(Emily's POV)
Some people might call me crazy. I'm not. At least, I don't think so. I might be angry at the world and angry at all of humanity, but that doesn't make me crazy, does it? Wait, that wasn't even on topic. That had nothing to do with what I'm trying to tell you. I'm sorry about that, but it happens sometimes.
Anyway, my name is Emily Gold. I recently moved to Toronto, Canada, and am starting my sophomore year at Degrassi Community School tomorrow. I'm really nervous about it. I've actually never gone to a real school. Honestly, I've always been homeschooled. My parents were adventurers. They'd take me along on their trips, because "travel is good for children". If it were up to me, I never would've stopped traveling. But, of course, my grandparents just had to get involved, didn't they? My grandmother was worried about me not having a regular high school experience. You know, never having a boyfriend, not going to prom, no real classes, no friends, no teachers.
After about a year of my grandmother nagging my parents, they'd gotten fed up with her nagging and made me pack up my stuff. And then they'd shipped me off to "my home", which is ironic, because I'd never lived there, and I wasn't even born there. I was born in a helicopter somewhere over Hawaii. I still don't understand why my mom would get into a helicopter eight and a half months pregnant, but whatever.
I just arrived at this small cape house that I'm expected to live in for the rest of my high school career. I feel suffocated. I'd never really had walls surround me before. Even though the neighborhood is supposed to be one of the smallest in Toronto, I feel crowded. Where I'd been living had been so open, so free, and now I'm stuck in basically a jail cell. I feel like I've been condemned to a prison.
Well, I guess it isn't all bad. I have tried some foods I'd never even heard of before. Like French fries and cookies. Yeah, those are apparently huge in the United States and Canada.
Just another reason why I won't fit in at my new school. I guess I'm used to being a loner. I mean, for most of my life, it was just me and my parents.
"Emily!" my grandmother called up the steps. I closed my eyes for a few seconds before standing up and walking out of my bedroom to walk down the stairs.
I honestly hate stairs. They make me feel like I'm suffocating. They're just so narrow. But, anyway, moving on from my weirdness, I walked into the living room to see my grandmother standing with a middle-aged brown haired woman and a girl who seemed around my age. My grandmother, Nonna, walked over to me, put her arm around my shoulders for only a second, and then remembered my "no physical contact" rule.
"What did you want me for, Nonna?" I asked.
"Nipote, meet Clare. She's in your grade, and lives right next door," Nonna said, motioning to the girl. I took a closer look at her. She was pretty, but not in a "smack you over the head" way.
"Piacere di conoscerti," I said without thinking. I realized my mistake almost as soon as the words left my mouth.
I was raised in an Italian-speaking family, and we mostly spoke Italian at home. Sometimes I absentmindedly speak in Italian instead of English. I immediately repeated my sentence: "Nice to meet you."
(Clare's POV)
This girl…she was hard to describe. She had a deep tan and dirty blonde hair. She looked like one of those California beach bunnies or something. And then she'd started talking in another language to me. I immediately knew she was weird. I didn't know what language she was speaking. At all.
"So, what languages do you speak?" I asked her as we sat on her grandparents' front porch, trying to become friends.
"Do you have seven hours?" she asked.
I laughed. She looked at me curiously. "I'm serious. It would take me a long time to list all the languages I speak."
"I have time," I replied. She sighed, shrugged, and adjusted her position on the railing.
"Vietnamese, Chinese, Thai, Japanese, Italian, French, Spanish, Russian, Finnish, Yiddish, Gaelic, Irish, Arabic, Korean, Dutch, Czech, Greek, Turkish, Hindi, Swahili, Hungarian, Icelandic, Irish, and Indonesian," she said, counting on her fingers. "And a ton others. Those are my most fluent languages."
"Wow, you must've studied for a long time," I noted.
"Well, if you don't know a country's main language, you're screwed," she replied.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"My parents are adventurers. They used to take me on their adventures all over the world. Until now, at least. Nonna kept annoying them about me not having a normal high school experience, so they shipped me here and I'm spending the rest of my high school years here," Emily explained.
"That's amazing," I responded. She'd been all over the world? That was something I'd always dreamed of doing, but that dream would probably never become reality.
"I guess," she said. "I mean, when you're used to it, it's not that amazing. But, if you're not used to it and haven't done it, it's amazing."
"So an average teen's life could be amazing to you?" I asked her.
"I suppose," she replied, looking at the burger on her plate.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing," she said, shaking her head and turning to me. "I'm a vegan."
We talked for a while. Emily wasn't that weird, just not used to any of the stuff I was.
Which meant she'd have trouble fitting in at school. Well, now Mark and Owen have someone new to make fun of.