The trouble with having older siblings is that whole "live up to expectations" thing. I’m not very good at it. Maybe it worked for some people. They see their older siblings and think, “I can top that” and then go on to graduate from Harvard or become President, or cure cancer.

Yeah, that’s not me.

My oldest sister Hadley—who technically is my stepsister—was both her valedictorian at her high school graduation, journalism school graduate, and now can be seen every night at five for the evening news. My stepbrother Eli works for some software company that pays ridiculous amounts of money for sitting around in jeans and playing with computers. Last Christmas he bought both dad and I our own laptops, not to mention giving us a bunch of software we just “had to have”. And then there is George, my brother, who graduated with honors and is now working as head chef at some famous restaurant in Los Angelus and serves the stars everyday.

Even if I wanted to top them, I don’t think I could.

Flung across my bed, I dragged the pitch-black nail polish across my too short thumbnail. I was fully aware of the fact my mother was going to hate it. That was the main reason I had picked it out. “Jesus Aidan,” Sitting on the floor across from me, surrounded with brochures to colleges, was my best friend Olivia. The day before had been the college fair, and she was already in panic mode. “You have more important things to think about than nail polish.” Olivia was one of those people. She had two older brothers, like me. One had run off and gotten married even before graduating, and the other had joined the military the day after graduation. She wanted to be the best of all three. I was trying to convince her that just going to college pretty much guaranteed that. Most of the time she ended up offended. She was very protective of her brothers and their accomplishments. “We have to pick colleges soon, you know.” She lectured for what seemed like the fifth time today. It was as though she thought I had forgotten since the last time she started panicking over it. I hadn't.

“I know.” I groaned.

Truth was, though, I didn’t know. While picking out—and getting accepted into—college was this big huge thing for everyone, I found it kind of boring. It seemed especially pointless when graduation was still a year and a half away. The brochures for college I had been given the previous day had ended up in the trashcan outside the gym. I was our guidance councilor’s—Ms. Beam—worst nightmare. They had already sent me to her twice for a talking to. Once, when I refused to take part in the class bake sale, and then again when I publicly announced to my English teacher I wasn’t going to college. I was going to move to Greece and become a gypsy.

“Is something wrong at home?” Ms. Beam had asked, fingers clenched together, “Is everything at home okay?”

“Everything’s fine.” After writing down a half page of notes, I was permitted to go back to class. She told me “I’m glad we had this conversation” and I popped my lollypop back in my mouth. She thought we had an understanding, and I was curiously about her reaction when one of my teachers sent me to her again. It would happen, I had no doubt. I had over heard my English teacher—the same English teacher who sent me to Ms. Beam—that I was one of those “hopeless” cases. And for some strange reason, I took pride in that.

A college brochure landed on my best, just missing the bottle of nail polish. My eyes darted up, meeting with Olivia. “Aidan,” she sighed, “Concentrate.”

My eyes grazed over the shiny cover and the happily smiling faces. Glancing back her, I gave her a “do I really have to do this" look. She nodded without a word. If only I could have been excited about college. About getting away from my mother and becoming some big name like everyone else. Truth was, though, none of it sounded appealing. Another four years—at least—of school. Graduation was supposed to mean freedom, but yet two months later you were back to books and tests and desks. While they called that freedom, it was prison to me.

“What do you think of that school?” Olivia asked.

“Huh?”

“Langley Arts College,” her eyes met mine. “God Aidan, can’t you think about anything important.” For a second I felt pissed; just because it was important to her didn’t mean it was to me. I did think about important things. It just happened that I would have rather backpacked through Europe or lived in some Mediterranean fishing village than be stuck reading Beowulf and Shakespeare or dealing with extra advanced calculus.

Olivia grabbed the brochure from my bed, returning it to her own oversized pile. Obviously, I wasn’t to be included in this anymore. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t blame her for being pissed. It wasn’t exactly like I was being helpful. She wanted those things, the textbooks and lecture halls. She wouldn’t dare even think about skipping town, and finding her identity somewhere else. With the right music, and a big map, I could imagine myself driving until I ran out of gas. And even then, I wouldn’t stop moving. I couldn’t.

“I think I’m going to go home for supper.” Olivia told me, shaking me from my daydreaming. Collecting her brochures, she stuffed them deep into her bag before turning to face me. The distance between us physically was small; she was barely a foot away. But the thick, awkward air made the space feel like miles. For a second, I couldn’t help but wonder why we had been best friends. “Aidan.”

I looked up from my feet. The nail polish on my big toe was beginning to chip. “Yeah?”

“Nothing,” at the last moment there was a shift in her face, and she just smiled an awkward smile. Something told me this was the beginning of the end. The world was spinning around me, and there was nothing to hold onto. I had no future college to hold me steady. Olivia disappeared from my bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the fading sunlight. Another day was ending. Another would start tomorrow. My body hit the bed heavy and hard.

Ten minutes later, I found myself on an abandoned road, driving. The gas was low, and I knew when mom came home she wouldn’t be impressed to know I was out without leaving her even a note. I had only planned to drive to the corner store and buy myself a slushy. But the road was so appealing, and before I knew it I was on the road out of Dalkery. The future was spread out in front of me, mine for the taking. What was the point in graduation or college applications? I would find what I needed somewhere in the rolling hills and endless oceans.

My phone, tossed into the cup holder, was vibrating. My mother was already home and searching for me. Pulling over into the driveway off a rustic looking coffee shop, I made a point of keeping engine running, just incase I wanted to make a quick escape.

“Hello?”

“Aidan, where are you?” Her voice was harsh. She was pulling me back, bringing me to reality.

For a minute, just a minute, I had felt like I was a girl riding a horse bareback through a never-ending felid. Maybe my horse had been a Saturn, driving down a river of concrete, but I had felt free nonetheless. “I went for a drive.” I explained to my mother feeling weighed down again. “To, uh, get coffee.” My eyes quickly read the sign sitting in front of me.

“Coffee?” Mom asked me, suspicious of something.

I never was all that good at lying, especially to her. Dad was easy, because I knew he wasn't around enough to care if I was lying or not. But with mom every time I did, and got away with it, I would confess my crime before she had time to believe me. “Yeah, coffee.” My voice was high and squeaky, a clear give away. “Olivia told me about this place,” I read the sign over again, “the Broken Hearts Café.” Before she could say anything, I kept my lips moving, kept explaining, “It’s on the outskirts of Dalkery, but apparently they make the best lattes you’re ever tried.”

“Really?” All I could hope was that she believed me. She never would have understood why I just needed to drive. Why I needed to be free. “Well, don’t be late.” Bingo, I was free. I could drive and drive and drive. Maybe I would find my way home in a couple minutes, maybe I wouldn’t be home until dawn was approaching. It didn’t matter right now. “And Aidan,” two seconds away from closing the phone and she caught me. What would she want now, “Can you bring me home a cappuccino?”

I smiled to myself, accomplished, “Sure.”

Cutting the engine and pushing the hair out of my eyes, I found myself walking into the tiny little café. The windows were dark, and some filled the air around it. In all my seventeen years, I had never been to a place like this. Most of my life I had been a doll sitting safely on the shelf, watching the world pass me by. The world felt open now, and I was ready for something real and unplanned. The second I stepped inside, my eyes darted, taking everything in. Most of the bars and coffee shops in Dalkery had banned smoking. Here though people sat in couples, smoking and drinking coffee. I wondered what it would be like to live like that, and the stories they could tell. I’m sure there was more than one affair to remember on their lips.

“Want something?” The guy behind the bar asked.

“Coffee. Black.” I felt so cool.

In the corner of the coffee shop, there was a tiny stage with a tiny microphone. Off to one side, a monitor listed the lyrics to the song being played, and the girl up there sang her heart out. Taking a seat in the middle, I watched her while the world around me kept up their own conversations. We all melted into each other, sentences overlapping, and yet everyone was lost in their own worlds. It felt strange and wonderful, and like the place I belonged.

“Who's next?”

The crowd ignored the guy, and his eyes met with mine. Even before I stood he was moving out of the way. I had sung in choir at church, but never in public, or alone. Even then, choosing a song, I didn’t know why I had done it. Maybe I was just so tired of being the girl everyone thought I should be; the girl who would go to a good college, and come home before curfew. That wasn’t me, had never been me. The music started, and I felt my stomach flip only once.

“Who doesn't know what I'm talking about? Who's never left home, who's never struck out? To find a dream and a life of their own. A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone.” My eyes were closed, not needing the words. I knew the song well. When I was a little girl I would set up all my stuffed animals and serenade them with my voice. Back then I believed if I wished hard enough I could be anyone I wanted to be; a singer, a painter, a princess. Back then, the possibilities for my future had been endless, and I had been assured I could be anything I wanted to be. “Many precede and many will follow. A young girl's dream no longer hollow. It takes the shape of a place out west. But what it holds for her, she hasn't yet guessed.”

I could feel eyes on me, watching me. Opening my eyes briefly I smiled towards my audience. Singing had been a brief ambition, but I had never sung karaoke before. It was fun.

“She needs wide open spaces, room to make her big mistakes. She needs new faces, she knows the high stakes.” As I sang, I felt like I was spinning my life story to this crowd of strangers. And I liked it. Everyone in my life had told me what I should be and what I should do. Once in my life I was making my own decisions, and I knew that I wouldn’t be the same old thing. Standing there on a tiny stage with a broken spotlight I knew that I couldn’t just be another face in a crowd. Wherever I ended up, whatever I would do, it couldn’t be the same old thing. Even if I ended up studying art in Italy or walking through the streets of New York City, I knew it would be right. As the music came to an end, I smiled towards the crowd and made my way back to my seat. The spotlight was still glowing around me.

“Here’s your cappuccino.” I said walking through the front door. Curled up on the couch, she had a oversized book in her lap. She was wrapped in a blanket, her reading glasses balancing on the end of her nose. Right then, there was no doubt she was a writer. Pausing in the doorway, I turned around to face her, biting my lip. “Mom?” My voice came out childlike and scared.

She sipped the coffee. “Yeah sweetie?”

“How did you know you wanted to be a writer?” I plopped down on the couch beside her.

“Well,” she started, placing the coffee on her side, “I just knew that if I wasn’t a writer that I would wake up every morning dreading the day.” She smiled, and I leaned my head against her shoulder and took her in smell. She reminded me of warm summer nights. “Why?”

“No reason,” I smiled to myself, sitting closer to her. “I was just wondering is all.”

There was no need to tell her my plan yet, my dreams of capturing the world within photo albums or singing my way through Europe. This was not the time to tell her about the books I would write or the boys I would love. She would know soon enough. Maybe I would never be journalist like Hadley or a chef like George. All that mattered right now was that if I decided—someday—that I wanted to, I could. And that if each morning I woke up wanting to be something different, I could do that too. The possibilities were endless and my future stretched out for miles, without a set point to keep me trapped. Maybe I would always been spinning, no ledge to hold onto.

Truth was, I liked it that way.