A/N: Hello, everyone. Not sure what to say here….Also, sorry if it's kind of short—it was originally for a different website that has small limits as to how long stories can be, so I actually had to post this in parts there. If it's too short, just tell me and I can combine future chapters. Eventually, they will get longer. So, enjoy!

O n e;

I truly think my parents hate me.

No, they didn't ground me because I got an F on my math test. That I understand. That's reasonable. That's what I wish the worst of my problems were. No, with barely a month's notice, they decided we were going to move. To Japan.

Yeah, the one in Asia. Not Japan, Texas, or whatever, the actual country. One morning at breakfast, my mom just goes, "Honey, your dad got a new job, in Japan. We're going to move on the twenty first."

As you may have guessed, I was not happy. I was even contemplating chaining myself to a tree in the back yard. "HA!" I would have shouted, "You can't make me move, now!" But, I was worried they actually would go without me.

So, instead, I argued at every possible moment, hoping to make them change their minds. My dad always said the same thing. "With the economy these days, jobs are scarce. We take what we get. Would you rather live in a nice, comfortable home in Japan or a box in New York?" (I said the box, but he still didn't change his mind.)

Once we got to our new house, though, my worries started to melt away, one by one. I had gotten pretty good at my Japanese, enough to introduce myself, understand the teacher, and possible make friends. Our new house was pretty nice, although I couldn't understand a lot of the TV, so I read. Things got worse again, though, when my mom showed me my school uniform.

You see, in Japan, all schools, even public, have uniforms. And for some reason, my mother made a mistake on the application, because the uniform I received was most clearly intended for boys. She must have checked the wrong box, getting the kanji for "male" and "female "confused. The administrators wouldn't have even noticed the difference either, since they'd have no way of knowing the difference between male and female American names. Even if they did, I was blessed with the androgynous name of Taylor.

Apparently, my school was called Seiyo Elementary—in Japan, sixth grade is still elementary school. The uniform I got consisted of plaid blue shorts, a black blazer, a blue tie, and knee-length socks. A bit masculine for a girl's uniform.

I could automatically tell it was not the right one, because female uniforms almost always consisted of a skirt of some sort. However, I didn't want to exchange it, either—I was not a fan of skirts and getting out of wearing one daily wasn't something I would complain about. I could pull off acting like a boy at school, right? I was a bit of a tomboy anyway, shouldn't be too difficult.

And that is why, on my first day of school in Japan, I wore the male uniform. I hated to admit it, but with my short brown hair (I normally wore it in a chic, more femenine way, but that day I let it hang all shaggy) and premature sixth-grade body, I really did look like a boy. Should I be insulted?

I was in the star class and my teacher's name, according to the information sheets I received, was Yuu Nikiadou. Err, in Japan, last names are first. Nikiadou Yuu. Sensei. I should practice my honorifics.

At first, I thought I was late, since it took me a while to translate all the classroom signs, but when I finally found the right room, Nikiadou-sensei wasn't even there yet. I stood awkwardly by the door until a man with messy orange hair, glasses, and a grubby tan suit appeared. One of the girls in the back giggled something in Japanese, which I soon translated to, "Sensei! You're late!"

"Gomen," He apologized. "Um, is McCarthy Taylor-kun here?"

"Hai!" I pipped up.

"Ah, yes, our new transfer student from America. Please introduce yourself, if you don't mind."

I nodded. Time to test my Japanese. I thought a moment, double checking my mental dictionary that "Boku" was a maculine way to say "I" or "me". It wasn't what I had planned to use before I saw my uniform and I just wanted to make sure it was right. "Yoroshiku onegai itashimasu" is like "nice to meet you". I slowly stuttered, "K-k-konichiwa. Boku wa McCarthy Taylor da. Yoroshiku onegai itashimasu." I bowed slightly. The words didn't sound right on my tongue. They were foreign and strange—like me.

"Please take your seat next to Hinamori Amu-san. Over there." I peered around until I found where Nikiadou-sensei's finger was aimed. The girl who I presumed to be Hinamori Amu-san had funky pink hair, wore her blazer open and her tie loose. She had a red piece of cloth safety-pinned in a band around her arm and a black studded belt on her waist. Instead of traditional white socks, she had red plaid legwarmers. Not 80's-style legwarmers, but the cool kind. Whoa, I thought. She's so cool!

I slowly sat down and muttered, "Hey."

She smiled a big smile that totally didn't fit the personality I expected her to have. It looked kind of fake, like that of someone who's shy trying to be more outgoing. "N-nice to meet you."

I smiled, but blanked out and couldn't remember any kind of response. I looked up to the front of the room; I had to concentrate on what Sensei was saying more than anyone else since I barely understood the language. This was going to be a long year.

A/N: Not too terrible, eh? Review, s'il-vous-plait!