It was weird being in a city like that. I'd come to notice that you can tell the personality of a culture by looking at the buildings in which they live.
In Florida, where I lived with the Petersons, the buildings were flat. Houses were only one story and usually had a Spanish type of architecture. The colors didn't have boundaries, though. Most of them were a shade of terra cotta, sometimes leaning towards tangerine. It's tasteless to any outsider. But to its residents, it's home.
The people were very much the same. Their sun kissed skin tones matched the orange of their houses. As did their personalities. Each and every person there was vibrant and outgoing. But underneath all of that, they were as flat as their homes.
Florida is the vocal cords of the lower states. Buildings and people, loud in all they do. And while they seem important, it's easy to get on without them. I would've rathered a grey, lifeless world. And that's exactly what I go next.
From Florida and the loud Petersons, I was sent to Connecticut with the powerfully silent Hastings.
The homes there... They were very different from Florida. They were all brown or white, always with black shutters. At least, that's how it was in Greenwich.
I went to school on the edge of the stuck up town, at a public high school. At this school, everyone looked at me like I was an alien. I dressed the way my foster family did, in cardigans and pleated skirts. My stockings were always crisp and fresh. But, it didn't matter to these kids. I dressed the way a 'preppy' did. And they constantly teased me for being smart. I guess in public school, smart means boring.
I kept to myself after that. I usually carried a book around with me and read in the library when I was supposed to be in lunch. They ignored me after awhile, but I wasn't getting much from my education. With nothing but school to concentrate on, the small amount of knowledge I was gaining wasn't enough.
So, I got a job and paid my way into a private school. Not much changed, though. I had a uniform and more science classes, but that was about it. The girls still looked at me with daggers in their eyes. They whispered behind their manicured hands. Needless to say, I didn't make any friends there either.
They were the eyes, those people. They saw everything. They saw your insecurities and they preyed on them. There was nothing you could hide. And there was nothing they wouldn't take advantage of.
The bottom line was that I wasn't social enough for them. And I was weird. So they kicked me out. And that's how I ended up here, in Boston.