“K-A-S-S-Y! Kassy! Not C-A-S-S-I-E! Jesus, no one knows how to spell my name right!” Now, I know how every “Caitlin” in the world feels. This always happens to me. The way my name is spelt, Kassy, is so taboo to everyone that they don’t even know it. With every email I got, with every test I got back, even on attendance sheets, they always spelled it Cassie, or they would just put Cassandra to make it easier. My name was never Cassandra!

“I apologize, ma’am. Have a pleasant flight.”

There are two types of people in this world, those who give a damn and those who entirely don’t. I’m somewhere on the border of I do. This spring break, I’m spending a week in Los Angeles in order for me to graduate with all credits under my belt. I would’ve been fine last semester, but some of my teachers failed me just because they hated me. Most people in college hate me. Well, most except one, and I should be thankful, but I never express it.

“Kassy, I got you a seat.” This is Neeraj Rahul. We met on the first day of school. We didn’t share classes, but we shared an interest in Zumba and Anime Club. His dorm is the only room I visit in our buildings from freshman to senior year. I never had that many friends growing up, so how I can define a friend through Neeraj is funny, agreeable, hangs out whenever he has the time, and remembers to exchange gifts on holidays and birthdays. My standards are pretty low as you can tell. “Excited to go to LA?”

“You know me and emotions, Neeraj,” I reply. “I try not to have ‘em.”

“You’ve been trying to get this field study for months. Don’t act all passive aggressive.” He wraps his arm around my neck and turns my head. “On the brightside, we’re away for spring break, and we’re going to graduate. Right?”

I nod. “I guess. What plans do you have for Los Angeles? Taking pictures of every star on the Walk of Fame?”

Neeraj smirks. “Who hasn’t done that? I’m hoping to climb the Hollywood Hills to get a very, very close shot of the sign.”

“Isn’t that illegal? Plus, who hasn’t tried that to make it illegal?”

He scoffs. “You’re no fun.”

Snickering, I reply, “That’s how you got me.”

Neeraj wraps his arm around my shoulders and lays my head on his. “I command you to sleep. It’s gonna be a long flight.”

I hiss, “You know I can’t sleep in moving vehicles.”

“You know I always prove you wrong.” He searches his carryon bag and pulls out his iPhone. He has two phones. His Android is for calling. His iPhone is for apps and music. Why couldn’t his family just pick a company to sponsor? I would love to know that. The earphones go into where they are supposed to in my head. He searches around until he finds the one song that puts me to sleep any day of the week. I don’t know what the song is called, but it has this beautiful piano instrumental that lulls me to fatigue. I call it the “Piano Song” just for the heck of it. My eyes close as if I were a robot powering down for the night. The only difference between me and a robot is that I’m warm in Neeraj’s arms.

I don’t like talking about myself. I’m not much of a writer about my life either. What I can say about myself is that I love California. It’s a beautiful state with the most beautiful landscapes in the middle and south sectors. I’ve gone surfing on the beaches when I spent my high school summers there with my mom. I hate to come here without her. She loved this place so much that she wanted to live here after I left for school. Neeraj wakes me up, so I would be awake to see the mountains. Just seeing them now makes me feel sick in the stomach.

My mom was my rock. I went to her whenever I needed everything, and she didn’t say anything negative when I wronged. She was the one who got me into singing. She was the one who got me into the piano. Mom was everything I was never to be. She died after graduation when some douchebag driver t-boned us on our way home. I’ve spent time in the hospital for two weeks, but I woke up three days after she never said goodbye. I only have myself now, and I can tell you that life is very lonely just by myself. Okay, I lied. I have Neeraj, but that’s it. It’s not like I go home with him over the summer. Actually, he never knew about my mom’s death. I never told him because the last thing I wanted him to do was to worry.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I lie again. “I’m fine.”

“What is it, Kass?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad to be back.”

“You’ve been?”

I nod. “Yeah, and it feels great.”