"Mom, don't make me go," I scream at my mother.
"Honey, you have to go. It's your first day of high school. Aren't you going to be excited?"
"Mom, I don't want to go. I really need time to recirculate from the move. May be I will join next year. Yeah, that's sounds good!"
"Sweetheart, you have to go. I know you didn't want to move all the way from Washington to Pennsylvania, but sometimes you need to suck it up.
"Mom! You are making it worse."
"Well, go on now you are going to be late for your first day of high school" she says.
So, I head downstairs pushing my way through the door. I don't want to go to school. I hate this new house. It smells like berries. I hate berries. I think an old lady lived in it before us. Of course, we only bought it because my dad had to transfer from Washington to Pennsylvania because of his stupid job. Why did they have to take me with? My friend, Bella, offered to take me in and house me in her master bedroom. But of course my parents had to bring me here because they thought it would be good for me to get some farm life in me. Oh, yeah there's the other thing. We live on a farm. I have to feed the disgusting animals every day and bathe them every month.
We finally arrive at the new high school, where I will go for the rest of the year. Such a stupid name, its Mongolia High School. I guess that's what you get for being in a farm town.
"Bye, honey. Oh, and don't forget that we are going to let you sign up for any sports you want. Just make sure the same thing doesn't happen like last year, okay? Ha-ha, remember when you accidently wore a skirt on gym day and you didn't have any shorts to change into and you went out in your underwear. And then….."
"Mom, shut up!"
"Well, then. Okay bye," she yells
God, I wish I was at my old school. All these people are wearing farm clothes! Or maybe those are their definition of "pretty". Whatever, I just know that some people don't have style like me who wears Abercrombie & Fitch clothes all the time.
"Hey, think your sooooo cool with your expensive clothes and all. Well, around here we call those clothes what sluts would wear," this one boy screams out.
I give him a death stare. He just knows that I am better than him so I just keep walking. God, I hate High School.