They called me “Shrimp”, like the little sea creature; first name Gabriella. I was sixteen going on seventeen when I died on December 15, 2004 from a severe heart attack. In newspaper photos of misplaced young girls from the 00’s, most looked like me: white girls with golden hair. My Facebook accounts Mood: “Sad ?,” and my status: “Single.” I thought it was an attention grabber to most teenage boys that had nothing better to do. And I was right! My little mousetrap lured me a date to the spring fling! One of the brainless bad boys fell into my trap. Later that day he asked me why my Facebook profile mood read “sad.” Me being that girl who never talked to guys desperately and foolishly answered “everybody has dates to the dance and I don’ t.” He said, “I can fix that.”  Cameron Alexander Hall, one of THE brainless bad boys fell into MY trap.  Cameron was gorgeous; he had a caramel colored hair color and had tan skin with sparkling green eyes, and a smile that could make you melt.
Cameron called a few hours later and told me he’ll pick me up around 6:30 p.m. I could not believe it, I HAD A DATE. ME, Gabriella Marie Shripe, the girl with crooked glasses and seasonal allergies that made me use all the tissue paper for my endless snot from the girls bathroom and made you cringe every time I sneezed.

May 23, 2004: three days before the dance. Being the dork I am came from having strict parents. When I mean strict I mean no makeup, no painting my nails, and no showing more than my shins. And hanging out with a guy was just a dream.  Being that there was only about seventy-two hours till the dance, it was time to make the move: tell my parents that I’m going with a guy to a school dance. And boy was that going to be a kicker.

May 24, 2004: two days before the dance.  My parents said no. I mean SERIOUSLY! I am SEVENTEEN, ONLY ONE YEAR LEFT UNTIL I WAS A LEGAL ADULT and I’m not able to go to a school dance? They said that they “hardly even knew the boy” and that I “wouldn’t be safe.” I made it so that my mom and dad were both in a suitable mood, guess that didn’t work out quite as planned. I planed everything down to the second. I started by saying that the dance is coming up, and that someone had asked me to be their date. And boom! When those six words registered into their brains; they blew up. “ Do you realize the things that can happen!” And blah blah blah. I zoned out the rest of their whole “We’re going to make you a nun speech.”
So there I was, twenty-four hours before the dance, in my room wanting to scream my head off.  I wanted to call Cameron but I didn’t want to tell him that my parents wouldn’t let me out at seventeen.
A little later I finally decided to give him a call. I explained everything, and that I feel terrible for canceling. He only said to meet him tomorrow at the convenience store afterschool and to try to make it. I couldn’t turn him down again so I told my parents that I would be shopping afterschool. Which surprisingly worked as the perfect excuse. I made so that they feel pity. You know the classic; “Your not letting me go here at least you should let me go there.” “Life is short.” “I COULD DIE YOU KNOW!” “I have to live life!” So therefore they let me go. I mean it’s the least they could do after my whole pleading scene. After all I was only going to ‘the mall.’

The next day I cautiously sneaked away quickly of any passing students to meet Cameron at the convenience store.
It wasn’t that easy you know. Afterschool I had to rush by the trashcan where I left a change of clothes and made my way into my backyard to change in the shed. My mother was doing laundry in the basement, and my dad was working. So it was pretty easy to ‘sneak out.’

As I waited for Cameron to show up, my heart pounded through my chest.  I never really lied to my parents. This was really the first time; it felt so good but so wrong at the same time. As all these emotions started to kick in, there he is: Cameron with my corsage. The corsage was beautiful, it was a soft pink color and the flower had a gem inside it. He put it on my wrist and said that he’s sorry for not dressing up, “ How about a Slurpee.” And of course there I was, smiling and blushing like an idiot.  Guess he’s not that brainless, or that much of a bad boy.

Later that evening, we sat by the curb and watched the sunset. Meanwhile I was slurping on my flavorless chunks of crushed ice or whatever was left of my blue raspberry Slurpee, he cut me off. He pulled out a box of cigarettes. A BOX OF CIGARETTES! HOW DISGUSTING, I MEAN SERIOUSLY! HE TOTALLY RUINED THIS WHOLE THING! My date pulled out a box of his own death. He offered me one, but I immediately said “no,” I was always taught to act accordingly to drugs.
  Cameron had the bad habit of smoking. I despised it. Until he introduced me to them that evening. If it was my chance to finally let loose, I went for it. I was oblivious to my responsibilities when smoking. No more playing the nerd, the bait; the shrimp. What would my parents say? What’s going to happen next? We seemed to have hit it off after that evening; we ended up dating for months.

I matured into my senior year, still not being able to break my addiction.  Cameron’s parents found out about the huffing and puffing from his nosy little sister that smelled his clothes that he left hanging around and his parents made it so that certain convenience stores that sold cigarettes to never sell them to him again. Cameron didn’t even bother fighting back because he knew that what he was doing was deteriorating his health. But I was hung; up I was the one who was addicted.

He told me he was leaving because I smoked cigarettes. I stopped smoking in fear of losing Cameron forever. I went by his place to tell him I broke my bad habit. And then I saw him, pressing his lips against someone new. My walk back home was lonely and the only thing pressed to my lips was a cigarette, I guess it was time to break my bad habit. Him.
The following day at school I over herd him talking about his little hook up with the nameless skank to his ‘boys.’ I left him an empty box of cigarettes in his locker, in the box I left him a little note saying, “I never knew they invented cherry lip gloss flavored cigarettes with mousy brown hair, have fun.”

He was like it crisp white role of a cigarette that I intertwined in between my fingertips and put it against my lips, even though I knew the fact that he was definitely going to be the death of me. I took him, inhaled him. He tugged at my innocent fragile veins with his curling billows and twisted my lungs. And now look. Stupid little shrimp, coughing, gasping for air. It seemed as if I couldn’t breathe. Such a stupid, silly little girl; so naïve.  I used to be my parents “Little girl” And now they’re so embarrassed they can’t even say that I’m their child.

December 15, 2004.  He took my breath away.