Just Like Romeo and Juliet - Brooke St. James Page 0,2

to ICCS all twelve years of school, and now you go to college and work at the bookstore at the University of Houston."

"My name is Anne Rose," I said, calling her out on the one thing she got wrong. "Anne Rose. Not just Anne. Anyone who knows me would know that. I don't go by my first name. I never have." I felt shaken. It scared me that she knew so much.

I took in my surroundings. I knew this lady couldn't catch me if I got up and ran out, but who was to say that this Gary Rider character wasn't sitting in the parking lot waiting to ambush me.

I should have checked her credentials before I agreed to meet her. My heart was pounding, and I reminded myself to stay calm. I thought about excusing myself and going to the restroom where I could crawl out of the window like you see in the movies. I was imagining that play out, and for some reason, I imagined the window would be up high where I would have to stand on the sink to get to it.

In the time that I daydreamed my big escape, Mrs. Elliot (if that was really her name) pulled out a folder. She had already opened it by the time I started to excuse myself to go to the restroom. I was in the process of getting up, and I was about to tell her casually that I needed to use the restroom.

I touched my stomach, hoping that would make my abrupt departure more believable. She saw me leaving and she whipped out a photograph, turning it and flinging it in front of me. She did it so quickly that there was a paper rustling noise before it whacked on the table right next to the pie.

It was a large, 8x10 school picture of a boy who looked just like me. He had more masculine features, obviously, but there was an extremely strong resemblance—enough to make me stop in my tracks. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.

"This was my son in his senior year of high school," she said.

I figured as much since he was wearing a cap and gown. This man looked nothing like my dad, Kyle Kennedy, but he looked exactly like me. My father had dark brown eyes. My little sister did as well. I was the only one in my family with green eyes.

They matched the man in the picture, I had to give her that. In reality, it meant nothing, though. Who was she to come in here with a picture of a man with green eyes and tell me I had been mistaken about my identity since birth?

"If this man was my father, my mother would've already told me." I said as soon as the thought crossed my mind. My voice came out sounding shaky and I realized it was because I was staring at the picture and the unbelievable resemblance I shared with the man. My features were more rounded and delicate than his, but he looked like he could be my twin brother. I kept trying to look away, but I just couldn't take my eyes off of it for long. It wasn't just the color of his eyes. It was his wavy hair and the shape of his face. My eyes stung and I could feel tears beginning to form. I looked away, pushing the picture toward her.

"I know who my father is," I said. "And this could be a fake picture. How do I know that this guy even exists?"

"What in heaven's name… what in the world are you… just the fact that you think I'm making this up should tell you that you look just alike. You're Michael's daughter."

"I'm Kyle's daughter."

"Maybe by name. And maybe that's what your mother wants you to believe. Janet? Isn't that your mother's name?"

I stared at her, wondering whether or not there could be any truth to what she was saying.

I was stuck mentally. It was the equivalent of being speechless, only it was happening in my brain. I stared blankly at the table, absentmindedly taking in the picture and finding it hard to form a cohesive thought.

"I rarely speak to my own son," she said. "Michael. He was my only boy, and now I've been reduced to calling him on his birthday and Christmas. His father hasn't spoken to him in twenty years. We live in Galveston, and Michael caused me a lot of heartache when