I can't believe it.
My parents, the people who conceived and gave birth to me, actually left me here in the middle of Nowhere with my crazy, shoe-selling, unmarried aunt to go on a trip around the world.
A week ago, I was happily going about shopping with my friends, watching the latest movies and hanging out at a café in good ol' Boston.
And the lovely entity up there decided to play a cute little trick on me and made my parents suddenly want to travel around the world. Do I get to follow? Nooooo.
Instead, they withdrew my name from my high school, packed up everything single thing I owned and shipped me to God-knows-where.
And the best thing is? My 'friends' have deserted me. Not one good-bye, not even a measly email.
Isn't life wonderful?
I stared at the cereal-filled bowl in front of me on the table. Did I mention that I'm not a breakfast kind of person?
"Kaitlyn!! Here's a welcome present from me!" a cheery voice trilled. A woman in her early thirties dropped a box on the table, making the bowl shake slightly. She had mouse-brown hair that was in a messy bun, royal-blue eyes and her skin was extremely tanned.
My eyes dropped from my aunt to the box. Oh. My. God. "Converse!? You got me sneakers!?"
My aunt's - her name's Raphaelle Sherwood by the way, but she insists we call her Aunt Elle or just plain Elle – smile dropped a little.
"You don't like sneakers?" she asked. I swear, I could hear the sadness in her voice.
"Are you kidding me? I LOVE anything from Converse! I literally have everything Converse!" I shrieked in delight.
Yep. I love Converse. In fact, I'm wearing a pair of black high-tops right now. Maybe having a crazy, shoe-selling, unmarried aunt ain't so bad after all.
Aunt Elle's face brightened up again. "That's great! I was afraid you wouldn't like them. Where's your sister?"
Did I mention that I have a younger sister in middle school? Oh, before I forget, she's a total pain-in-the-ass and loves anything girly and in frills. Her name's Genevieve. My parents adore her because she looks like a Barbie and is a freakin' ballerina.
"Genevieve's in her room, getting ready," I answered, putting the shoebox aside. I'll open it later. "Here's a tip: Don't give her Converse unless it's pink or girly. And I already got her Hello Kitty printed ones last Christmas."
Aunt Elle's face dropped again. "Oh dear. I got her red low-cut sneakers. What should I do?"
I shrugged, pushing the bowl away and standing up. "I'd advise you to go to the shop and change them into maybe Roxy flip-flops or something," I said wisely. I love to sound wise. It makes me feel even more mature. "Genevieve loves Roxy. She's a brand-conscious person like me,"
Yes. I'm a shallow person concerned with labels. Is that so wrong?
Aunt Elle sighed and plopped down onto one of the chairs in the kitchen. "Going so early?"
I grabbed my backpack and opened the kitchen door. "Private schools require punctuality, right? See ya later,"
I closed the door behind me and bravely walked down the pathway of the backyard and out of the small garden gate. I could hear my aunt calling my sister. "GENEVIEVE!! HURRY UP OR YOU'LL BE LATE!"
Hah. I'm the good girl this time. I could get used to this.
I looked around, sight-seeing as I walked to school. All the houses were considerably-sized and in neat rows. I passed a big sign with huge, iron block letters that spelt out 'Sandfields'.
You know, when I said middle of Nowhere, I meant it. I had never heard of any place called Sandfields, until my parents decided to buy two plane tickets for my brat sister and I and cargo all our belongings to this place. I always thought my Aunt Elle lived... well, I actually never really thought about it. Now that I contemplate on it, I feel pretty stupid.
I had been expecting barren deserts and cactuses galore, but instead, everything here seemed so perfect. Even the lakes that we passed by on our way to Aunt Elle's house were clear and scum-free. Makes me wonder whether this is the real world. I must've probably volunteered for some elaborate lifelike game simulation beta or something.
I could see a big brick building in the distance now. That pile of bricks is my new school, Sandfields Academy. Apparently, it's supposed to school all the most elite and smartest students around. Lord knows how Genevieve and I got in.
I looked up into the perfectly blue sky, wondering what I would've been doing if I was still in Boston, when conveniently, the divine prankster decided to trip me.
A very inappropriate word escaped my mouth, and I turned to glare at what had given me a free ticket to an early morning sidewalk facial.
A guitar case with a lightning sticker on the surface sat there in the middle of the sidewalk. "Who in hell do you belong to!?" I asked the guitar angrily.
This is sooo not what I would've been doing in Boston. Until today, I have never in my life talked to an inanimate object.
"Well, I'm not from hell, but that belongs to me," a low voice said. Hmph. A guy.
I looked up and a guy wearing dark glasses and a beanie pulled over his head stood in front of me.
I couldn't see his face, but from the looks of his well-toned biceps which were revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of the white dress shirt he was wearing as well as the steel stud in his left ear, he was probably below thirty.
Any thirty-and-above guy in his right mind doesn't wear a stud in his ear. It just screams lame and trying-too-hard-to-seem-young.
I stood up and directed my glare at him. "Who in their right mind would put a guitar case in the middle of the sidewalk and let people trip over it!?" I hissed at him.
Glasses-guy held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa there, kitty. I just happened to be carrying a lot of stuff today and somehow I dropped the guitar. I just came back to retrieve it."
"My name, for your information, is NOT kitty. It's-," I stopped, remembering what I had learned in pre-school. Never talk to a stranger.
Well, this guy definitely fits the bill of a stranger. He looked like a shady character, with the glasses and all. I wonder if he's a guitar-playing escaped convict. Or worse, what if he was carrying stolen stuff and happened to drop a stolen guitar and now he's gonna kill me because I found him!?
"OHMYGODI'MGONNADIE!!!!" I screamed, covering my mouth and taking a few steps backwards.
Glasses-guy looked up. I can imagine that he's rolling his eyes right now "Listen here, Kitty, I'm not going to kill you because you tripped over my guitar," he said, picking up the case, "In fact, a lot of girls would've loved to be in your position. I mean, they would've taken my guitar and given it back to me in exchange for a date,"
I abruptly recovered from my panic attack. "Well, excuse me for picking up your guitar and not asking you for a date then. I guess I'm not one of those girls." I snarled at him. Who did he think he was? Zac Efron? "And don't call me kitty. Only my parents call me that,"
Well, I didn't exactly mean to say that. But what was I supposed to say? It's my dead cat's name and calling me by its name is rude?
Glasses-guy had an amused smile. "Really? And where were you headed before you tripped over my guitar?"
Before I could answer, glasses-guy interrupted me. "Oh! You're going to school! Well, allow me to escort you,"
Damn my school blazer and sewn on emblem. He mockingly bowed down to me and stepped aside, allowing me to pass through.
I tentatively started walking again, and the glasses-guy straightened up and started following closely behind me.
"Do NOT come within thirty centimeters of me," I warned before turning back my attention to the sidewalk, "Or even better, don't follow me,"
I heard glasses-guy chuckle. Stupid jerk.
I increased my pace as I got closer to the academy, and I saw a cluster of very, very attractive guys all dressed in the academy male uniform standing in front of the gates. Are they shooting an advertisement or something?
The tallest one, a blonde with crystal-blue eyes took a step forward and opened his mouth. "Hey! Jay!" he hollered in a super-sexy British accent.
O-kay. His hotness-o-meter just increased by ten points. Who doesn't appreciate a hot British cutie? Definitely not me. Wait. Who's Jay?
I instinctively turned around and glasses-guy grinned and answered back. "Not so loud, Leo. I'm not deaf,"
So he's Jay. I guess even creepy, glasses-and-beanie-clad guys have names. Jay caught up with me and draped an arm around my shoulders.
"HARRASSER!!" I shrieked loudly. Jay hastily took his arm off me and sighed.
"Paranoid much, kitty?" Jay asked, taking off his glasses to reveal sea-green eyes. He pulled off the beanie and sun-kissed dark brown hair stuck up in all directions in tousled tufts. O-kay. I wasn't expecting glasses-guy to be that handsome. However, it still doesn't justify his dumbassery and hubris.
The British blonde, Leo, tilted his head sideways. "Who's that, Jay?"
Jay stopped in front of Hotties United and pulled the guitar case off his shoulder and let it rest against his leg. "Well, she tripped over my guitar. By the way, don't say anything that might offend her. She's as fierce as a kitty," he looked over at me and added, "Ain't that right, kitty?"
"I said my name is not kitty," I said stubbornly.
A brunette with blonde highlights grinned. "Feisty. My kinda girl,"
"Shut. Up." I growled.
A copper-haired guy turned to Jay. "She doesn't know who you are?" he asked. He sounds incredulous. Even the super-silent dark-haired one standing next to him with his eyes previously trained on his shoes looked up, eyes wide.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Jay asked, nodding, "She must be new or something,"
"New or not, she should know you. I mean, we have our faces posted all over town," the blonde-highlighted-brunette said. So Jay hangs out with his own kind. Cocky hotties.
"Well, she tripped over something this visible," Jay pointed at his guitar, "So obviously she won't notice the posters,"
"Can you not pretend that I'm not here and tell me what the hell you all are talking about!?" I asked, annoyed, "Because I'm quite late here. If not, I'll kindly take my leave."
Jay held up a hand. "Okay. I'll tell you who we are. We form an amateur rock band called The Lightning Devils, and we're pretty famous here in town." He turned to his friends, "Maybe she's not that big of a rock fan,"
The Lightning Devils.
Hm…I distinctly recall my Aunt Elle saying something about future international celebrities living here in Sandfields. I guess she must mean these people.
"Well, excuse me for not knowing you then, because I have better things to do, other than looking at every single poster I pass. Besides, I just arrived here," I said haughtily, "Putting that aside, I, in fact, am a very big fan of The All-American Rejects and Paramore!"
"Okay, okay! Chill there kitty!" Jay still had that amused grin on his face. "What's your name and where're you from?"
"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself before starting a conversation?" I shot back a question of my own.
"Fine. My name's Jayden Stanford. I'm the super-awesome lead guitarist of The Lightning Devils and a student of this school in the eleventh grade."
Okay. So maybe he isn't that much of a stranger after all. He's the same age as me. And if he tries anything funny, I have my geometry set with my compass in it. And being a bit eccentric, I sharpen my compass' point every, every morning.
Before I could introduce myself though, the bell rang.
Shoot.
I'm late for class.
My parents, the people who conceived and gave birth to me, actually left me here in the middle of Nowhere with my crazy, shoe-selling, unmarried aunt to go on a trip around the world.
A week ago, I was happily going about shopping with my friends, watching the latest movies and hanging out at a café in good ol' Boston.
And the lovely entity up there decided to play a cute little trick on me and made my parents suddenly want to travel around the world. Do I get to follow? Nooooo.
Instead, they withdrew my name from my high school, packed up everything single thing I owned and shipped me to God-knows-where.
And the best thing is? My 'friends' have deserted me. Not one good-bye, not even a measly email.
Isn't life wonderful?
I stared at the cereal-filled bowl in front of me on the table. Did I mention that I'm not a breakfast kind of person?
"Kaitlyn!! Here's a welcome present from me!" a cheery voice trilled. A woman in her early thirties dropped a box on the table, making the bowl shake slightly. She had mouse-brown hair that was in a messy bun, royal-blue eyes and her skin was extremely tanned.
My eyes dropped from my aunt to the box. Oh. My. God. "Converse!? You got me sneakers!?"
My aunt's - her name's Raphaelle Sherwood by the way, but she insists we call her Aunt Elle or just plain Elle – smile dropped a little.
"You don't like sneakers?" she asked. I swear, I could hear the sadness in her voice.
"Are you kidding me? I LOVE anything from Converse! I literally have everything Converse!" I shrieked in delight.
Yep. I love Converse. In fact, I'm wearing a pair of black high-tops right now. Maybe having a crazy, shoe-selling, unmarried aunt ain't so bad after all.
Aunt Elle's face brightened up again. "That's great! I was afraid you wouldn't like them. Where's your sister?"
Did I mention that I have a younger sister in middle school? Oh, before I forget, she's a total pain-in-the-ass and loves anything girly and in frills. Her name's Genevieve. My parents adore her because she looks like a Barbie and is a freakin' ballerina.
"Genevieve's in her room, getting ready," I answered, putting the shoebox aside. I'll open it later. "Here's a tip: Don't give her Converse unless it's pink or girly. And I already got her Hello Kitty printed ones last Christmas."
Aunt Elle's face dropped again. "Oh dear. I got her red low-cut sneakers. What should I do?"
I shrugged, pushing the bowl away and standing up. "I'd advise you to go to the shop and change them into maybe Roxy flip-flops or something," I said wisely. I love to sound wise. It makes me feel even more mature. "Genevieve loves Roxy. She's a brand-conscious person like me,"
Yes. I'm a shallow person concerned with labels. Is that so wrong?
Aunt Elle sighed and plopped down onto one of the chairs in the kitchen. "Going so early?"
I grabbed my backpack and opened the kitchen door. "Private schools require punctuality, right? See ya later,"
I closed the door behind me and bravely walked down the pathway of the backyard and out of the small garden gate. I could hear my aunt calling my sister. "GENEVIEVE!! HURRY UP OR YOU'LL BE LATE!"
Hah. I'm the good girl this time. I could get used to this.
I looked around, sight-seeing as I walked to school. All the houses were considerably-sized and in neat rows. I passed a big sign with huge, iron block letters that spelt out 'Sandfields'.
You know, when I said middle of Nowhere, I meant it. I had never heard of any place called Sandfields, until my parents decided to buy two plane tickets for my brat sister and I and cargo all our belongings to this place. I always thought my Aunt Elle lived... well, I actually never really thought about it. Now that I contemplate on it, I feel pretty stupid.
I had been expecting barren deserts and cactuses galore, but instead, everything here seemed so perfect. Even the lakes that we passed by on our way to Aunt Elle's house were clear and scum-free. Makes me wonder whether this is the real world. I must've probably volunteered for some elaborate lifelike game simulation beta or something.
I could see a big brick building in the distance now. That pile of bricks is my new school, Sandfields Academy. Apparently, it's supposed to school all the most elite and smartest students around. Lord knows how Genevieve and I got in.
I looked up into the perfectly blue sky, wondering what I would've been doing if I was still in Boston, when conveniently, the divine prankster decided to trip me.
A very inappropriate word escaped my mouth, and I turned to glare at what had given me a free ticket to an early morning sidewalk facial.
A guitar case with a lightning sticker on the surface sat there in the middle of the sidewalk. "Who in hell do you belong to!?" I asked the guitar angrily.
This is sooo not what I would've been doing in Boston. Until today, I have never in my life talked to an inanimate object.
"Well, I'm not from hell, but that belongs to me," a low voice said. Hmph. A guy.
I looked up and a guy wearing dark glasses and a beanie pulled over his head stood in front of me.
I couldn't see his face, but from the looks of his well-toned biceps which were revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of the white dress shirt he was wearing as well as the steel stud in his left ear, he was probably below thirty.
Any thirty-and-above guy in his right mind doesn't wear a stud in his ear. It just screams lame and trying-too-hard-to-seem-young.
I stood up and directed my glare at him. "Who in their right mind would put a guitar case in the middle of the sidewalk and let people trip over it!?" I hissed at him.
Glasses-guy held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa there, kitty. I just happened to be carrying a lot of stuff today and somehow I dropped the guitar. I just came back to retrieve it."
"My name, for your information, is NOT kitty. It's-," I stopped, remembering what I had learned in pre-school. Never talk to a stranger.
Well, this guy definitely fits the bill of a stranger. He looked like a shady character, with the glasses and all. I wonder if he's a guitar-playing escaped convict. Or worse, what if he was carrying stolen stuff and happened to drop a stolen guitar and now he's gonna kill me because I found him!?
"OHMYGODI'MGONNADIE!!!!" I screamed, covering my mouth and taking a few steps backwards.
Glasses-guy looked up. I can imagine that he's rolling his eyes right now "Listen here, Kitty, I'm not going to kill you because you tripped over my guitar," he said, picking up the case, "In fact, a lot of girls would've loved to be in your position. I mean, they would've taken my guitar and given it back to me in exchange for a date,"
I abruptly recovered from my panic attack. "Well, excuse me for picking up your guitar and not asking you for a date then. I guess I'm not one of those girls." I snarled at him. Who did he think he was? Zac Efron? "And don't call me kitty. Only my parents call me that,"
Well, I didn't exactly mean to say that. But what was I supposed to say? It's my dead cat's name and calling me by its name is rude?
Glasses-guy had an amused smile. "Really? And where were you headed before you tripped over my guitar?"
Before I could answer, glasses-guy interrupted me. "Oh! You're going to school! Well, allow me to escort you,"
Damn my school blazer and sewn on emblem. He mockingly bowed down to me and stepped aside, allowing me to pass through.
I tentatively started walking again, and the glasses-guy straightened up and started following closely behind me.
"Do NOT come within thirty centimeters of me," I warned before turning back my attention to the sidewalk, "Or even better, don't follow me,"
I heard glasses-guy chuckle. Stupid jerk.
I increased my pace as I got closer to the academy, and I saw a cluster of very, very attractive guys all dressed in the academy male uniform standing in front of the gates. Are they shooting an advertisement or something?
The tallest one, a blonde with crystal-blue eyes took a step forward and opened his mouth. "Hey! Jay!" he hollered in a super-sexy British accent.
O-kay. His hotness-o-meter just increased by ten points. Who doesn't appreciate a hot British cutie? Definitely not me. Wait. Who's Jay?
I instinctively turned around and glasses-guy grinned and answered back. "Not so loud, Leo. I'm not deaf,"
So he's Jay. I guess even creepy, glasses-and-beanie-clad guys have names. Jay caught up with me and draped an arm around my shoulders.
"HARRASSER!!" I shrieked loudly. Jay hastily took his arm off me and sighed.
"Paranoid much, kitty?" Jay asked, taking off his glasses to reveal sea-green eyes. He pulled off the beanie and sun-kissed dark brown hair stuck up in all directions in tousled tufts. O-kay. I wasn't expecting glasses-guy to be that handsome. However, it still doesn't justify his dumbassery and hubris.
The British blonde, Leo, tilted his head sideways. "Who's that, Jay?"
Jay stopped in front of Hotties United and pulled the guitar case off his shoulder and let it rest against his leg. "Well, she tripped over my guitar. By the way, don't say anything that might offend her. She's as fierce as a kitty," he looked over at me and added, "Ain't that right, kitty?"
"I said my name is not kitty," I said stubbornly.
A brunette with blonde highlights grinned. "Feisty. My kinda girl,"
"Shut. Up." I growled.
A copper-haired guy turned to Jay. "She doesn't know who you are?" he asked. He sounds incredulous. Even the super-silent dark-haired one standing next to him with his eyes previously trained on his shoes looked up, eyes wide.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Jay asked, nodding, "She must be new or something,"
"New or not, she should know you. I mean, we have our faces posted all over town," the blonde-highlighted-brunette said. So Jay hangs out with his own kind. Cocky hotties.
"Well, she tripped over something this visible," Jay pointed at his guitar, "So obviously she won't notice the posters,"
"Can you not pretend that I'm not here and tell me what the hell you all are talking about!?" I asked, annoyed, "Because I'm quite late here. If not, I'll kindly take my leave."
Jay held up a hand. "Okay. I'll tell you who we are. We form an amateur rock band called The Lightning Devils, and we're pretty famous here in town." He turned to his friends, "Maybe she's not that big of a rock fan,"
The Lightning Devils.
Hm…I distinctly recall my Aunt Elle saying something about future international celebrities living here in Sandfields. I guess she must mean these people.
"Well, excuse me for not knowing you then, because I have better things to do, other than looking at every single poster I pass. Besides, I just arrived here," I said haughtily, "Putting that aside, I, in fact, am a very big fan of The All-American Rejects and Paramore!"
"Okay, okay! Chill there kitty!" Jay still had that amused grin on his face. "What's your name and where're you from?"
"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself before starting a conversation?" I shot back a question of my own.
"Fine. My name's Jayden Stanford. I'm the super-awesome lead guitarist of The Lightning Devils and a student of this school in the eleventh grade."
Okay. So maybe he isn't that much of a stranger after all. He's the same age as me. And if he tries anything funny, I have my geometry set with my compass in it. And being a bit eccentric, I sharpen my compass' point every, every morning.
Before I could introduce myself though, the bell rang.
Shoot.
I'm late for class.
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