Page 1 of Cloud Storm

Chapter 1

“Ariel!” cries the girl behind me, and at the same time my phone pings. Listening to that sound puts my body on high alert, but I decide to ignore it because there are more urgent matters requiring my attention. My guilty pleasure has to wait, real life’s calling.

“There you go! It’s mauve!” the hairdresser says, with a megawatt smile, turning my chair around to face the mirror.

I blink, refusing to believe what my eyes are seeing. I look like a picture from Pinterest. For the first time in my life I’m able to afford a professional hairdresser. The days of going to the nearest drugstore to find products for my latest hair creations are over.

I prefer my hair colorful, like my personality. What? Judge me, everyone does. I’m used to it. It doesn’t matter to me.

“My hair is purple,” I say with a smile on my lips. “I have purple hair.”

“And it looks awesome!” she assures me.

I bet she tells all her customers that, but I don’t care. I’m in love with the color of my hair, I really am.

“I’ve put in some layers to give texture to your hair, you have some darker strands, which will give more volume…”

She continues talking and talking, and I can only think that for the first time the sun is rising in my sky. For the first time, and that’s because of my effort. Life is smiling at me. Well, I must admit that the credit is not only mine. Roselynn, my neighbor and best friend, has a lot to do with this. She turned my life around, making my dreams come true.

I’m Ariel Wilkinson and even though I’m not ready to tell you my whole story, I can assure you that my entire life has been scattered with thorns, and I never thought that roses would ever grow in my garden.

Until now.

I’ve lived on the streets, sleeping rough under a bridge. One that’s just half a mile from where I live now. I know how it feels to run away and be scared, to starve, to bear the cold and hot weather with no place to go. However, I never gave up, never stopped believing and never stopped fighting.

I give the girl behind the counter a few hundred-dollar bills, enough to cover the bill and the tip and I leave feeling that the day is more beautiful than it was just a couple of hours ago. The sun is brighter, the wind is cooler and people in the streets are smiling my way.

I even think there’s less traffic.

Imagine that. Downtown San Diego with light traffic.

At rush hour, I might add.

Today is just that perfect.

Even when I hit rock bottom, I did my best to maintain my dignity. I refused to sell drugs or steal. I even refused to ask for money. That was never the life I envisioned for myself.

Instead I found work wherever I could. I swept many sidewalks in front of shops and houses. I cleaned windows, never minding how big they were. I took garbage out, cleaned gardens and that, ladies and gentlemen, was what brought me to where I live now. Mr. Hatz, the owner of the exclusive housing community, offered me a real job after I asked to sweep the sidewalk and the main yard in exchange for a hot meal. He decided to take a risk on the grubby girl with the brightly-colored hair, who kept coming around his place and pestering him for work. Did I accept his offer? Ha! I might be crazy but I’m not dumb. The poor man hadn’t even finished speaking before I’d jumped on his offer.

I promised that he would not regret taking a chance on me and I’ve kept that promise.

Now, I no longer do the cleaning chores out of necessity, because I have enough money to pay for my own apartment. I do it out of loyalty. Mr. Hatz is much more than my boss. In the three years that I’ve been living here in Market Station, he has become like a father to me. A stubborn, hardheaded father that doesn’t want to accept any money for still letting me live in the apartment I call home.

And it was in that apartment that the magic began.

I was looking for a way to finance my project, hopefully with a loan from a nearby investing bank. I didn’t know a thing about loans then, and I still don’t, but when I finally managed to find the courage to take the next step, I filled out all the paperwork, went into the office and waited for someone to see me. The truth is that I really needed that money and there was no other option.

And that’s where everything got screwed up.

I met Him there. At the bank. He was the one I had to ask for a loan.

Him, the man in the suit, so stuck up with his well-pressed clothes and his intriguing, musky cologne.

Him, with his broad shoulders and his toothpaste ad, panty dropping smile. He was so well-groomed.

Fucking Suit, talking nonsense and laughing at me, laughing at my project.

He even made fun of my name. What’s wrong with Ariel?

---