I cross my arms, a frown spreading over my mouth for the fifth-fifth? One, two, three, four...yeah, fifth- time this past half-hour. Glancing around the big, empty room, I kick the hideous beige wall beside me.
"Air," my mother calls into the room, "is that your choice?"
"Fine," I sigh in return.
"What?" she calls.
"I said fine!" I say in a louder, aggravated tone. Sickeningly bright sunshine pours into the room from the open window across from me. I hate sunshine. Alright, no I don't. Not usually, anyway. I just hate everything today. I hate moving vans, and moving men, and cardboard boxes that will make my sheets smell like avacados, and I especially hate beige, blank walls. Beige blank walls are dreadful.
"Great!" my mother calls perkily. "I'll take the other one!"
"Of course you will," I grumble as my mother shouts to the moving men where to bring my stuff. I sigh. Now my brand new bedroom will smell like sweaty men, I think, pressing myself against the wall as my bed frame is shoved into the room.
"Ooh, Arial!" Mom yells from the hallway. She peeked her head in as Chandler the Moving Man lazily dropped my box full of old yearbooks on the dusty carpet. "You must come look at the living room!"
"Must I?" I sigh, pushing past Chandler the Moving Man and following her out to the living room, which was also sickeningly sunshine-y.
"Isn't this love seat darling?" my mother coos, sitting on the pink and green love seat in front of the wide window. My mother isn't necesarily old. She recently turned thirty-eight, but she acts twenty. She's been this way since she and my father got a divorce a or so ago. It bugs me. She doesn't seem to understand that I want a mother, not another girlfriend.
"It's precious," I humor her. "We can put those little throw pillows Grandmother Doris made for us on it."
"We could!" Mom agrees happily, her entire face lighting up. "That'll look great, Arial!"
"Yep," I say, rolling my eyes. Mom doesn't notice. She's too busy instructing some moving men- Arnold and Daniel- on where to put the sofa. I look around the bare room. These walls are a green color. Ugly, but better than my beige bedroom. The entire house is ugly. I hate it.
"I'm going on a walk," I say, grabbing my jean jacket off the ground where I had previously thrown it.
"Have fun!" Mom chirps, beginning to unroll our big throw rug.
"Sure," I mutter, opening the front door. It slams shut behind me as I pull on my coat.
Needless to say, I'm very unhappy about our moving. Mom and I used to live in a tiny town in Michigan, where we'd lived forever. Of course, that was when Mom and Dad were still married and we all shared a nice house. Then the fighting, cheating, seperation, and finally divorce shoved my mother and me to Chicago to live closer to her sister. Dad has the nice two-story house by all my friends. Part of me wanted nothing more than to stay with dad, but I also knew Mom would end up doing something crazy by herself.
So I moved to Chicago from pretty Battle Creek.
I kick a pebble as I walk down the sidewalk, hands jammed into the pockets of my jacket. Some people ride past me on bikes or drive by in cars. I ignore them as much as I can. I'll have to deal with them tomorrow at school, so I practice ignoring them now. I've never been to a new school, and new kids rarely came to Battle Creek, but according to movies I've seen, new kids are instantly labeled as outcasts. I can only hope that isn't true for this school.
I circle the block and end up back in front of the house. The moving van is gone now, though there are still some boxes stacked up on the porch. I pick a few up and carry them in to find my mother in the kitchen, organizing cutlary drawers.
"Hey, Air," she greets as I enter. "How was your walk? Did you meet any new friends?"
"No," I answer stiffly.
"Well, you can make some tomorrow, then!" says Mom happily, shutting the now organized drawer.
"Great," I say. I sling my coat over my shoulder. "I'm gonna go start putting together my room."
"Okay! Call me when you're finished!"
"Mmm," I hum in response before exiting the kitchen and going to my bedroom, which still smelled like sweat. My bed is already put together (Thank you, Chandler the Moving Man, I mentally add as an apology to my silent snarkiness), so I open box after box to find my blankets. I bring one of the purple sheets up to my nose and sniff. Grapefruit. Well, at least it isn't avacado.
I put the sheets and blankets on my bed before collapsing upon it and falling asleep, still fully dressed.
"Morning!" Mom sang upon barging into my room without invitation. I moan.
"No."
She laughs. "Come on, Arial, it's time to wake up."
"No."
"Air!" She pulls the blankets off of me. "You don't wanna be late for your first day!"
"No, you don't want me to be late. I have no moral turmoil on the subject of tardiness."
Mom laughs again. "Come on, sweetie, I made you breakfast. Waffles and bacon."
"That does sound delightful..." With a heavy sigh, I heave myself from the bed. Half of me was expecting to see the tiny Michigan apartment we lived in while Aunt Wendy searched for an appropriate Chicago-ian house for us. I'm greeted by beige walls. Stupid beige walls. Stupid sunshine from still un-covered windows.
"Come on. Breakfast, then shower. I'll give you a ride on my way to your aunts."
"Thanks, Mom," I say, stretching my arms out. My shirt is wrinkled and, like my sheets, smells like grapefruit. "Tell Wendy I say hello?"
"Of course," Mom promises. "Hurry up. Your syrup is getting cold."
"Thank you, Mom," I say, following her out the door.
After a delicious, filling breakfast, hot shower, and eight minute car ride, I arrive at the school. Some kids park cars, some chain up bikes, and some- like me- wave goodbye to their parents. Everyone has a friend or boyfriend or girlfriend they instantly find and speak with. I walk awkwardly through the center of these groups, apologizing in a low voice as I do so.
The woman at the office gives me my schedule, books, and locker assignment. I thank her and find my locker, hastily shoving things in as my textbooks make dramatic dives to the tiled floor.
"Damn," I groan when the bell rings and students rush to their first period classes. My locker door finally manages to shut as I look at my schedule. Mrs. Ernest, room two-thirty-nine. Where the heck was room two-thirty-nine?
"Excuse me!" I say swiftly to a boy walking casually down the hall. It's as if he doesn't notice, or perhaps care, that he's late. He looks my way and tilts his dark, round sunglasses down his nose to look at me.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Hi," I begin, "I'm Arial Dawson. It's my first day."
"Arial Dawson," the boy repeats. "Lovely to meet you. Really, charmed. Duckie Dale." He holds out his hand, which I shake.
"Yeah, hi. Can you point me in the direction of Mrs. Ernest's room?"
"I can indeed." He takes me by the shoulders and turns me around. "Right about that'a'way," Duckie says, adjusting me just barely so I'm pointed slightly to the left.
"Right, thanks. Now could you give me directions?"
"I certainly could," says Duckie, "but are you sure you should be walking so much?"
"Excuse me?" I frown.
"I mean, it's only your first day with legs. I'd be a bit more careful if I was you."
I groan and Duckie looks quite pleased with himself. "Little Mermaid jokes? Really?"
"Oh yes," he replies. "And now that I know you dislike them, more will be coming your way, little Arial. I assure you." He takes my schedule from my hands and looks at it. "You go down this hall, turn right, and it'll be the last door on the left of that hallway."
"Thank you," I say, taking my schedule back.
"Tell Flounder I said hello!" he calls after me. I shake my head and keep walking.
"This food looks disgusting," I comment, my nose wrinkled up.
"It is disgusting," my new friend, Taylor, agrees. "Wait until you get a taste of it. You're gonna wish you didn't have taste-bubs."
"They're serving fish?" someone asks from behind me. "Mermaid, are you sure you're comfortable eating this? Was this one of your friends?"
"Hey, Duckie," I say, rolling my eyes. "Do you know Taylor?"
"Unfortunately," Taylor inserts. "Hi, Phil."
"Phil?" I repeat.
"Taylor here doesn't acknowledge my real name," Duckie explains.
"Or your existence," Taylor adds, causing me to laugh.
"You will respect your elder, missy!" says Duckie.
"Elder?" I say.
"Phil failed last year."
"I decided to kindly lend my presence to another year," Duckie says. "Everyone loves me so much here."
"Sure," Taylor scoffs.
"Denial," Duckie sings. "Now, I'm gonna go eat. You lovely ladies are completely welcome to join me if you'd like." He blows a kiss before turning and walking away.
"He totally just blew you a kiss," Taylor exclaims, mockingly excited.
"I can feel my heart pound in my chest," I joke in monotone as the lunch lady slaps a glob of mashed potatoes onto my tray.