The Girl Who Chased Stars

I

"Why don't you ever do teenage things?"

I look up from my book, and readjust my glasses. My mother leans against my bedroom door frame, with a concerned look upon her face. "Don't you have any friends, Amy?"

I can't help but sigh. It seems as though we have this same conversation every week. "Mother, I have friends at School. I just like being alone. I've told you this before, you know."

"I know, Darling. But it just seems lonely. You're always cooped up in your room or in that treehouse of yours, reading all those books."

"Mom, I like those books."

My mom sighs, giving up. "Okay, okay..."

I give her a small smile, and then return to my book. "Dinner will be ready in five," she says.

I look up once more to watch her turn to leave. Before she closes the door, she looks down and quietly murmurs, " Maybe someday instead of reading all these stories, Amy, you'll live one of your own."

I frown, and watch the door close. My room feels empty, and I digest what my Mother just said.

It's not that I don't want to have fun...It's just that I don't really think it's all that necessary.

Between School work, my job, and my family, I'm never really presented with any free time. I've never really been upset by this. It just seemed like the way of my life.

Should I be upset by that?

I decide to think about my problems later, and go ahead downstairs and help my parents set the table for dinner.

"The first time in two months," I hear my dad say. I can feel the concern in his voice. "Brian, Paris is just a little overbooked, that's all. This college thing has her struggling with classes and student loans, and God knows what else! You can't really blame her honey."

My mother talks about my older sister, Paris. In the Summer she enrolled at the University of North Carolina, and she hasn't come home to visit since. I find it interesting that my mom believes Paris is hard at work at college. Unlike me, Paris lives for the party. It follows her around. She's the absolute definition of reckless. The only thing I believe she's actually working off is all the alcohol she's chugged.

"Ma!"

Speak of the Devil.

The door bursts wide open, and in comes Paris. Her hair is a wild and amazing mess of blonde dreadlocks. They fall around her face, which is flushed from the cold outside. She stomps into the living room with heavy studded boots and an Asking Alexandria tank top that barely covers her stomach.

"Amy!"

I laugh aloud as I'm wrapped in Paris's warm embrace. Yeah, my sister was sort of crazy, but she was also sort of the only friend I really have.