Pre-note: Hey, I haven't been posting in quite a while cause I've been so busy! And will continue to be now that school has started. I hope I can keep writing and posting, and will try hard to.
This section is kind of random, and really needs editing. Please feel free to comment, here or on my FB link. Thanks so much :)
Chapter six, section three:
The stuff that piled in my hospital room left me in a happy daze. When the nurses came around, I would pull out outfits or my computer, practically glowing. They would laugh and compliment me, saying how lucky I was. Then they’d make me sit on the bed and do basic tests. They checked my eyes, my hearing and my motor skills. Each time I tested perfect, each time they reminded me that I’d be out of there soon.
I was to move into my dorm at my new school in exactly four days after that day I went shopping. The first night I forgot, the next day I remembered. Then the next night I remembered more.
The memories that had sprung on me that first day started to continue. Slowly, I remembered more.
I remembered school. I always hated first days, even if I’d already met the teacher and had my friends in my class. My stomach would twist knots at the idea of something new and at all different, something that I didn’t want to do. Some days I would complain about “not feeling well” but my parents always saw through it. Parents have a way of knowing the difference between the days when you are actually sick and the days you are “sick.”
The more I remembered, the more excited and anxious I became about going to this new school. The week passed quickly because if it.
From kindergarten to grade eight I had attended the same elementary school, even though during those years my sisters were born and my parents divorced. The school was an old one, built in the early 1900s, and although it had been updated through the years, it still carried the same name, Sebastian Collier Collegiate. The place was smaller than many other schools in the city, with a grand total of only about 400 kids. This is what made this school home, though. There were never more than two classes for each grade, so you got to know everyone. The teachers had all been there for years, some were even rumoured to have gone to the school as children when it first opened, or at least in the 50s. They carried similar smiles and knowing eyes, and could be kind one minute and strict the next. I had the same teacher two years in a row and the same art teacher the whole nine years. The secretaries knew everyone’s name, even calling me and my sisters “The McCalden Girls.” The school was my second home where everyone was family. When I entered high school, I truthfully missed my elementary school. At Middleton High the student population was almost 6000 and teachers came and went with the blink of an eye. There was not familiar feeling with this school; I’d never met half the students in my grade, I was still discovering parts of the school I’d never seen in my eleventh year and I never knew the name of the teachers I passed in the hallway. Even the school building itself lacked the warmth of the old bricks in the other one, this one having been built sometime in the 70s and spanning three stories and a whole city block.
I worried my new school would be like the high school I went on earth; stark and ironically empty. But I pushed these thoughts down, knowing that negative thoughts weren’t going to make any difference for the better.
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