So I am completely redoing this story. I still like the idea of it, but I wrote this two years ago, and I realize that this could be changed to be much, much better. I've even changed the OC's name and some minor things about her! This is all as a warning in case you are a new reader, and end up on a later chapter that has not been updated yet. I will be putting a note at the beginning of each updated chapter, and I hope you enjoy!

What's even in New Mexico? Nothing. So why did you transfer here of all the God forsaken places on planet Earth? I scribbled on a piece of paper, handing it to my mother as they pulled out of the airport.
Irene glanced down at the note. "It was the furthest place away from that man and I've always wanted to come here."
I've never heard you bring up New Mexico once.
"Am I supposed to tell you every little thing I've ever thought, Ms. Adams?" She asked smartly. I shook my head, casually rolling my eyes to watch the mountains they passed by. "You know, you're going to have to talk at this new school. You can't answer teachers without speaking."
I can write.
The sentence had a few different meanings, which my mother quickly deciphered. "No, you can't. Maybe on the side, but do something productive with your life, not…that." She spat. The rest of the ride went on in silence. "We're not talking about this again for a long time, alright, Nathalie?" She breathed as we pulled in. Rolling my eyes, I pushed the blue door open. A puff of heat hit my square in the face as I stepped out into the sun. Dragging my feet to the back of the car and behind the trailer that was barely filled with our old things I grabbed the first three boxes labeled 'NAT', and with a little difficulty opened the door and carefully made my way up the stairs.
Finally, I found a large room with a semi-fantastic view. "NAT, IF YOU FIND TWO ROOMS UPSTAIRS YOU WANT YOU CAN USE ONE AS A MUSIC AND DRAWING ROOM, OKAY?!" My mother called, but I was already beaming. Maybe New Mexico was lame as hell, but this house was nice. "AS LONG AS YOU KEEP BOTH ROOMS CLEAN!" Irene added.
I ran back downstairs to help her unpack the rest of the boxes. Even between running around the entire place and trying to memorize it I didn't notice all of our living room furniture was already there, brought in by the movers before we had even arrived. It was hours of me being silent and her humming some out of tune made-up song. When we were done she left without a word to return the trailer and hopefully buy some groceries while I stayed and unpacked.
DING! The shrill doorbell rung, making me almost drop the painting I had been carefully hanging on the wall. As slowly as possible I made my way to the door.
Oh man, do we have those happy-go-lucky neighbors who created the Welcome Wagon? Nobody stops by their neighbor's house anymore do they? Did I even have neighbors before? They were so old maybe they died...Am I about to be murdered?
After peaking through the window and realizing that it wasn't old people or a creep I set my hand on the knob. I slowly opened the door to a slightly frazzled looking blonde woman and pulled a post-it pad out of my back pocket. Standing in front of her was a cute blonde girl with thick glasses and a tall, pouty looking boy with black hair that fell into his eyes.
"Hello, I'm Sheryl, you're neighbor. This is Olive, and this is Dwayne." She didn't seem overly peppy. That was good. "Is your mother home?"
No, she'll be back in about 5 minutes.
"Oh," she looked down at the note, not completely fazed, "Okay, we can sit outside. Can you speak or are just…?"
I just don't.
"O.K." She didn't seem to mind. As they sat on the porch, Sheryl spoke again. "Sorry, I didn't ask; what's your name?"
Nathalie Adams.
"Nathalie?"
You say it the same way as Natalie, my parents just wanted to be different.
"Oh, that's a pretty name. So why don't you talk, Nathalie?" Olive plopped down next to me on the edge of the porch giggling a little, dangling her legs over the side.
My parents don't want me to be a writer; they said I shouldn't have a voice in the matter of knowing what I really want so I decided to not.
The little girl carefully read the paper. "Dwayne is kind of like that, aren't you?" She called over to Dwayne. He slowly turned his head toward the two of us and shrugged. "He doesn't talk either, but it's only until he becomes a pilot one day, right, Dwayne?!" She called to him again. This time he looked at them and nodded. "He's really smart, he just doesn't let people know. So do you want to write books?"
I guess…I'd write anything really. Novels, short stories, screenplays, poetry, and I'd even be an editor if it paid.
"What's a screenplay?"
Movie or T.V. Script.
Before anyone else could speak Irene pulled into the driveway. She stepped out of the car and running a hand through her gray roots. The day before she had just been complaining to me that she needed to redye her once auburn hair. "Nat…?" She looked to me, slightly concerned but mostly confused. "Hello, would you happen to be our neighbors?" She asked politely, one of those fake smiles plastered to her lips.
"Yes, I'm Sheryl. Nice to meet you…?"
"Irene," they shook, "You've already met Natalie."
"Yes, this is Olive and Dwayne."
"Well, would you like to stay with us for dinner?" I shot a look at her, pleading for her to take it back. They didn't seem like an unfriendly family, but to just invite a family over for dinner was way out of the norm for her.
"Um, maybe," she seemed a bit surprised.
"Oh, and don't be offended by Nat. She doesn't talk to punish me and…and her father." The woman stuttered on the word.
I don't think Bill really cares whether I talk to him or not.
"Yes, he does. He didn't like it when you decided to do this."
Anything annoys that man.
"It's not an annoyance it's…" she looked politely at the Hoover family, "We'll talk about it later."
Later is never going to come, I rolled my eyes and stood examining the old porch. There were little knots in the wood, and faded blue paint that was chipped almost all of the way off. The way that they were curled up they looked like little waves crashing down on an ocean.
"Eh, that one doesn't talk too much either."
A bit awkwardly the family walked into our home. Dwayne lingered in the door while Olive jumped into the hall and peeked around the first corner to look into the living room. Sheryl stood across from Irene just past the entrance with her arms crossed.
It felt like an infiltration of privacy. We had only been living here an hour, and there were already three people I barely knew, and barely wanted to inside of my house.
As the mothers began telling their stories of divorce and difficult teenagers, I made my way up the stairs to unpack my things. At least it would get me away from the people and mom conversations for a few moments. "…Maybe I shouldn't have let her get those purple streaks in her hair, gave her too much of a sense of independence." My mother joked. I stopped short on the stairs and scrawled one big, messy word.
Lavender.
"Sorry," she answered sarcastically, "Lavender, I'm kidding we had some big long discussion about purple and lavender, and anyway," she spouted off to Sheryl. "Are you unpacking?" Irene called up to me. I kneeled on the steps and nodded, tapping my head lightly on the banister. "Okay, anyway…"
"Dwayne, why don't you help her?" There was a silent battle between mother and son. "I'll take you to visit whatever school or place you want." She relinquished at last. His shoulders came up and down as if he was heaving a sigh and he trudged up the stairs. I more than a bit annoyed with his middle school type of fighting with his mother. It wasn't as if I had asked him to help, and unpacking a couple of boxes wouldn't kill him anyhow. Once I found which blank white door was to my bedroom, I took out notepad again.
You don't have to help if you don't want to. He looked at the paper and shook his head, taking the pad and pencil from me.
I'm not a complete asshole. She just wanted me out of the room.
Schools for what?
For being a pilot.
I smiled at the paper and tossed it onto one of the smaller boxes. It wasn't the type of thing I had expected him to be into, it was interesting. Rummaging around the backpack that had been tossed into another corner I looked for a box cutter we had brought along. Without a word (of course) we both began picking up and emptying boxes. I wasn't sure how much time had passed. I could still hear my mother's obnoxious laugh downstairs every few moments, so I knew that maybe Sheryl hadn't grown tired of her yet.
When we were finally done, he pointed toward the pile of blankets on the naked mattress. After noticing his expression I picked up the pad. I don't have a bed frame. They take up too much space.
He just slowly nodded, but still looked skeptical. I motioned for him to follow her to the room across the hall while jotting down on the pad. Don't help me in here. Sorry it's just music things, and art supplies. I trust you, but it's easier if I just put it where it needs to go so it takes less time.
He nodded once and plopped down in the corner of the room. I looked around, tearing open the box with my electric piano and the one with my melodica. In all honesty I had bought the melodica as a joke, and still barely played it. It felt like another hour before I was done getting everything else into place. His eyes examined everything in the room to carefully.
It felt like I was getting picked apart. Nothing was personal or that I had done, that was all in a folder that hadn't been opened yet. It was just the way he looked at everything made me feel vulnerable. Controlling myself and getting my heartbeat down to a rate that couldn't be heard on the outside, I walked to the door with hopes that he would look away from my paints and papers for enough time to notice I was leaving.
I let my hand touch the blank walls of the narrow, white hallway. Everything was so bland in this house. It was like an empty shell. In a way I suppose that's how new houses are supposed to be. You are meant to fill it up with your things, not just inherit the personality from the people before you. Still, it didn't even smell like anything in the house yet. Not even some cheap ass vanilla air freshener that all houses for sale smell like.
When I got about halfway down the steps I froze, and nearly slipped down the rest of the uncovered wood. Dwayne had stopped short behind me thankfully. I looked over the railing, there was another new person here. It was a man who looked Sheryl's age. Probably her husband, I thought.
I felt a small prod between my shoulder blades. Even if I didn't know this person it was obvious that he had been welcomed into my house, and therefore couldn't be too much of threat. Though I didn't like the idea of having to wave hello to another stranger I could tell the Dwayne was annoyed, and I couldn't stand on the steps until the guy left.
The adults were too in conversation to pay attention to us slowly tiptoe down the steps. My mom was loudly introducing herself, and talking about me and our past life again to this new guy. Turning away as soon as I reached the base of the steps I stepped out of the door.
Olive was sitting on the porch steps with her chin resting in her palms. It was funny how much she looked like her mother. I was personally amazed that her and Dwayne were even a little related. I doubted that she would turn into a sulky mope by the time she turned sixteen, or however old her was. Dwayne gently pushed past me while I crouched to sit beside her. He took a few steps away from the house to sit cross-legged on the sidewalk.
"You should come over to our house sometime."
I cocked an eyebrow at her.
"You could come over now."
Honestly I didn't normally like kids, but she seemed so honest. She reminded me a nerdy, little sunshine with her super wide grin and golden hair. I took a deep breath in, almost letting out a loud sigh, and reached into my pocket for the green post-it pad.
Sure.
"Alright! C'mon let's go!"
Her hand wrapped around my wrist and I was off my feet in an instant. As we jogged past Dwayne my foot caught on his knee. I tried to give him a small smile, and shrug, but it was a little difficult to multitask if I'm being honest. Once we were in the door she spouted off.
"I'm going to be in beauty paegents. I just think that they're really fun, and I really want to do it for a long time. I'm really excited, and I think I might get into one that's in California. It looks really fun. My grandfather told me he was going to teach me how to dance, so I think I might do that. There's probably a talent portion. I don't like the makeup too much, but it looks nice so..." She took a deep breath in, and stopped to turn around just as Dwayne walked in and went straight for the stairs. "Your hair kind of looks like coffee, but I think the purple is pretty. I don't know if my mom or dad would let me dye my hair. Would you make it all purple?"
Well it is dyed all over right now.
"Oh! What color is it usually?" She asked excitedly. I had almost forgotten how kids thought dyed hair was so much fun.
Really, really dark brown. Almost black I think.
"Where did you live before you moved?" Olive asked as she led me into the living room. She sat on the old couch, and patted a seat beside her. I wrote as I sat down.
A place called Ellington, it's in New York.
"Ooh, is that near New York City?" She was almost bouncing up and down in her seat. I shook my head with hopes that her expectations wouldn't be crushed.
No, sorry, I live right on the New York-Pennsylvania state line. I'm about five or so hours away from the city, but I have been there a couple of times.
"Oh…but that's still pretty neat. You moved really far away then, huh?" I nodded slowly offering up a tight lipped smile. I didn't want to complain to her, and there were very few other ways I could explain the situation. She seemed smart and barely sheltered, but it wasn't something you just thrust upon some kid you met half and hour ago. "Dwayne took a vow of silence too. He wants to be a test pilot, I think."
Neat.
"How old are you?"
16
"Then I think you'll be in the same grade as him. Maybe below, I can't remember. Do you like him?"
He seems nice, but I don't know too much about him so I couldn't say.
"Do you like me?"
I do, you're a pretty cool kid honestly.
She nodded slowly, and then looked surprised as if she forgot something. "I'll be right back!" I pulled my feet onto the couch, hugged my legs to my chest, and pulled out my phone. For a minute I stared at the grainy pictures I had taken right before I left. I hadn't really enjoyed my old town, but I had it wasn't as if I was a total loner. I won't make any friends being the weird, silent girl. I looked down at my shirt. It was an old one with a single pink hedgehog on the front. I was wearing paint-spattered shorts that had once been mom jeans. There could be other reasons I would have trouble making friends.
When I heard footsteps rushing down the hallway I shoved my phone under my leg, and put my feet on the floor. Olive rushed in with Dwayne trailing behind her. She grabbed my hand, and led me around a corner to the brightly lit kitchen. I was pushed into a seat at their table.
"So are you going to go to our school? There's only week left, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you came." I shook my head. How are they still in school? "Why not?" She pouted.
I finished up my school year, besides I'm not enrolled yet.
"Oh, okay." She shrugged and began flipping through a beauty magazine that had been sitting on the counter. Dwayne sat in a seat one away from me. It sounds stupid coming from someone who had taken a vow not to speak, but the silence was truly deafening. I pulled my notepad out again and drew little circles, trying to feel comfortable.
It was impossible. Instead I looked around their kitchen, trying to memorize all the little decorations. There was a plant on top of some of cupboards. A couple of cookbooks. A stack of matching bowls and plates. This family appeared much more organized and functional than my own. I crumpled post-it and shoved it into one my shallow pockets. My fingers twirled the pen around before it landed on the paper to write something. I pushed it over to the sulky boy beside me. He had a book in his hands, but it didn't look as if he was actually reading it.
Do you want to go to the Air Force Academy?
He barely glanced at it before nodding. I thought maybe I should keep asking questions or write something, but nothing came to mind. He was certainly nothing like his sister. I tried not to be offended, but I couldn't help being a little annoyed. It wasn't really his fault. I understood that carrying on a conversation without audible words could be hard, and writing all day could leave your hand in cramps at night, but for gods sake I was trying. Olive piped up again. "Why wasn't your dad there?"
He's still in New York. They divorced.
"Oh." Her eyes flashed between her brother and me for moment. "I'm really sorry."
I gave her a soft smile. A million people had said it already, but I still didn't know what to say. My parents hadn't been right for each other from the start. My father was an asshole who could barely cook a microwave meal for himself or do his own laundry. He yelled at my mother for pointless things all the time, and had anger issues. I didn't exactly miss him.
It's fine.
She only seemed half satisfied with the answer, but didn't say anything else. Her head was already buried in the magazine again. I shrugged, and went back to staring at the pad of paper in front of me.
Do you like to read?
I swallowed as I pushed the note over to Dwayne. He seemed lost in thought. Only after a couple of painful moment did he look down. His eyes flickered over to me before he looked back at the book in his hands, and nodded at me with a tight awkward half-smile. He lifted the book up a little to motion at it.
What are you reading?
He set the book down on the table and pushed it into the space between us.
Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
I nodded slowly, raking my brain. It didn't sound familiar at all, but Friedrich Nietzsche on the other hand...
Isn't he that guy that wrote all about how God is dead?
Dwayne shrugged, and gave me a partial nod. So sort of. He was sort of the guy that wrote about how God was dead.
Cool
Maybe he was just being polite, but I appreciated the small smile he had when he looked at my note.
Can I read it?
He thought for a long time. Honestly I wasn't all that into philosophy books, but it would be good to carry on a conversation- if you could even call our little interaction that- for more than a few moments. With Olive taking a quick liking to me I figured I might be spending a little more time than I had really any burning desire to with the Hoover's. At this point I wasn't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it (I like this more than the first one for sure) and thanks again. Please review and tell me what you think!