I know that you’ve seen a lot of stuff about people moving, the family problems, the school full of people you don’t know. But my life is much more difficult then that. Ok, so, if you really want to know, keep reading, but this isn’t a very happy story.

I moved out of my nice happy New Hampshire home, and now I live in New York. I’ve heard about it, but mostly about the crime. I can defend myself, but that’s the thing, I’m not a prissy girl. I was the weirdo of the school, happily living with my life-stuck-in-the-corner-reading. I had 4 friends, and I was fine. My parents have been trying to get me to date or get more friends, going as far as to take away my books (that was the worst week of my life).

So now, I’m not going to try something different, I want to stay the same. But this story is about my experience in New York City.

I could walk to school. This is the best thing ever; I can avoid the cramped bus and walk through the crammed crowds instead, getting lost in the crowd. No one can see me, but people keep trying to ask… ok nevermind you don’t care, let’s get to the school part.

When I go to school, I try to hide, but as it always turns out, I was the one who was noticed the most, with my dark skinny jeans, green combat boots, and random loose T-shirts. The vice principal led me to one of the rooms in the middle of the school.

“Mrs. Makly, this is your new student, Alice.” Oh yeah, my name’s Alice by the way, 13 years old. The vice principal had walked me into the room and started talking to the teacher in the middle of the class, so everyone got to see me. Brilliant. The math teacher nodded and smiled at me, and I returned it with a smile hidden by my knee length straight black hair (yes, it is natural, straight as a pin). I was walked out of the room, handed a schedule and a map.

“Your next class starts in 10 minutes, so I suggest you set up your locker and study the schedule and map.” I nodded and walked away. This place already stinks.
* * * *

The first class was math; it was the teacher before, Mrs. Maklay or something, and people were whispering and looking at me. I refused to look back and kept my hair in front of my face. A few people, asking my name, if I wanted to sit with them at lunch, approached me, and I gave short answers.

“Hey, I’m Christine. Do you want to sit with us at lunch?” asked some person, walking up to me. She gestured behind her at a bunch of giggling girls.

“Umm, I… have to stay in the math room for lunch… to catch up… sorry,” I practically whispered. She walked back and giggled with her little friends, ugh.

Here is one that was kind of fun to talk back to, one of those jock guys. I’m not shy around them, I hate them, and so I always reject them. Here is one that’s kind of funny, more than the last one.

“Hey, I’m Chris O’Baily, I play basket ball.”

“I really don’t care,” was my normal response.

“You should, he’s pretty good. You should get his autograph you know.” My turn.

“No thanks, I don’t date people like you.”

“You might want to reconsider. He’s madly in love with you.”

“Oh really, what’s my name then?”

“That… doesn’t matter. Sooooo, will you?”

“Let me change my last answer, oh wait never mind, still no.” That happened a lot at the last school too, but I love dealing with them, its kind of fun, watching their ego shrink.

That was about it actually, and I stayed in the math room for lunch, listening to the wonderful world of distributive property, it’s so easy (my friend from my last school would say your mom is… well… you get it.) that I was barely paying attention. Ok, enough about school. I walked around New York for a while; bought a pretzel, the normal things you do in New York. I keep my hair in a braid, high on my head, and twisted in an artistic messy bun. It was fun, but I had to leave at some point.

This next day (a month forward) was one of the worst in my life.

I felt weird, like I forgot something or whatever. Well, I learned what was wrong in second period. I was in math when the teacher told me I was being called down to the guidance office. Probably checking to see how my first month of school was. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Alice, you may want to sit down for this,” said the elderly woman who was the guidance councilor. I was confused, but I did what she said. “You know that horrible street where all the accidents happen?” the woman said. I nodded. This couldn’t be happening. “Your mother was driving to work”- no no no this can’t be happening. -“ And she got in a car accident. She went to the hospital”-went, not is at, I refuse to cry. –“But died in surgery. I’m so sorry.” This wasn’t right. I yelled for the first time in a long time.

“You… I… just let me get out!” I yelled at the woman who was blocking my n into the crowd, hearing the teachers yelling for me to come back. I pulled my hair up as I ran and put my hood on. I continued to race through the crowd, people asking me if I was ok. I ignored them and got to my apartment. I made the awful mistake of getting in the elevator. I pulled my hair over my eyes, so the people wouldn’t see me. I got out and climbed the stairs, collapsing on them half way through, sobs ripping through my chest.

Before I continue, there is something you need to know reader. My father left before I was 5. I’ve seen pictures of him, and he seems nice. He pays all his bills on time, but he never talked to me. I’ve heard my mom arguing with him on the phone, whether or not to let me communicate with him.
I realized that I had no one else to live with, other than my father. I had no idea how to get to him. I think I may just need time to sulk at my house. Yes, I think I will do just that.
* *

The police called just an hour after I got home. They informed me that they had contacted my father and that I needed to go and live with him.

“We could connect you to him, if you’d like,” the rough male voice droned on the phone. I said yes.


A deep voice answered the phone, with the regular hello.

“Hi, umm, you don’t know me, but, it’s me, Alice, your daughter.”

“Oh! Hi. So, I heard you need a place to stay. I’m very sorry about your mother. Do you need me to send a plane or something?” huh, I guess mom never told him we moved.
“I live in New York by the way. May be a little far.”

“No, I live in New York, just tell me the address.” He recited the name of an apartment building just twelve blocks from here.
“Ok, I guess I just need a day to pack up. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hung up without hearing what he said. God, this doesn’t feel right. It was too easy. But, I had no choice. As I packed up, I didn’t cry. After all, I was just starting again; I will still go to the same school, but everything will be different. I guess this is it. The end, but without the happily ever after.