I lay on my back against the cold sheets of my bed. Tomorrow is the first day of school and, frankly, I'm not all that excited. I'm already planning out my funeral. You might be thinking at this point, "Alright, you're probably an edgy teenager that hates school except for seeing some classmates. I've heard this story a hundred thousand times."

Well, I mean, you wouldn't be completely wrong... 

I don't consider myself very athletic, beautiful, or funny. But at least I get all A's? No?

Yeah, everyone thought that, too. You're not the first. Here's a bit of my backstory:

I was born in Hawaii, and I moved to southeastern Pennsylvania about thirteen years ago. I mean, God knows why, it's completely miserable here compared to Hawaii. My parents are divorced, because my mother apparently had another lover and chose to stay there with her new boyfriend. When I asked Dad about it, he just explained that "we had already been so distant with each other." I have another sister, Alani, but she lives with my mother and is the product of my mother's new family. She's ten years old. We write each other sometimes, so I've been somewhat in touch. She is a complete native of Hawaii, but I'm fifty percent Hawaiian, and the other fifty is indistinguishable. Don't ask. I can't explain. 

I have very dark hair and eyes, and I think I look somewhat pretty, but somehow I started to get acne when I was nine. Because I wore glasses back then (I got laser-eye-surgery when I had a bad problem a few months ago), the girls that sat in the front of the classroom and were the teachers' pets always called me a nerd. It didn't rattle me too much, but then they started spreading petty rumors about how I let the girls copy off of my homework. It didn't make them look good, but it didn't promote me at all. They told a kid that I liked, Matt, and he didn't talk to me again except when he needed help during a test. The teachers never found out. If they had, they didn't care whatsoever.

And now here I am, laying down, wondering if summer could somehow tug onto my shirt and not let go. I smiled at that image, it was a bit ridiculous. I sat up and dragged out my sketchbook. I was teaching myself to draw people, since I made them look realistic, but not completely proportionate. I finished the drawing, but it was a story? Huh?

Next thing I know, I wake up to see that it is 5:30 in the morning. I probably dreamed that my sketch turned into a story. Instead, I drew a stick figure over my almost completed face in my sleep. How disappointing! I growl in frustration, but keep the noise at a minimal level.

This is the first year I've had to go to school after 7:00, so I still had a good two and a half hours to sleep in as opposed to last year's "WAKE UP!! YOU'RE LATE FOR SCHOOL!" 

After I take a shower, I put a white t-shirt and jeans on. I ran downstairs and tried to sing as quietly as I could. I really like singing, but I suck at anything remotely similar to music, so I'm trying to train myself. My family legacy isn't music though, and Dad would probably be a little disgruntled if he knew I tried. Other than that, I guess he's supportive. Just depressed.

I opened the pantry cabinet doors and set down pancake mix onto the counter. I was thinking of making pancakes today, since I was feeling as flat as one today. Plus, they taste good and you can't argue with me.

About ten minutes later, when I was about to flip the pancakes again, my dad walked in with clean hair and a suit. He didn't once touch his eyes or yawn!

"Whoa," I said in surprise. "Where are you going?" I flipped the pancake and barely avoided burning oil swallowing my hand whole.

"Job interview," he said. "I'm thinking that I might become an accountant for a well-paying company. It's better than being a mailman." He smiled feebly, and my heart started to plunge. He had always wanted to be a mailman, besides an astronaut, when he was ten, and so he became the paper boy along with his older brother when he was seven. I suppose it wasn't a well-paying job, but it was what he wanted. He kissed me goodbye and left.

I checked the time on the oven as I swallowed my last pancake slice. 8:04. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked outside. The bus should be here any minute now... 

I walked over to the bus stop on the cover, and I closed my eyes and breathed the fresh summer air. It was crisp and felt like every time I breathed in, it filled my body and left it again. It was very refreshing, but I knew that summer was going to end in two weeks. I heard the exhaust engine and grunts of the school bus coming my way. The five kids standing beside me groaned and one said, "Happy day, happy day..." That's already a bit of a weird vibe, but nothing is wrong so far.

I pushed myself up the steps of the bus and greeted the bus driver. I sat down in a seat and peered at the other kids. They all had airpods or headphones in and phones out, and I felt a little embarrassed. I just realized then that I was the only poor kid that might've been riding. I rest my eyes for a while.

A sudden bump. My head floats and crashes into the metal beam of the bus window. I wince and rub my head. The bus stops. A kid about my age walks on. He looks at me and smiles.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asks quietly, pointing to the seat next to me.

"Good--I mean, yes," I fluster. He smirks and sits down. Already I've messed up being a social person. Brilliant. What you are reading are notes of mine in a journal I've made by myself and an old school friend. (What you hear next are notes I took after this happened, so this isn't the present, just my somewhat alright memory.)

"What's that you're writing?" he asks. It was notes from yesterday, so I put my pencil down and slow down all the thoughts in my head. 

"Just my journal," I reply. 

"Oh, cool, I have a journal, too." He smiles. "Don't tell anyone. Boys aren't supposed to have diaries, according to my friends."

"That's ridiculous," I say, with a grin spreading across my face. "What's your name?"

"Why must we get on a first-name-basis now?"

"Well," I said, starting to laugh, "for one, you just told me you have a journal."

He laughs. "I know, just toying with you. I'm Jax." 

"I'm Molly." I smiled. He grinned. "Is this your first year here?" I nodded, and he agreed to show me around the school when he had time.

I walked into the main entrance doors of the middle school and my jaw dropped. It was gigantic! Students were visible until they became little ants in the hallway. How on earth would I make it around here in time?

I recalled the numbers on my envelope for me. Locker #825. Locker #825. 825. 825.

I finally made my way over to 800 and slowed my pace down from there. There was still a good twenty minutes to get everything set up, which I'm assuming is because we got here early. I mean...

After ten minutes of setting stuff up and getting binders ready, I sighed. Five more minutes. I'd better start walking to the other side of the hallway, or I could be late on the first day. My first class was social studies. I assumed that was history and geography class, because at my old school it was just two separate periods, but I would soon find out.

Once I got into the room, a paper airplane whizzed by me, narrowly missing my eye, and in my terrible reflexes, I smashed into the doorpost and hurt my lip. I stifled my shout and put my hand to my lip, before some boy said, "Hey! Watch where you're walking!"

I didn't want to start a pointless argument. Even though it was his fault, what would I gain out of it? His smug grin flipping or my lip to keep swelling? I wasn't too rattled by it anyway.

A young adult, maybe early thirties or late twenties, walked into the room. She smiled and said, "Hello, guys. My name is Ms. Blanchette, but you can call me Ashley."

Ashley?

I guess we're calling her Ashley, then. 

When Ashley was maybe halfway into the lesson, the girl next to me tapped my shoulder. 

"Psst!" She whispered, "Do you have a piece of paper?"

"Yeah, here," I unclipped one from my binder. "How are you out of it already?"

"Drawing," she shrugged. 

"Cool!" I whispered. "Can I see one?"

She nodded and showed me a life-like picture of a cherry tree in blossom. The colors were vibrant and beautiful. In the background was grassland that dropped suddenly into the page. Rushing waters and currents shone above it. A stag was staring at the camera, its head pointed to the cherry tree to the drawing's right.

"That's amazing!" I grinned. She smiled softly. "Thanks. I'm Mayu Nakao, what's your name?"

"Molly Brightman."

"I guess I'll see you around sometime."