The moment I walk through my front door, my mom says the all-too-familiar 9-word-sentence.
"Autumn, I have some news to share with you."
It's not any different than the last dozen times she said that. It would surprise me more if she didn't have any news to share.
"What could it be this time?" I ask while spreading some peanut butter on a piece of bread. "Let's see, the last 12 times you told me that, we were moving, so this must mean…" I pause, and then say with sarcastic enthusiasm, "We won the lottery!"
"Autumn, honey, I know these moves are hard for you," my mom starts.
"I haven't had any friends since Move Number Four," I mutter, digging around in the fridge for an apple.
She ignores it and keeps talking. "But your dad's job requires us to move around a lot. And I think this is healthy for a-"
"Healthy?" I almost choke on my snack. "Mom, having friends is healthy. Living on food other than cafeteria slop is healthy. But moving? Moving is like having a cold in the middle of the summer."
"Moving is good for you. You've traveled around the states. And you've met so many people-"
"Didn't we just discuss how I don't have any friends? All of the girls hate me. They make fun of me for everything."
"What could anybody make fun of you for?"
"For starters, being the new kid." I roll my eyes.
"There are plenty of girls that have to start at new schools," My mom points out.
"Yeah, but nobody moves here. They've been friends since they fought over the last bottle of chocolate milk in preschool."
"I'm sure you're exaggerating."
"I'm not. And they make fun of my clothes." I look down at my loose jeans and slightly-too-big long sleeved brown and orange tie dye shirt. The thermometer on the wall outside reads 85 degrees. "They think I'm hiding something because I don't dress like the school is the beach."
"You don't have to listen to what some mean girls say."
"I do when everyone is refusing to hang out with me because of the rumors they spread."
Silence. My mom, for once, has nothing to say.
"They also tease me because of my hair." I clutch the light brown strands, pulling out some strategically placed leaves- the work of Kelsey Brown. "And this," I say, waving the leaves on the table.
Mom looks confused, so I try to explain.
"They've called me 'Tree Girl' since one of Kelsey's followers found me reading in the forest. It's not even clever!"
I can tell my mom is going to say something, but I keep talking.
"And the worst thing they tease me about is the reading." Once I start rambling, I can't stop. "I'd be surprised if they knew how to read anything but Teen Vogue. And they call me a loner for reading at lunch instead of trying to impress guys by failing at playing basketball. Yeah, just because I don't want to look like an idiot by playing something I don't even want to do makes me a loner. I was caught reading in class today and-"
"Autumn Louise Davidson, you were reading in class?"
"That's not my point!" I claim. "Everybody is a jerk to the new kid. Can't we just stop moving around all the time?"
"Autumn, you know what we can and can't do."
"Whatever." I grab my green book bag and start running.
The forest has always seemed sort of like a home to me. Home has started feeling less like home since we started moving around a lot. We've lived in every type of house, apartment, and shack imaginable, from a 2-bedroom apartment in the city to a big farmhouse with tons of gambrels in the country to a Romanesque mini-castle in Boston. I'm not even sure what kind of house is normal for people to have, but it's definitely not anything that we've had.
But the woods never change. There's always dirt and fallen leaves and pinecones; there's always some sort of little stream; there's always crushed beer cans and Target bags; and there's always the tallest tree with the best view.
Slinging my book bag over my shoulder, I start climbing the big tree. My favorite move was California- even if you can't climb the redwoods, trees are just taller there.
When I'm on the highest branch, I remember my other favorite thing about the woods- being alone. From up here, I can see my parents; I can see the school; I can see Kelsey and the popularity queens. But they just don't seem like a part of my life.
I take inventory of my bag. A can of lemonade; a flashlight; patches of cloth and a needle in case the bag gets another hole; a jacket (though it's not necessary since it's June); half a bag of Nacho Cheese Bugles; a five dollar bill; six quarters; four dimes; a nickel; binoculars; and seven fantasy books.
Even from up in a tree in the woods I can smell my dad's cologne. It smells like pine trees and burnt coffee. The routine goes the same way every day- I pull on my binoculars, my mom goes outside to greet my dad, they go back inside, and I get called in for dinner. I never go in- I wait until I know that my dad is preoccupied in his office and my mom is reading in her room. Then I sneak in and heat up a hot pocket.
Today is no different. I wait for my part of the routine to start and in the meantime, I get lost in Eragon.