Ok, I just realized that there wasn't a whole lot under this category, & since Kiki Strike is one of my favorite books ever I thought I should write a fan fiction for it. This occurs after the 2nd book.
Disclaimer: I don't own Kiki Strike or any of its characters, though I do bear a striking resemblance to Ananka.
Isat in my room and looked out the window. You could hear a car honk on the street below. The stoplight at the intersection outside my apartment building bathed in interchanging red and green as I sat there, trying not to think, because then I might cry. Now, as a general rule I'm not much of a crier, but today was just not my day.
Up until two months ago, I had lived my whole life in Montana on a small ranch. I had a bedroom with a window seat. My favorite place on the whole world was our farm. I would spend the days outside, reading in my mom's flower garden or riding my horse, Mirabella, as far as I could. In the summer, I swam and got a tan and in the winter I skied and drank hot coco by the fireplace in my living room. My mom home schooled me and my little brother Jeremy. It was beautiful, and it was safe to say that for the first thirteen years of my life, I was fairly happy. Then that all changed.
February 16th of last year, she went to the doctor for a routine check up and came home with some startling news: she had cancer. Even worse, it hadn't been detected soon enough; the doctor gave her four months too live. I was lucky enough too get six, but still, it was the hardest thing I had ever done to say good bye.
After she was gone, my dad started doing poorly. He didn't show up for work, instead spending his days locked up in his study, where I'm sure he drank away his troubles. He became more and more distant, until I'm not even sure I recognized him. One day, when I came home from a ride, I found him asleep on the couch, a half- empty bottle of brandy in his hand. He had stayed home again. I gently pried the bottle from his hand, trying to not wake him. It worked, but my victory was short lived. That night, my dad surprised both me and Jeremy, my brother, by setting down at the dinner table and grabbing a bowl of the soup I had made. We stared at him, wary. What could this mean? He didn't keep us in suspense for long. "Listen, I know I haven't exactly been there for you." I didn't say anything. I couldn't. "I've been going through some rough times ever since, ever since she… Anyways, I want to thank for how good and how patient you've been." I sat frozen, still waiting what was he trying to say? "And I think it's because this place reminds me so much of her, I just can't take it. So what I'm trying to say is," he took a deep breath as if trying to steady himself and I knew it would be bad, "we're moving." I was wrong; it was worse. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. My vision was tilting from the shock. But as soon as I got my breathe back, I launched a full scale complaint. I didn't want to leave my friends, my horse, my home. But that didn't seem to matter. It was obvious that no matter what Jeremy or I said, we were going.
Six months later here we were, in New York City, home to all things, noisy, busy and filthy. I knew as soon as we got here that I hated it. Our apartment was dingy and cramped and I have to share a room with Jeremy, despite my protests that I was a growing teenager and needed my space. Whenever I went outside I had to watch out for dog piles and people on bikes. It was the opposite of Montana.
Even worse was that today was my first day of school. I'd be going to the Atalanta School for girls, which was supposed to be really prestigious. Why they were letting me in was totally beyond me. I mean, why they would want someone like me? But apparently, I was pretty smart. Go figure. I was nervous as could be. What would I wear, what would I say? I eventually decided that I should go casual; slipping on a short sleeved plaid shirt, loose jeans, and my cowboy boots. I grabbed my new messenger bag and headed to the subway. Thankfully, it was a fairly warm day and I could feel the sun on my face. Jeremy and I walked together to the subway, which we would take to school. Jeremy went to Addams Elementary, starting the fifth grade. We took different trains, though, so this was where we parted. It as the first time I could remember us being apart during the day. As we stood on the platform, Jeremy's train pulled into the station, but he didn't make a move to it. "Okay," I said. He was obviously nervous and I felt I should say something, "I know this is going to be strange and different, but when you get home I want you to tell me S.R.C. ok?" S.R.C. was something Mom had taught us. It meant Something Really Cool and we used to say one every day before we went to bed. It could have been seeing the first robin of the year, or catching a grasshopper reading a new book.
"Ok," he agreed. Then he looked up at me. My little brother was always so quiet and smart and I was worried about him. Would he be alright on his own? As if he heard me unasked question, Jeremy added. "Will I be okay? What if they don't like me?"
I wasn't so sure, but I couldn't let him know that. "What's not to like, sport?" I asked, rubbing his hair affectionately. "Now you better go or you'll miss your train." He nodded and ran off, slinging his backpack on over his shoulders. I didn't have long to worry about him, though, because five minutes later my train came in and I had to focus on getting to school in one piece.
A miracle must have occurred, because I got to school on time and was sitting in my first class with time to spare. I looked around, there didn't seem to be that many people here yet. Hmm.
"Are you new here?" I turn around, surprised. There's a girl sitting behind me. She's wearing a plain blue T shirt and a pair of jeans that seem a bit too worn.
"Um, yeah. What was your first clue?" I seem surprised that the girl had picked me apart. Did I look that different?
"Well, first of all, everyone knows everyone here, so it' obvious when there's a new girl." I let out a breath I wasn't aware I had been holding. Maybe I don't look that different. "Plus, anyone would be able to tell by your clothes." Then again... So," continued the girl, oblivious to the way her words affected me, "You're scholarship, right?"
"What?" I was confused. What did she mean by that?
"Scholarship Girls are the ones here on tuition; Rich Girls are the ones who are here on their money."
"Oh, yeah, I'm a Scholarship Girl," the label sounded strange on my tongue. Why couldn't people just be people? I asked as much and the girl just chuckled.
"You sure are a piece of work. My name's Gabriella, but everyone calls me Gab. Stick with me and you'll be okay."
I nodded. Maybe fitting in wouldn't be so hard (in spite of my apparent fashion mistake.) The bell rang and kids filtered in. I got out my textbook and sat there, hoping that the work wouldn't be too hard. The teacher walked in and looked at a piece of paper and then looked up. She walked to the front, but instead of starting the lesson, she looked straight a me. "Class, we have a new student. She just moved here from Montana. Why don't you stand up, dear?" I slowly do so. Every eye in the room is on me. I can feel myself blushing and some girls in the back are giggling. Why do I have to go through this? "What's your name?"
I sighed and stood up, trying to smile, despite the situation. "Jetta."
"Ok, you can sit now. We're going to get to work. Everyone take out your books and open to page 993."
Ok, that's Ch 1. I know it doesn't include much about Kiki Strike, yet, but I'm planning to add more in Ch 2. I just felt that I should add some background information on Jetta. So please R&R, even if it's just to tell me that my story sucks.
