April 23, 1997. That was the day my whole world changed.

It was just a normal day. I was rushing to a friend’s house so we could finish an English project. The project was due the next day.

Every year I promised myself that I wouldn’t put off doing my homework. But there I was, running to meet my best friend Jonah at his house so we could get the project done.

I knew it was a bad idea to put off doing the project. Especially since that day was also the day my grandparents were arriving from Saudi Arabia.

I didn’t remember my grandparents much. It had been ten years since I last saw them. That’s why it was so important for me to go to the airport with my parents to greet them.

I checked my watch. 9:37 am. Perfect! I had six hours to get the whole project done before I had to get home to go to the airport.

Time flew as Jonah and I hurried to get our project done. The next thing I knew, it was already 3:45 pm. I looked at my phone and found seven missed calls from my mom.

Seven missed calls. I knew I was going to be in big trouble. I was supposed to be home by 3:45. But here I was, still at Jonah's house at 4:00. He lived 20 minutes from my place.

After that everything is a blur.

I remember calling my mom to apologize and tell her I’d be home soon. I also remember her saying that we had no time. She and my father were on their way to pick me up.

I waited. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes?

I moved around, waiting for them to knock on the door. I started pacing back and forth. Sweat dripped down my back. I checked my phone every five seconds, anxiously waiting for a call from my parents.

It never came.

After twenty-five minutes I decided to call them. But when someone picked up, it wasn’t my mom.

“Hello, to whom am I speaking?” the unknown voice said with an authoritative tone.

“Arian,” I answered nervously. “Who is this? Why do you have my mother’s phone? Is everything okay?”

There was a pause. It was probably only two seconds, but to me it felt like ten years.

“This is Chief Morgan with the Los Angeles Police Department," the man said. "I’m sorry to tell you that your parents died in a car accident. They ran a light and didn’t see the other car coming. It was too late to stop. My men tried everything to save your parents, but it was too late.”

That was the moment my life was turned upside down.

I remember my pain, my parents' funeral, the sympathy my friends and teachers had for me. I knew they were trying to help, but all I felt was more pain and sadness.

I remember the legal papers and court hearings to decide where I’d live. My grandparents were kind people, but they couldn’t look after me because of their age. I understood. But that left me with nobody.

My other family members were far away and barely knew me, and I didn’t want to move out of the United States. My parents didn’t want that either. So I ended up in foster care.

Foster care was nothing like my life before. In foster care, I didn’t feel the love that filled our house while my parents were still alive. I was on my own.

Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for what I did have: a roof over my head and food to eat. But I still missed my parents deeply. I missed my family.

Many times I thought about what it would be like to live with family. Instead, I was staying with some strangers just because my parents wanted me to live in the United States. They always believed that this country gave us the chance to have a better life.

I don’t see how the United States could be any better than the rest of the world. But I guess that’s because I've never lived anywhere else. I guess you don’t really know how good you have it until things get worse.

I’d been in foster care for a whole year. I still went to the same school, still had the same friends. But I was a different me in a different home. I looked at the family photographs I had and relived the memories in my head so they wouldn’t fade away.

My foster family only kept me around for the money. I knew they didn’t really want me. Who would want a 16-year-old Muslim kid who lost both his parents in one day and didn’t fit into the glam of Los Angeles?

Little did I know, one family did.

It started out just like any other day. I woke up and went to school. I came home from school, did homework, and ate dinner.

I was so used to this boring routine that I was surprised when the doorbell rang. My foster family shared the same surprise. Nobody ever visited us.

I got up and walked to the door. When I opened it, a large man in his mid-thirties looked down at me. His sea-green eyes looked into mine. When I looked into his eyes I didn’t see the pity I was used to seeing. I saw hope.

“Hi,” the man said. “Are you Arian?”

“Yes, that’s me,” I replied.

“How would you feel about getting out of here?" he asked. "Of course I have to discuss this with your foster parents first and get all the paperwork in order.”

I was confused. “I don’t understand," I said.

“Are your foster parents home?” he asked before I could finish my thought.

“Um, yeah," I said. "Come in. They’re in the kitchen."

The man walked into the kitchen to greet my foster parents. I didn’t know what to feel. What did he mean by "getting out of here?"

I sat at the bottom of the steps trying to hear what they were talking about. No matter how hard I tried I could only hear whispers. I didn’t know what to expect.

Moments later, my foster parents and the strange man came out and looked at me.

“A family would like to adopt you," the man said. "They have made plans to take you in and I’ve already discussed it with your foster parents. All you have to do is say yes.”

I looked at the man in shock. “I don’t understand. Who would adopt me? I haven’t met anyone who seemed interested,” I said.

“You may not have met them, but they know you. They want to take you in. They have a son your age who goes to your school. Do you know Evan Truman?” the man asked.

Evan Truman? Son of Roger Truman, former quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys? Everyone knew Evan.

Evan and I had only talked a few times in the halls. He was nice and all, but we were never really friends. Why would his family want me?

“Yeah, I know him. Did they tell you why they wanted me?” I asked.

“Let’s just say they’re warm-hearted folks," the man said. "So what do you say? I can set up a meeting with the family and then you can decide.”

I looked at my foster parents. The worry on their faces wasn't the worry that I might leave them. It was the worry that they were about to lose a big payday.

That was the moment I knew I’d be better off with some other family. And Evan seemed nice enough. His family probably was too.

“I’m in," I said.

The man smiled. “All right then,” he said.

He looked through the folder he had brought with him. He told my foster parents about the next steps as he handed them the papers that needed to be filled out.

Then he turned to me and said, “September 22. Be ready. I’m Mr. Brighton, by the way. It was nice meeting you.”

As I followed him to the door to let him out I couldn’t help but smile. September 22, 1998.