Chapter 2

 

The first 30 seconds of the next day were better than the whole day itself.

I woke up groggy, forgetting about school.

And then it hits me. All the questions and comments. My head was shearing from all the pain. I sit up with a dizzy head. This certainly wasn’t a great way to wake up. Not my way, anyway.

I checked my phone. It read 10:24 AM. How in the world am I supposed to be at school by 8 if I can’t even wake up by 9?

I puff. At least I don’t have to worry about that until September.

Dad left a message, which meant that he left early for work. The text read: have a good day at school <3 Aunt Cynthia is going to take you shopping in the afternoon to get you some supplies for September.

Great. I wonder what kind of supplies I need. Don’t I have enough already? And I hope Aunt Cynthia doesn’t freak out on a shopping spree – like every single time she shops for me. 

Okay dad, love you too. I type. 

I yawn as Tiger wakes up. Time to get the day started.

 

The day slowly went by; it was very usual. Except for the fact that I told Aunt Cynthia that I wanted to go to school. She freaked out. In a good way. I think. Oh, I do hope these 2 months go by really slow. 

Am I ready for this?

You’re doing it for dad I remind myself. There’s no way I’m letting dad watch me grow up and not be a normal kid. 

So we’re doing this school thing.

 

In my happy place that afternoon I was walking through the strawberry patch with my imaginary best friend; Abigail. She had long white braids and was always happy. We obviously didn’t talk, we shared thoughts though. 

I sometimes wonder if I had a real best friend. Suppose I get one in high school? Having an imaginary best friend is great, but it’s almost too perfect. You think the same and have the same opinion … but that’s because we are the same person. I am Abigail, Abigail is me. 

Every single strawberry is big and juicy. We stop to eat some. Me and Abigail laugh as we both spill the bright pink strawberry juice on our dresses. 

 

That evening, Aunt Cynthia took me to a bunch of stores to buy loads of stuff. Stuff like clothes, pencils, pens, erasers, sticky notes, white out, binders, notebooks, and uniform and my favourite: the backpack.

My backpack was nothing special, just a gray Jasport. But I loved all of it, I loved feeling inside all the pockets and smelling the inside. My notebooks fit perfectly in the large pocket, all of them labeled: Kateri Tama. 

By the end of the day, I was all ready for school in September. I kept reminding Aunt Cynthia that it was way too early to shop, but she was too excited. And, it was only last night when my dad and Aunt Cynthia asked if I wanted to go. Now I could practically go tomorrow. But I just keep reminding myself to focus on the supplies rather than school itself. 

I need to be normal. Just a normal teenager. I honestly don’t know why I was homeschooled all these years. But high school’s going to be different. I’m going to be normal for once. Have friends, real friends, multiple teachers, and grow up.

 

When I was falling asleep that night I drifted off to a dream. I was at school, and my backpack teared from the bottom. All the books and binders slid out and splattered all over the floors in the busy hallway. Students stopped and laughed at me, seeing me have to carry my whole backpack and all its contents to my next class. 

Instead, I ran to the bathroom to cry. I flushed all my notebooks down the toilet. Then I couldn’t unlock the stall, so I sat there until I woke up. 

 

When I did, I woke up in a sweat, breathing like I just ran a race. I kick my covers off me and wipe my forehead. It was 6:11 AM. 

It was like my own dream was convincing me not to go to school. I wanted to go because I wanted to be normal. So dad could be happy. 

 

I turn on my lamp and rub my eyes. Then I listen if dad left yet for work. 

It’s Saturday, idiot I suddenly realize. 

After I stretch, I look beside me and see a pink notebook on my nightstand. I never wrote in it, because I didn’t like notebooks. Or writing. Or pink.  

It’s blank pages made my eyes hurt. 

But this time, I picked it up and ran my flat hand over the smooth hard cover. I clicked the nearest pen next to me, and wrote in my shaky handwriting:

 

School goal list:

• Learn everyone’s name
• Get work done in time
• Try to make friends
• Don’t look weird

 

There. Those were the four most important things I wanted to work on.

I close my notebook, not satisfied with my handwriting but more satisfied with my list. 

I try and fall asleep again for the next few hours, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the list and the last item.