schedule she created for herself but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Walking back out into the hot, humid weather, Kenya started her two mile walk to work. Working at a warehouse packing toys wasn’t an ideal job but it paid ten dollars an hour and thirteen dollars for overtime. Fall was a busy season for the company and they had no problem giving her the unwanted hours. Majority of the money was going towards her college savings account. The rest would be spent on food, bills, and other basic necessities. The state provided her with clothing vouchers to JC Penny, which she thanked her few lucky stars for. At least she wouldn’t look like a hobo at school.

Walking through the doors of the place she would call home for the next year, Kenya was greeted by a buzz of activity and her ridiculously chipper coach, Heather Davis.

“Hi Kenya, great to see you again! Go ahead and scan your badge. Grab a water bottle and get started on the line. I’ve marked your spot,” Heather said with a big smile on her face.

Kenya nodded, not bothering to smile back. Despite how annoying her happy demeanor could be most of the time, Kenya envied her. She wished she could let go and laugh like that. She couldn’t even remember the last time she cracked a smile. Their circumstances were very different though. There wasn’t much to smile about when it seemed like the weight of the world was on your shoulders.

Kenya worked diligently for the next nine hours. She asked questions, listened to Heather when everyone else on her team zoned her out, and she followed all the instructions to the letter. She wanted to become the best at her job because the better you were, the faster you worked and the faster you worked, the more money you made.

After her shift ended, she hopped on the bus and headed home. The bus system was another thing she was going to be using a lot. Even though her apartment was only a couple miles away, walking alone after dark wasn’t a good idea.

After the short bus ride, Kenya let herself into her apartment and prepared for bed. She took a quick shower, ate an apple, set her alarm clock for six in the morning, and collapsed on her air bed, quickly falling asleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Kenya could practically smell the money oozing out of the walls as she walked through the halls of her new school. The walls were unusually clean for a high school and it smelled like fabreze. It was unnatural for a place that was full of destructive, hormonal young adults to be this clean. Her day was going a lot better than she anticipated though. She was thankful for orientation the previous day; knowing where her classes were took the awkwardness and anxiety out of her first day. She couldn’t say much about the students though. Everyone she ran into was snobbier than the next; the teachers were just as bad.

She was taking basic classes like science, AP English, American government, political science, calculus and a few college courses. She was thankful for study hall was part of her class schedule, studying and doing her home work would be a breeze because of it. So far her English teacher was okay, her science teacher had an obnoxious sense of humor coupled with an annoying laugh, and her American government teacher was monotone and boring.  It’s going to be a wonderful year, she thought sarcastically.

Kenya walked down the crowded hallway towards her political science class, her last class of the day, hoping against hope that she had a cool teacher. She loved politics, even though she never spoke up in class, but the wrong teacher could ruin it for her. As she entered, the four students already inside the classroom looked up, curiosity written on their faces. Ignoring them, she made her way to the back of the class and got comfortable. Most people thought that students who sat in the back of a classroom did so because they were lazy and not serious about their education. Kenya was the exact opposite. She hated being the center of attention and being called on by a teacher was the easiest way to draw unwanted attention. Most teachers ignored students in the back of the classroom, which was why she always sat there.

“Oh my god Tristan you are so funny!”

Kenya winced when she heard a hyena type laugh followed by a snort. It was funny how people with the ugliest laughs were sometimes the loudest. She minded her business and flipped through the pages in her book as the rest of the class, including the teacher poured in. She tried not to groan when the seats to the right and left of her were taken. Maybe she shouldn’t have sat in the middle row.

“I can’t believe we have to take this class. Who wants to learn about politics? We have a socialist for a president and our country is going down the drain. I miss President Bush.”

Kenya couldn’t control her eye roll. How was she going to survive in a class with idiots like this chick?

“You are so right Emily. I mean I’m thinking about moving to Canada because of what’s going on. He should definitely be impeached.”

Lord, the idiot has like minded friends, Kenya thought in dismay. It was a good thing the two of them were pretty because they probably weren’t going to accomplish much beyond graduating high school, if that.

“Alright, settle down so we can get started people. I’m going to call out each of your names and when I do, I’d like you to stand up and tell the class two things about yourself.”

Damn, Kenya thought. She hated introductions.

“I’ll start us off. My name is Mr. Simmons. I’m married with three children, two boys and a girl, and I like long walks on the beach,” Mr. Simmons said, causing some students to snicker.

“Matt Rhines?”

“Right here teach. I’m Matty Rhizzle and I like tackling bodies and breaking heads. Meaning I like to play football,” Matt said high fiving a couple of his teammates. 

“I’m Page Sawyer. I like dogs and romance novels.”

“Loser,” someone coughed. Some of the people who heard started giggling.

The immaturity in the class was beginning to irritate her. She watched Page try to hold back tears as she sat back down. Kenya zoned out as Mr. Simmons continued to call out names.

A  deep male voice was what drew her out of her day dream.

“I’m Tristan Kelly. I also love playing football and my role model is Nelson Mandela.”

Kenya looked in his direction but quickly diverted her gaze when their eyes locked. The boy was fine. And tall. With a nice body, better than nice actually.

She mentally shook herself. There were good looking guys all over the school. Why would this one catch her attention?

“Emily Woods?”

The idiot who knew nothing about politics stood up with a big smile on her face.

“My turn? Yay. Ok, ok. My name is Emily. I like tanning and making out. Oh, I’m also the chaptain of the cheerleading squad. Gooooo Eagles,” Emily said with one of her hands in the air and a big smile on her face.

Kenya wanted to shoot her. She would never get back the brain cells she lost from hearing her talk. Some people really didn’t belong in school.

“Alrighty then. Thank you for that, Emily. Kenya…is it Nomenyo?”

Kenya’s heart thudded in her chest as she cleared her throat and stood up.

“Yes, that’s correct. I was born in Kenya and this is my first year at this school.”

After sitting back down Kenya noticed that some people were still looking at her strangely. If her looks didn’t set her apart, her accent certainly did. She was 10 years old when she moved to Florida and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t completely get rid of her accent.  People either thought it was adorable or they thought she sounded too much like an immigrant. She didn’t want to know what these stuck up kids were thinking.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Tristan tried to get her attention the rest of the class period but subtlety wasn’t working. Kenya was gorgeous with her cute accent and curvy figure. He could already tell she was different from most of the girls at the school. He could also tell she wasn’t from money, a refreshing change in his mind. To say he was sick and tired of this school was an understatement. He couldn’t go a day without a girl trying to get in his pants or become the next Mrs. Kelly. Most of them only wanted him for his money and the type of status they would have if they were with him.

He was lucky to have grown up with rich parents but he didn’t consider himself spoiled. His parents had taught him to value others, to not let money get to his head. His father was an architect, a very successful one. In fact half of Miami was built by him. His mother was a writer with six books that were New York’s #1 best sellers. Two of her books were still on the list. He was an only child so he got all the love he could handle and money whenever he wanted or needed it.

For his birthday last year, his parents had replaced his Mercedes with a Jaguar. Did they spoil him, probably a little too much. They wanted the best for him, including a great education. He was a shoe in for some great scholarships because of his playing abilities so he had nothing to worry about when it came to college. He already knew what college he would be attending, his grades were solid; all he was waiting for was graduation.

Unlike most of his friends, Tristan didn’t use his parent’s wealth and position in society to get away with anything he wanted. He was arrested for underage drinking when he was 15, which made his mother cry for days. Ever since then, he kept his nose clean. He hated seeing his mother in tears and the look of disappointment on his father’s face was like a knife to his gut. His dad made the charges go away, grounded him for two months and made him promise to stay out of trouble. He had a good life, a bright future, screwing it up was out of the question.

Tristan glanced at the new girl again. She was still flipping through the pages of their textbook, probably reading tomorrow’s assignment. She was so damn pretty and he wanted to get to know her. His friends would say she was too dark, too poor, they might even consider her over weight. He could care less about her skin color, social status, and he thought her curves were sexy. Not everyone had to be anorexic like Emily to be considered beautiful.

“For tomorrow’s assignment I want you all to ask your parents about their political affiliation, why they do or don’t belong to a party, and write a one page paper about their answers. You’re free to go,” Mr. Simmons said.

Tristan watched as Kenya quickly grabbed her things and headed for the door. He would have to wait another day to introduce himself.

“Dude, we’re going to the beach later and drink after practice. You up for it?” Matt asked as he put his arm around Tristan.

Tristan didn’t know why Matt kept pushing the drinking issue. Ever since they were caught he told Matt he was done with alcohol until he was legal.

“You know I don’t drink anymore. I will go to the beach but only to surf.”

“You’re no fun Kelly. Alright, I’ll see you in the locker room dude,” Matt replied.

Tristan shook his head as Matt walked out with two blondes on his arm, giggling at whatever he was saying.  For someone who claimed to hate drama, Matt sure attracted a lot of it, usually in the form of the opposite sex.

Throwing deuces to Mr. Simmons, Tristan headed to football practice.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

It was a good thing she was talented when it came to bullshitting papers. It had been years since she gave a second thought to her parents. As she walked towards her apartment, the memories came flooding back.  Kenya’s last memory of her parents wasn’t a good one.

They had such a great life living on their farm outside of Nairobi, growing corn and raising cattle. She enjoyed running around with her cousins and friends in their village and getting into all kinds of trouble.

Everything changed the day the militia attacked their village. They killed almost everyone and burned everything. Sometimes, when the nightmares returned, she could still hear the screams and smell the smoke.

She remembered being brought in front of the man she would never forget. He was so dark, he appeared blue. He had an ugly scar across his face his face and an eye patch over his left eye. Kenya remembered being so scared she wet herself. The soldiers dragged her and her parents in front of him and for the longest time, he didn’t say anything. He stared at her for minutes on end which made her want to crawl in a hole and die. Most of her friends and relatives were dead anyway, she might as well join them.

“I want your daughter. I will pay you $3,000 American dollars and spare your life for her.”

Even his voice sounded evil; it sent shivers up and down her spine. Her father glanced at her and her mother, tears in her eyes. She had known what his decision was going to before he said a word.

“She is yours.”

Those three words had been like an arrow to her heart; they shattered her world and crushed her trust. Her father and mother were supposed to protect her, not sell her to a monster that most likely would have used her as a sex slave if she hadn’t escaped.

A soft cry drew Kenya out of her dark memories. Page Sawyer, whom she remembered from her political science class, was crying and bent over a pile of books on the side walk. She recognized some other students from her class walking away and laughing at Page.

‘Walk away Kenya, this isn’t your problem.’

No matter what she said to herself, she couldn’t walk away. She used to be that girl. She used to be the one everyone picked on because she was different and no one understood her. She wasn’t going to be best friends with the girl; she just wanted to help her out.  She wished someone had helped her when she needed it.

“Here, let me help you,” Kenya said, as she picked up several books. Did this girl clean out her locker or something? Why was she carrying so many books?

“Thanks. Kenya, right?”

“Yeah. I know this is none of my business but you shouldn’t listen to those girls. The only reason they pick on you is because they’re insecure about themselves. People who like themselves don’t try to prove it by hurting others, they go on enjoying life. I’m not trying to get all kumbaya on you but ignore them. Not being their friend is probably the best thing that will ever happen to you. You deserve better friends then those jerks. Have a nice day.”

Kenya handed Page her books. Before things became awkward, she walked away.

Page Sawyer watched her walk away. A single tear rolled down her face. With her innocent words of encouragement, Kenya Nomenyo saved her life.

Kenya hid in the corner, the noise from the camp startling her again. She had spent all night crying and trying to plot her escape. She didn’t know what to do or how to run. The ugly men were everywhere with their guns, raping and killing all the women and young girls. She was lucky that the leader who bought her went on another raid the day before. She knew he was coming back today and he planned on marrying her. Just the thought of the monster touching her made her empty her stomach.

“Kenya! Kenya where are you?” someone asked in Swahili.

Why did that voice sound so familiar? She didn’t want to risk revealing her hiding place and coming face to face with one of the soldiers.

“Kenya, I know you’re it here. It’s me, Agabe. I won’t hurt you, I want to help you get out of here but you need to go now.”

Agabe!

Kenya wiped her mouth as she slowly crawled out of her hiding place and came face to face with her cousin.

“What are you doing here Agabe? They could kill you!” Kenya exclaimed.

“I’m part of the militia; it’s the only way I can survive. My parents and my brothers are dead. I will stay with them until I can get away. I need to get you out of here. He comes back today. Here, put these on.”

He threw a pair of shoes at her. She looked at him, surprise in her eyes. She quickly put the shoes on her chaffed feet, thankful for the simple items.

“Take this too. It has some food, socks, and a change of clothes. There is a missionary group two days from here. Find them and tell them what has happened here. They will help you get into the United States and away from this nightmare,” Agabe said throwing the small bag at her.

“Only travel at night Kenya and sleep during the day. There are some small caves along the way to the missionary group, make sure you use those. They will keep you safe,” Agabe continued as he walked her away from the camp without attracting suspicion.

Kenya nodded, intently listening to what he was saying. Several minutes later, Agabe stopped.

“This is as far as I go, Kenya. Be careful,” Agabe said.

Kenya nodded and quickly tightly hugged him. She had tears in her eyes as she walked away from the only family she had left.

Kenya woke up gasping for air and drenched in sweat.

Shit.  The dreams were back. She had stopped seeing her psychologist thinking that she was cured but apparently not. 

Instead of dwelling on her memories, she prepared for school. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the past when the present was stressful enough.  After showering and eating a meager breakfast, Kenya started her daily walk to school.

Her dream consumed her thoughts as she walked the halls of her school. What did it even mean? She had gone months without a single episode and BAM, her many issues hit her out of nowhere. Would she ever be normal? God, she hoped so. Despite her lonely existence she didn’t want to be alone forever. She wanted a family someday, laughing children and a husband she could feel safe with. Too bad she had hundreds of problems to work through before she got to that point.
Man, she was pathetic.

A husband? What kind of guy would ever be interested in her? She had baggage bigger than the empire state building.

“Hi, Kenya!”

Kenya was jerked out of her thoughts by the familiar chipper voice.

“Hey, Page,” she answered, trying not to jump out of her skin.

Why was Page standing so close? Whatever happened to personal space? For the past three weeks it was the same routine. Page would scare the shit out of her and Kenya would try her best to get out of the conversation without cussing her out.

“Are you heading to class?”

Well, duh! Kenya thought. Where else would she be going?

“Yeah,” she replied awkwardly. She didn’t do small talk.

“You mind if I walk with you?”

Kenya shook her head, no. She did mind though.  She liked her alone time, no matter what she was doing. She headed towards her political science class without another word to Page.

“Were you able to get the assignment done?”

Didn’t the chick get the hint? Kenya nodded again.

“Me too! It was a great assignment and I hope I get to present our debate today!” Page said excitedly.

Good grief! Who got excited about a debate? Her life wasn’t exactly an amusement park, but the girl needed to get a grip. She acted like they were bosom buddies just because she showed her some kindness. Next time, she was minding her own business.

Kenya kept walking and Page kept talking. When they walked into class, Kenya headed for her normal seat at the back of the classroom and fought not to groan when Page took the seat next to her. She looked up from her books as more of the class filed in and made the mistake of locking eyes with Tristan Kelly.  It was the same ritual with them every day and he always stared with that ridiculously beautiful smile of his, until she broke eye contact. He wasn’t shy about his perusals either. She could always feel his eyes on her throughout the class period. What did he want?

He was hot though, she couldn’t deny that. He was a jock and a rich kid, a deadly and moronic combination in her opinion. Maybe she was judging him too harshly, taking her frustration with stupid rich kids out on him. It wasn’t like they were going to become best friends so it didn’t matter what she thought of him.

“First pair up please,” Mr. Simmons announced.

She must have been day dreaming hardcore if she completely missed most of what Mr. Simmons talked about. Her presentation wasn’t till the following day so all she had to do was sit back and watch the ignorance unfold.

“The debate will be on illegal immigration. Emily, you’re arguing against illegal immigration and Matt, you’re arguing for. Matt, you’re first. After you two are done, we’ll get comments from the rest of the class.”

“Ahem…ok. Well, Mexicans should be allowed to stay in the US cause this is a great country and they just want to make money like the rest of us. We shouldn’t discriminate against them just cause they weren’t born here.”

Kenya couldn’t believe it. That was it? That was his argument? She hoped Mr. Simmons gave him a failing grade because that was stupid. She couldn’t wait to hear what Emily and her two brain cells had to say.

“My turn? Ok. I think illegal immigrants should be sent back to where they came from. They’re taking all of our jobs and killing our economy. They also contribute to rising crime and pollution. I mean, they don’t even pay taxes like the rest of us so why should they get special treatment. We should get rid of them and get our country back.”

Was she for real? Kenya kept rolling her eyes as Emily continued to make dumb statements without and evidence. If this was a debate class, the girl would fail miserably. It was funny how the two of them only mentioned Mexicans as potential illegal immigrants. Immigrants came from all over the world, both legal and illegal.

“Alright, class, any comments for Matt?” Mr. Simmons asked.

Since the class was made up of mostly football players and cheerleaders, everyone clapped for Matt, giving him further encouragement.

“Settle down.  Anything for Emily?”

Kenya softly snorted.

“Do you have a comment, Kenya?” Mr. Simmons asked, putting her on the spot.

Fuck! She must have snorted too loud.

“I think her entire argument was full of bs,” Kenya said matter of factly.

“What?!” Emily said with indignation.

“Your argument was crap. You provided no evidence for your claims. Most of your points sounded like opinions instead of facts. Saying things like “they’re taking our jobs”, “they should be sent back to where they’re from”, and “let’s get our country back” make you sound bigoted and ignorant. Just saying,” Kenya said.

The glare from Emily could have melted a glacier but she didn’t care. Someone needed to tell the spoiled princess the truth. The rest of the class snickered as Emily sat down in embarrassment.

When the bell rang, Kenya was out the door before Page could draw her into another conversation. Most of her homework was already finished, thankful that she didn’t have much to carry on her way to the bus stop.

“Hey, Kenya wait up!”

What the hell? Out of curiosity, Kenya stopped and turned, coming face to face with all the maleness that was Tristan Kelly.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Tristan asked, a cute blush briefly coloring his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Kenya asked, her voice a little sharper then she intended it to be.

“I’m Tristan Kelly, from political science,” Tristan said.

“Can I help you?” Kenya knew she was being an ass but it was either that or drool over him. The guy was very potent up close, his green eyes not missing a thing. She resisted the urge to run her eyes over the rest of him.

“I was actually coming over to offer you a ride home. I’ve seen you walking or taking the bus and thought I’d offer you a ride. My car is over there,” Tristan said pointing to a black car a few feet away from them.

Kenya’s mouth almost fell open. Why in the hell was a teenager driving a car worth over a hundred grand?  Rich people really annoyed her. The things she could do with that money were endless.

“I…appreciate the offer but I don’t know you. I’m perfectly fine taking the bus home. Have a nice day,” Kenya said and walked away without allowing him to respond.

“That went well,” Tristan muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his head. He stood there for a few moments, watching her hips move smoothly as she walked.

Sighing, he got in his car and drove away, his mind still on the beautiful, intriguing girl standing at the bus stop.  He’d been trying to get her to notice him since he first set eyes on her. She didn’t seem like the type of person that sugar coated anything but from what he noticed, she was a loner. The only person she talked to was Page, which didn’t help her popularity much. Physically, he liked everything about her. Her skin was an amazing dark brown, her lips were nice and full, her shoulder length brown hair looked soft to the touch, and she had amazing curves.

He liked her but he could tell that breaking through her “don’t fuck with me” demeanor was going to be hell. He always did love a challenge.

Parking his car, Tristan walked into the house.

“Mom, are you home?” he shouted into the living room. When she didn’t get a response, he headed upstairs to his room.

“Tom, you can’t be serious! You just got home. We hardly get to see you anymore.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do Gina. I have to work so I can provide for you and Tristan! You won’t be able to stay in your little clubs, keep your pretty little jewels, and sit on your ass all day if I don’t work!”

Great, Tristan thought. His parents were at each other’s throats again.

“How dare you talk to me like that? I take care of your home and your child! You’re here for barely a day before you leave for weeks…again! What am I supposed to think?”

Tristan went in his room but kept the door open so he could listen to his parent’s argument. They really needed to find a different topic to scream at one another about.

“Frankly, I don’t care what you think! I’m going to finish packing and get the hell out of here before you make my ears bleed.”

Changing into running shorts, a shirt, and running shoes, Tristan left the house. He hated when his parents fought, which they did a lot. His relationship with his dad was civil at best but he loved his mom and hated seeing her cry. Tristan kept replaying their argument in his head as he ran around the neighborhood. To everyone on the outside they had the perfect family; he had a feeling it was all about to fall apart.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Kenya dragged her weary body through her front door, dropping her keys and book bag by the front door. The work load seemed never ending today, mainly because so many people were out sick. The only consolation was that they paid everyone several dollars more so everything was done on time. Heather was still annoying the hell out of her but she had to admit that the woman made everyone feel good, even on a day like today.

 Looking in the refrigerator Kenya frowned. Mustard, lettuce, avocado and water weren’t going to make much of a meal.  She really needed to go shopping before she starved herself. Although she hadn’t eaten since lunch, she wasn’t all that hungry.

A sharp pain shot through her chest as she walked out of her kitchen. What the hell?

Another jolt flowed through her and it was so strong that it brought tears to her eyes. She leaned against the wall and breathed deeply trying to let whatever was happening to her pass. A third jab of pain flowed through her causing her to double over and clutch her chest even harder. Tears and snot streamed down her face as the pain became unbearable. She continued to breathe slowly until the pain started to subside.

 Kenya stayed on her living room floor long after the pain was gone. Fresh tears ran down her face as she came to the realization that the heart problems that had nearly killed her two years prior were back with a vengeance.

Kenya woke up slowly the next morning, feeling like she had been run over by several heavy objects. She’d forgotten how badly one of her episodes could debilitate her after it was over. Groaning in pain, she slowly peeled her sore body off the carpet. Her face felt sticky from her tears and lying on the carpet all night. When she sat up against the wall, a wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to use all her will power to keep from emptying her stomach again.

She carefully stood up after a few minutes and went through her morning routine, thanking her lucky stars it was Saturday. She thoroughly brushed her teeth then took a quick shower to revive herself. She still felt like hell and since she couldn’t afford air conditioning, the heat was wrecking havoc on her damaged system. 

After dressing in shorts and a tank top, Kenya sat on her couch as she continued to fight her remaining pain and nausea. She hated this shit. Two years without a single episode, she had thought it might have been a fluke. Last night’s episode had been a lot more severe than the ones from before. Her foster parents never knew, not that they would have cared, and neither did Chris. She was hoping the symptoms weren’t going to become a regular occurrence.

Her symptoms had started two weeks after her foster dad tried to rape her at the age of 15. She remembered telling her foster mom and instead of the bitch helping her, she’d blamed it on Kenya, claiming her husband wasn’t to blame for wanting her. She had accused Kenya of flaunting herself in front of her husband and blamed her for their marriage problems. She remembered the day she left the hell hole.

Kenya could smell the alcohol when she stepped into the house. Her foster dad was drunk again, a daily occurrence for him and his wife.

“You finally decided to grace me with your presence. What the fuck took you so long to get home?” he snarled at her, finishing off his beer. She jumped when he tossed it in her direction.

“I was at school doing homework,” Kenya said.

She was having a hard time keeping her anger in check. What made him think he could talk to her like he owned her?

“Get over here,” he ordered.

“Carl, I’ve got things to do. What do you want?” Kenya asked, her patience wearing thin. It probably wasn’t a smart idea to bate him but he was getting on her last nerve.

“I said come here!”

Kenya flinched, her heart rate sped up. She would never admit it but sometimes Carl scared the hell out of her. She walked into the living room and stopped a few feet away from where he was standing. He looked like shit. His hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in months, his grey shirt had two holes at the bottom and a big yellow stain near the collar, he wore sweats that were too small for his chubby legs, and he smelled horrible.

He stepped closer to her, trying to intimidate her with his size. She held her ground refusing to show him her fear.

“You think you can be all flippint with me and act holier than thou you stupid bitch.  Don’t ever talk to me like you’re better than me,” Carl said, his hatred for her clearly written on his face.

“That’s not my prob…”

The punch to her jaw stopped her sentence and sent her flying to the ground. She came to with a scream when Carl hit her back with some sort of belt. Kenya was lying on her belly, naked from the waist up. Carl’s foot was on her butt, keeping her in place. There was something wet trailing down her back, she was guessing it was blood. He was probably using his spiked belt; it was the only one that could cause that kind of damage with one hit.

“I’ll teach you respect if it’s the last thing I ever do, bitch!”

Kenya bit into her hand to keep from crying out when he hit her back again. The pain intensified even more when he opened a can of beer and poured it over her wounds. Tears continued to run down her face. She refused to let him know how much she was suffering. She just needed to hang on for a few more minutes.

The belt hit her back again and again and again; Kenya could feel it tearing off her skin. He poured more beer on her back. She fought harder to keep from crying out. It went on for what seemed like forever. If someone didn’t come home soon, she was going to die.

Kenya drew herself back from the ugly memory. The numerous scars on her back were a daily reminder of what Carl had put her through. Carl’s wife came home a few minutes after she blacked out and called 911. She spent three weeks in the hospital because of her blood loss. After the hospital she was put in a group home, she refused to go back to a foster home. During the two years in the group home she remembered having six episodes, each one worse than the last.

She never told the counselors or Chris because by that time, she had put in a request to be emancipated. No judge would have granted her what she wanted if they had known she had health problems. Maybe if she slowed down, ate better, lowered her stress level, her heart problems would go away.

Deciding to put her plan into action, she got dressed and took the bus to the grocery store. She was starting to feel better and eating an adequate lunch would probably do wonders for her.  After finishing her shopping, Kenya waited for the bus to arrive. She was so deep in thought she didn’t see the black car that parked a few feet away from the bus stop.

“Hey, Kenya. Nice day isn’t it?”

Kenya looked up in surprise when she heard the greeting.

“Hi, Tristan,” she responded, mentally instructing herself to breathe and not make an idiot out of herself.

He wore blue and white Hawaiian shorts, a white shirt which he conveniently forgot to button, and white sandals. Years of repressed hormones hit her all at once, causing her to become angry at herself. She’d gone her entire life without letting a guy distract her, no way in hell she was going to stop now.

“I was on my way to the beach and saw you sitting here. I know you still don’t me but it’s hot as hell out here and my car will get you home a lot sooner than the bus will. What do you say?”

She wanted to say, no. She wanted to refuse his help and insist that taking the bus wasn’t a problem for her.  She was tired though; her strength still wasn’t back completely. It was beyond hot and the bus was going to be another half hour since it was Saturday.

“I have air conditioning…” Tristan said with a teasing smile on his face.

“Okay. I’ll take you up on that ride,” Kenya said before she changed her mind. She went to pick up her grocery bags but he beat her to it.

“I got it,” Tristan his chest coming dangerously close to her face. Kenya smelled his clean scent and almost closed her eyes. She needed to get a grip.

After putting the groceries in the back seat, Tristan opened the door for her. She murmured a thank you as she slid onto the smooth leather seat. She wasn’t good with people or showing gratitude which is why she didn’t interact with anyone unless she had to. Why was he being so nice to her? In her world, no one was kind to you unless they wanted something from you. He could have driven by the bus stop, she wouldn’t have noticed. The heat wasn’t pleasant but it wasn’t anything new, she would have been okay.

“You don’t talk much do you?” Tristan asked after a few minutes of silence.

“I’m not much for small talk or forced conversation, sorry,” Kenya responded.

His deep laugh surprised her. Her smart reply was supposed to shut him up, not amuse him.

“You don’t pull any punches do you? I like that. You’re one hell of a fire cracker,” he said.

He liked her rudeness? What was wrong with him? She was deliberately being an ass and he thought she was funny? She quickly gave him directions to her apartment, avoiding whatever questions he asked her.  As soon as the car stopped Kenya was out the door like a fire had been lit under her.  She grabbed her groceries out the back seat and headed for her apartment building.

“Kenya, all I did was invite you to the beach with me. You’re acting like I propositioned you or something,” Tristan said getting out of the car.

“Listen, I appreciate the ride but my answer is no. I don’t like people. I don’t socialize or make friends. We’re from completely different circles and I don’t understand why you even want to be my friend or whatever. I like my solitude and I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. Have a nice day,” Kenya said.

Turning her back to him again, she went inside without waiting for his response.

Tristan got in his car and headed for the beach. The shell she had around herself was a lot tougher than he thought. His hopes had risen when she accepted his help but she firmly closed the door in his face with her last statement. He needed a different strategy in order to reach her and he knew it was going to be extra work. The image of her in a yellow tank top, black shorts, black sandals, and beautiful dark brown skin came to mind.

She was totally worth it.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Kenya was on her way to the cafeteria when a familiar figure struck up a conversation.

“Kenya, I need a favor.”

Fuck! She hated favors.

“What do you need, Page?” She asked reluctantly.

“Can you sit with me at lunch? I really hate sitting by myself,” Page said with a sheepish look on her face.

Kenya almost told her no. The girl was odd and talked enough for the both of them but she was actually a nice person. When Kenya came to the conclusion that Page wasn’t going to leave her alone, she started listening to her rambling and learned quite a bit about her. So far she knew that Page didn’t like spiders, she was an avid romance novel reader, and she was allergic to cantaloupe.

“Sure,” Kenya replied.

“Great! The table I normally sit at is over there in the corner,” Page said, excited about finally having someone to sit with.

Before they could get to their seats, Emily and her two sidekicks blocked their paths.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t slutty Page and the African booty scratcher,” Emily hissed at them.

The mean girl routine? Really? High school was such a cliché sometimes. Kenya felt Page tense at the insults but she barely blinked an eye.

“How much rubbing did your two brain cells have to do before you came up with those lame ass insults?” Kenya asked. Page looked at her in surprise.

The look of surprise and anger on their faces was priceless.  “You are such a bitch,” Emily said after moments of silence.

“I don’t give a damn about what you think. Calling me a bitch isn’t going to accomplish anything. If you three would kindly move, you’re wasting my time.” Kenya walked between two of them, forcing them to move apart; Page followed her lead.

“That was really cool of you. No one ever stands up to them,” Page said when they sat down with their food.

“Why the hell not? They’re not that special,” Kenya said.

Page shrugged. “Their parents donate so much money to the school they practically own it. Plus, those three have a way of ruining someone’s reputation if they’re crossed.”

“What did they do to you? And don’t play dumb with me; I know you used to be one of them.”

Page shrugged again as if to say it wasn’t a big deal. “We had a camping trip last year and this guy that used to go here liked me but Emily wanted him. We were alone in my tent making out when Emily started screaming that we were having sex in the tent. I denied it of course but no one believed me. She started spreading the rumor that I was easy and had sex with whoever offered it. They constantly picked on me, threw things at me. The abuse got so bad that I considered transferring to another school. The school found out about it and put a stop to it.”

“And you didn’t stand up for yourself?” Kenya asked disgusted at the treatment she received.

“I just wanted them to go away. I thought saying something would make it worse. I don’t have your kind of attitude,” Page said meekly.

“Until you start giving a shit about yourself, those losers will keep hounding you. You care more about what they think of you then what you think of yourself. This is your senior year. You’ll most likely go to college and make something of yourself. They’re probably going to get married and get lipo at the age of 25. You don’t need their approval so stop looking for it. The only person that you need approval from is yourself.”

They both ate in silence after that. Page smiled at her food. Kenya was starting to come around.

Kenya sat in the guidance office waiting to see Miss Jacobs. For some reason the guidance counselor insisted on seeing her even though Kenya made it apparent that she didn’t need her help.

“Kenya, Miss Jacobs is ready for you,” the secretary said. Kenya nodded to her and walked into Miss Jacobs’s office.

The bleach blonde with big fake boobs and caked on makeup was not what she expected.

“Have a seat Kenya. I know you said you don’t need any guidance when it comes to college but I thought I’d meet with you to let you know what your options are after high school. We have some great community colleges here where you can get started. Let me get you some of their brochures.”

Was she serious? Kenya rolled her eyes as three brochures landed in front of her.

“Miss Jacobs, that’s not…”

“Even though these schools are community colleges, they’re very hard to get into. I know it’s a stretch to assume your grades and SAT scores are good enough to get you in but, anything is possible,” Miss Jacobs interrupted with a forced smile.

Kenya tapped down her anger at the subtle insults.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Jacobs,” Kenya said trying the diplomatic approach. She was seconds away from assaulting Barbie.

“Honey, I know your kind doesn’t go to college very often but I highly recommend that you try and get a secondary education.”

Kenya could feel her blood pressure rising. Breathe, she told herself.

“Miss Jacobs, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to college. In fact I’ve already been offered countless scholarships by countless Universities. If you had bothered looking at my grades, you would have known that I’ve averaged a 4.6 GPA since freshman year because of my AP classes. I’m also one question away from a perfect SAT score. I’ve taken enough college credit courses to completely bypass my freshman year. I’ve applied to Harvard and Yale. I’m one of the top students at this school so I shouldn’t have a problem getting into either one of those schools. Like I said, I don’t need your help. I’ve got my secondary education covered. Have a nice day.”

Kenya left the guidance counselor’s office feeling good. The look of surprise on Miss Jacobs face was priceless.

“Community college my ass.”

Kenya had done pretty well all week, she stayed busy with work and school to keep her mind off the guy she couldn’t have, shouldn’t want. Each time she started to fantasize about Tristan, she reminded herself that she had bigger goals in life then to get knocked up her senior year; which was where her attraction to him was headed. They were in high school and she knew high school romances rarely made it past graduation.

Work had kept her extra busy. In addition to the overtime she was already working on the weekends, her team leader asked her to fill in for a team member who recently had a baby. Her normal 4 to 5 hours of sleep were now reduced to 2 or three. She could feel the stress starting to take its toll on her mind and body.  She wasn’t eating much, she wasn’t sleeping and it seemed like one day was running into the next.

By lunch time Monday, Kenya was ready to take a nap in the choir room. It wasn’t like anything important ever happened in there.  She and Page were sitting across from the football players table. Tristan was leaning in close toward one of the beautiful blonde cheerleaders.  From her obnoxious giggle and the wink Kenya saw Tristan shoot the girls’ way, it was obvious what he wanted from her.

Well, good.

Not good.

Shit, she couldn’t decide. What was it about him that made her veer towards crazy? When she was at a comfortable place in her life, why did he have to enter her life and stir up everything?  Page waived her hand in front of her.

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” Page gave her a funny look.

Kenya gulped down her water and nodded.

“Yeah, of course” Kenya tried to follow the conversation about Page’s mom and their trip to Universal Studios over the weekend. She wasn’t the least bit interested but to spare Page’s feelings, she pretended to listen.

“Why do you keep looking at Tristan? Do you like him or something?” Page asked her.

Kenya almost choked on her water. “No, of course not,” she said averting eye contact.

Page still looked at her as if she knew she was lying. Deciding that was her cue to leave, she drank the rest of her water and got up from the table.

“I’m going to get to class early and take a nap. See you later.”

As soon as she took a few steps away from the table, however, loud shouts erupted from the football table and the skaters table, followed by the sound of glass breaking and tumbled chairs.

“Great,” Kenya mumbled. “Idiots are about to fight.”

The fight between several large linebackers and barely muscular skaters went from bad to worse in seconds. Kenya tried to move out of the way but she was accidentally pushed into the middle of the crowd by other scared students. The teachers and coaches jumped right into the thick of it, blowing their whistles, shoving and prying people apart. As soon as they managed to separate two students, others joined in.

Fucking great.

Kenya dodged a flying glass cup a moment before it would have cracked against her forehead. She saw her political science teacher get a hold of one of the linebackers, but he lost his grip when the football player head butted him.

Curses flew through the air, and those not caught in the middle fled out of exits on the side of the cafeteria.  She saw an opening in the crowd and made a move to exit the violent scene when a punch came out of nowhere and hit her hard in the cheek. The power of the blow knocked her backward. She tumbled into other people on her way down to the floor.

Kenya’s brain rattled against her skull, and her vision blurred. On the verge of passing out, she couldn’t gather enough energy to pull herself out of the way of trampling feet. But someone else did. One moment she was in danger of serious injury, the next someone strong grabbed her under her arms and dragged her to safety. Her vision cleared enough that when she looked up she saw the face of her rescuer.

Tristan Kelly, in all his green-eyed fineness.

Kenya’s breath caught in her chest for a moment as she stared up at Tristan, who stared right back. Was it a sign of insanity to want to reach up and kiss him when there was chaos going on behind her? No doubt about it.

A small iota of common sense clawed its way to the front of her mind and allowed her to break eye contact. She shifted so she could lift herself off the floor.

Tristan gripped her arm, stopping her before she could stand. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She gestured toward the exit. “To get the hell out of here.”

Tristan shook his head. “I’m going to take you to the nurse so you can get checked out. You might have a concussion.”

Kenya turned and gritted her teeth against the searing pain that shot through her head. The fight had finally stopped and the students who had instigated it were being ushered to the principal’s office.

“That’s not necessary. I just need help getting up and I’ll be fine.”

Kenya sat of the floor, dreading moving as she watched everyone filing out of the cafeteria. With a sigh, she shifted her feet and hands under her and pushed herself to a standing position. She blinked against the throb in her cheek. It was a good thing her skin was so dark, that hit was going to leave a mark. She was still riding out the pain as Tristan guided her to a chair.

Tristan stepped away, but only for a few seconds. He extended a plastic bag filled with ice. “Here. This will help keep it from swelling too much.”

Her hand brushed his as she took the ice pack. Despite her jaw feeling as if George Foreman and Mike Tyson had punched her, she jolted at the warm contact. She hesitated a little too long in bringing the ice to her cheek, so he guided her hand. She winced when the ice made contact with her skin and tried to pull it away, but Tristan’s hand gently held hers in place.

He stepped away again to talk to the vice principle. By the time he came back she was ready to leave. There were so many people there looking at her and talking about her injury. She hated being the center of attention.

“Vice principle Rollins said that you can go home for the day,” Tristan announced.

Kenya was surprised. She expected a reprieve from her classes but being sent home never crossed her mind.

“That’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

“Listen, you just took a full out punch from a dude that’s at least twice your size. I can tell you that if I took a punch from someone twice my size, I’d be a little woozy too,” Tristan pointed out.

“You think I’m going to keel over during class?”

“Probably not, but falling face first down a flight of stairs and hitting your head would be a sucky way to go, wouldn’t it?”

She would have laughed if she didn’t know it would hurt.

“Plus the v.p. just gave me permission to drive you home so you don’t have to take the bus.”

Kenya wanted to argue but he made a good point. Her head hurt like a bitch, she was tired and if she had to walk around with her head feeling like it was splitting open, she was going to lose her lunch.

Too tired to argue, Kenya allowed him to walk her out of the building and to the student parking lot. Walking took more effort than normal, and the image Tristan painted of her falling on her face felt like a real possibility a couple of times.

When they got in his car, she lowered the ice pack to thank him. He guided it back to her cheek.

“You want to keep that on, trust me.”

“Been through a few punches?” she tried to ignore the warmth flowing through her as his palm briefly cradled her hand.

“Some people call them punches, I call it football.”

Kenya grinned but immediately regretted it when her cheek started pounding even more. The ride home was torture. She felt every bump, every uneven spot on the road. She breathed a sigh of relief when Tristan finally pulled up to her apartment complex.

They sat in silence before Kenya spoke up. “Thanks for pulling me out earlier and thanks for the ride home.”

When she moved to open the door, he gently touched her left arm stopping her movements. He removed his hand when he got her attention.

“There’s a party at a friend’s house this weekend and I was wondering if you would go with me?”

Kenya didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe he was still interested after their last conversation.

“I’m sorry Tristan but I can’t. I already told you that I don’t do social gatherings, I don’t do parties, and I don’t date.”

A look of total defeat took over his face.

“Please don’t do that,” Kenya continued.

“Don’t do what?” he asked his voice sounding distant.

“Don’t act like this is a surprise, like I’ve hurt you in some way. I’ve always been honest about my feelings so this shouldn’t be news to you,” Kenya elaborated.

Although she hated relationships, hurting Tristan wasn’t the goal.

“Look, I get it. You’re new to this town, this school and you don’t think you can trust me. I guess I’ll have to earn your trust. I want to get to know you but I know that won’t happen unless it’s on your terms.”

He took out a pen and paper.

“Here’s my cell number. Call me if you ever need anything.”

To spare his feelings from further bruising, Kenya took his number.  Without another word she went inside to lie down. She still had work later that day and it would help if her pain and swelling diminished.

Kenya stared at the boxes of toys in front of her. She was having trouble discerning what toys went into what box. Her headache was worse than earlier that day, she had double vision, and her chest hurt. She must have looked extra shitty if people she didn’t know were asking her if she was okay.

“Kenya, can you go get box 42E please? Thank you.”

Damn you Heather, Kenya thought. Didn’t she understand that she was barely keeping it together? Why couldn’t she send someone else? Instead of saying what was on her mind and possibly losing her job, Kenya slowly headed towards the pile of boxes in the corner. It seemed like her heart was beating at an alarming rate, she was breaking out into a cold sweat, and her vision blurred. She stopped a few times, taking deep breaths to slow her heart down. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t feel like this from a punch, even if it did come from a large football player.

After a few moments of breathing, she attempted to walk again. She heard someone calling her name but she didn’t know where the voice was coming from. The last thing she felt before blacking out was hitting the hardwood floor of the warehouse.

The paramedics arrived ten minutes later and hurried Kenya into the ambulance.

“Her heart’s beating way too fast. Did you get any information from the supervisor?” Derrick Richards asked his partner as he quickly took the girl’s vital signs.

“All she told me was that her name is Kenya Nomenyo and she’s 17 years old. She also gave me her emergency contact, whom they’re calling now but that’s about it. Shit. That can’t be right. Her blood pressure is 288 over 90?” Hannah Stinson said, the severity of their patients condition setting in.

Before Derrick could respond to her question, the steady tone of the heart rate monitor filled the back of the ambulance.

“Fuck she’s crashing! Give me the paddles. Crank it up to 100!”

Derrick placed the pads on Kenya’s chest, administering the shock. Nothing.

“Again! 200!”

Still nothing.

“Again! 350!”

The steady tone of the heart rate monitor continued.

“Derrick, it’s been over a minute. I think we need to call time of death,” Hannah reasoned.

“Fuck that! I’m not losing a fucking kid on my last day, do you understand me? 500!”

Kenya’s limp body jerked but still nothing. Derrick, who hadn’t prayed since his daughter died 5 years prior, sent up a desperate prayer for God to let Kenya live.

“550!”

Derrick once again placed the paddles on Kenya’s chest. The heart rate monitor beep, no longer eliciting the steady tone it had earlier. Derrick almost broke down and cried when Kenya took a breath, slowly opening her eyes.

He shouted at the driver. “Drive faster Danny!”

Derrick sat back as Hannah talked to Kenya, reassuring her. He wanted to shout his happiness to the world. He could retire on a happy note because he had just witnessed a miracle.

She was going to kill her alarm clock. It was beeping so loudly it was probably waking up her neighbors.  She tried to open her eyes but her lids were too heavy, eventually giving up. Why was she so tired? She must have gone to bed late.

She tried again, fighting harder to open her eyes. She opened them half way but her vision was blurry, she only saw the white of the walls. She blinked, opening her eyes wider this time. This wasn’t her bedroom. Where the hell was she?  She racked her brain, her heart racing when nothing came to her. She looked around the room and carefully eyed the machine on her right and the IV line on her left. She looked closer at the items in the room. She was in a hospital.

She felt someone touch her arm.

“Kenya? Sweetheart you need to calm down. My name is Julia and I’m your nurse. You’re in the hospital. I need you to calm down; your heart rate is too high. Take some deep breaths for me.”

Not knowing what else to do, Kenya obeyed.

“Good. Keep taking deep breaths, we don’t want your heart rate shooting through the roof again.”

Again? How long had she been there? Kenya tried to speak but her throat was so dry she only managed a croak. Nurse Julia grabbed the water on the table and put the straw to her lips. She took a long drink, stopping when her throat no longer felt like sand paper.

“What happened? Why am I here?”

Nurse Julia patted her hand.

“Dr. Neumeister is on his way and he will explain everything to you. I’ll let him know you’re awake.”

Way to avoid the question lady, Kenya thought. Her last memory was of the linebacker punching her at school and Tristan giving her a ride home, everything was blank after that. Kenya hated hospitals, there were too many people, most of them miserable. The smell of the room was making her nauseous.

Nurse Julia walked in, followed by a dude who closely resembled Mr. Rogers.

“Hello Kenya, I’m Dr. Neumeister. I’m glad you’re awake, we were starting to get worried. How do you feel?”

Kenya’s mind was racing with questions. How long was she out for?

“I feel ok, my memory is fuzzy though. What happened to me? How long have I been here?”

Mr. Rogers grabbed a stool and took a seat next to her. He was dressed like a typical doctor, white coat, white shirt, khakis and tennis shoes.

“You collapsed at your job and during the ambulance ride your heart stopped for 2 minutes. Derrick Richards is the name of the paramedic that kept working on you when most would have given up. You died in that ambulance. He brought you back. You’ve been out for three days.”

Kenya’s mouth dropped. Holy shit. She couldn't remember any of it.

“Your heart failed because you have scarring in your left ventricle.  When did you have a heart attack?”

Kenya nervously licked her lips. Dr. Neumeister seemed almost disappointed in her, like he knew she didn’t see a doctor when she had a heart attack.

“About two years ago.”

“I don’t think you realize what kind of danger you put yourself in by not going to an emergency room. If you had gone, they would have caught this before it almost killed you. Most teenagers don’t have heart attacks and heart failure. Did you ever have any serious illnesses as a child?”

“I had Malaria when I was 8 in Kenya,” she responded.

“That explains a lot. The malaria damaged your heart and caused scarring. The scarred area of your heart became thin and bulged out with every beat. This is what we call an aneurysm. The aneurysm, along with some other damage, makes your heart work harder to pump blood through your body. At first your heart was able to handle it just fine and you went about your business. But as time went by your left ventricle became larger than normal and isn’t pumping as effectively as it should.”

Kenya’s stomach dipped. Was there good news in this speech of his?

“The damage isn’t so severe that we can’t fix it. You’re too sick and too weak right now to handle the surgery so we’ll schedule for two weeks. That should give you enough time to recover. I’ve been meaning to ask. Where the hell are your parents?”

Kenya almost smiled. He seemed outraged on her behalf.

“I live on my own. I was emancipated a few  months ago.”

Mr. Rogers grunted, clearly disapproving of her answer.

“I’m discharging you in three hours, call someone to pick you up.”

“I’ll just call a cab,” Kenya responded.

“No, you won’t. I’m sure there is someone you know that will be willing to pick you up. Young lady, I don’t think you realize the seriousness of your condition. If you hadn’t collapsed at work, it would have only been a matter of time before you died from that aneurysm. Call someone. I’ll leave you with Nurse Julia while I go schedule your surgery and put in your discharge papers.”

Kenya watched him leave, feeling ashamed of herself.

“The phone is right there sweetie. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

Kenya picked up the phone. She’d stared at Tristan’s number for so long the digits were permanently etched in her brain. Dialing, she nervously waited for him to pick up.

********************************

Tristan lounged on his bed, flipping through various channels. He was bored out of his mind but hanging out with his friends wasn’t appealing at the moment. After practice he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had dinner with his mom before she went out with a friend, his dad was gone again. He hated seeing his mom sad, he remembered when the both his parents used to have so much fun. Now it seemed like they were constantly at each other’s throats.

He was tired and even though he needed to sleep, his mind wouldn’t shut off. He’d tossed and turned the night before, barely making it to school today. He didn’t like to think about the reason why he was so preoccupied but he was honest with himself enough to admit that he was worried about Kenya. He hadn’t seen her since he dropped her off Monday. That was three days ago. She didn’t strike him as the type of girl that would ditch school just for the hell of it. She’d taken a bad punch, he wasn’t sure if she was okay. He’d driven by her place but there was no sign of her.

Tristan didn’t even know why he was so worried about her. They weren’t buddies, they didn’t know each other. She wasn’t interested in him, flat out told him to leave her alone. Closing his eyes, he thought of his last conversation with her. He couldn’t believe how much he liked her considering how non receptive she was. Most of the girls his age had nothing to offer except sex, which he was fine with until he met Kenya. When she wasn’t being all up in arms, Kenya was sweet, smart as hell, and beautiful. She was the kind of girl you could bring home to your mom. Nothing was fake about her and it was refreshing.

Geez, he needed to get a grip. The girl wasn’t giving him the time of day and he was half way in love with her.  His phone vibrated next to him. Without looking at the caller ID, he answered.

“Talk to me.”

Silence. He could hear someone breathing and what sounded like beeping in the background.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Hi…uh…Tristan?”

Who the hell?

“Yes, this is Tristan. Who’s this?”

Pause.

“Hi, Tristan. This is…Kenya.”

He sat up on his bed.

“Oh, hey Kenya. Um…what’s up?”

What’s up? He sounded like such a douche.

“Not much…listen I need a favor. I know we’re not friends and you’re probably busy but I really need your help.”

Her voice sounded so small and weak.

“No worries. What do you need?”

“Um…I need to be picked up at Mount Sinai in about 2 hours.”

What the hell was she doing in the hospital?

“Uh…yeah. I can do that. What are you doing in the hospital?”

Pause.

“Kenya?”

“Sorry, Tristan. I’m a little drowsy. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

“Sure. I’ll see you in 2 hours.”

“Thanks Tristan.”

He liked hearing her say his name.

“You’re welcome, Kenya.”

Tristan stared at his phone after she hung up. He’d been waiting all week for her to call him but not under these circumstances.

************************************

Tristan walked onto the 5th floor, surprised by how calm the setting was. It was painted green, blue, white, and yellow with various chairs and couches in the waiting area for family members. He looked around at all the sad and worried faces. He hoped Kenya was okay.

“Can I help you young man?”

Tristan snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at the older woman behind the desk. She was thin with gray hair and what his friends called “old lady clothes”.

“Yes, I’m here to pick up a friend of mine. Kenya Nomenyo,” he said.

She typed Kenya’s name into the computer.

“It looks like she’s already been discharged. They should be bringing her out soon. Have a seat, she’ll be right out.”

Tristan nodded his thanks. He went to sit in the chair in the corner when he caught a glimpse of Kenya as she walked down the hall. There was a short Asian nurse by her side who was gently helping her along. Even from a distance he could tell something was wrong. Her face looked worn out, her eyes not as sparkly. There was no attitude or pep to her step. She looked…broken. He fought the urge to run to her side and help her. He’d never seen anyone look that fragile.

“Here we are Kenya. Remember to come back for your appointment next Thursday so we can go over everything again, okay.”

Kenya nodded.

“Alright. Remember what we said. No working, no strenuous activities, eat good balanced meals, sleep at least 9 hours, and call us if you’re having anymore chest pain.”

“Got it Nurse Julia. Thanks,” Kenya said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

The nurse smiled at Tristan before walking back down the hall. Kenya was wearing the same clothes she had on Monday. Had she been here that long?

Instead of questioning her, he smiled. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am. You’ll have to help me walk or else I’ll fall over. That would be bad,” she said with a quirk of her lips.

He chuckled. “Well, at least you’d get immediate medical care,” he responded.

He gently put his arm around her and helped her into the elevator. When they got to the lobby he sat her down on one of the benches while he retrieved his car. After making sure she was comfortable he headed towards her place.

“Are you okay?” He noticed how she kept going in and out of consciousness. “It’s not too late to go back to the hospital.”

“Please don’t take me back there. They mean well and they saved my life but I can’t stand that place.”

Tristan nodded in understanding. He’d never been hospitalized before but he could only imagine how relying on other people would affect him.

“What happened Kenya? When I dropped you off, you seemed fine.”

She tightly closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

“It wasn’t because of the hit. I have a heart condition that I didn’t know about. I collapsed at work.”

There was no emotion in her voice as if she was trying to detach herself from what happened.

“Are your parents on vacation or something? Is that why they couldn’t come get you?”

She winced at the question but didn’t answer for a few minutes. Was it something he said? Her parents must be a sore spot for her.

“I don’t live with my parents. It’s a long story.”

It must be one hell of a story, he thought. Most 17 year olds didn’t live on their own without a damn good reason. When they arrived, he parked in the back where her apartment was designated a parking spot. He wanted to make sure she was settled before he went home.

She stepped out of the car and waivered, almost losing her balance. Instead of helping her along, Tristan picked her up, ignoring her protests. Thankfully, the door to the building was propped open. He gently set her on her feet and unlocked the door. After helping her inside and sitting her down on the sole coach in the living room, he looked around her small apartment.

It wasn’t bad, kind of cozy, and really tiny. The walls were bare except for a few photos of the beach. She had a black lamp in the corner and a brown coach in the center of the room. There wasn’t a TV, a phone, a radio, or any form of entertainment for that matter. It was very clean but there was something impersonal about it. There were no photos of her, her family, or friends.

“Thank you for helping me Tristan. It means a lot,” Kenya said breaking through his thoughts.

She was half asleep on the coach and he had to smile.

“You should get some sleep Kenya. Doctor’s orders,” he said with a grin. She rolled her eyes and he laughed.

He helped her get off the coach, steadying her when she swayed again. It was a short walk to her bedroom. As he helped her get settled he was once again struck by how little she had. His room was probably bigger than her entire apartment. He had so much stuff he barely knew what to do with it. Her bedroom was worse than her living room. The four white walls were bare; she only had a mattress and a few sheets which made up her bed. There was a backpack, a small closet in the corner and another black lamp but that was it.

What kind of parents let their teenage daughter live in a place like this by herself? He took a deep breath and calmed his racing heart. No need to get pissed off at people that weren’t there.

“Thanks again, Tristan.” Her small voice squeezed at his heart.

There was no one here to protect her or look out for her. She was all alone in this bare apartment. To top it all off she was sick with no one to take care of her. Tristan watched her sleep for a few moments. No matter how hard she pushed or how much she refused, he was going to take care of her.

Then maybe, just maybe, one day she’ll trust him with her story.