Once I got out of the shower and got dressed, I go downstairs with my backpack in hand. I only have ten minutes before my mom gets in the car and starts yelling at me from the driver's seat to hurry up. She always does the same thing, although it's partly my fault—I always get up way too late.

I enter the kitchen and open the fridge. In the background I can hear honks coming from my Mom's car. I don't understand why she rushes me if we live in a town where everything is less than ten minutes away, and even less if we use the car. She must have gotten into the habit of living in a big city.

I rush to grab an apple, grab my water bottle and run out of the house, yelling I'm coming in hopes of getting my mom to stop honking. She's going to wake up all the neighbors on the block and that's going to make them hate us. We've only known them for a few months and the truth is that it's not in the plans to start a relationship with them on the wrong foot.

"Can I tell you something? Being in a hurry every morning could be avoided if you got up earlier," says my mom, a bit annoyed as I get into the car and put my backpack on the side.

I avoid answering to her that it's not like that anymore. We no longer live in a city where traffic is terrible at all hours, here it's very different. Besides, we have plenty of time to get there on time. I also avoid telling her that it's not even necessary to drive to a school that is only ten blocks from home, so I just nod. I don't want to start an argument with my mom, let alone before this important day.

I'm going to a new school, I say to myself as I bite my apple. I still can't believe it. It took me ten years to make my mom understand that the school I was going to was not for me, that I was treated badly there and that I didn't fit in. It took me years of suffering and pain for my mom to believe that the red eyes and tears soaking my cheeks were the result of my mean classmates who did nothing but bully me, make fun of me and leave me out of every conversation, game or party. However, after all I had to go through, I managed to get her to switch schools. I don't know when she decided to believe me and finally accept that I needed a change to be happy, but I'm glad she did. I was even happier when she decided that changing schools wasn't going to be enough for me —I had suffered a lot and needed an even bigger change. I didn't know at first what she meant by that, but then I did. What she meant was that I needed to move from Rosario to another city. We spent several days talking about this and we both agreed that a much smaller city than Rosario would be better. She was tired of working so much, of the stress of living in a city and she needed a break from all that. That and the fact that money has been tight these last few months. Yeah, Rosario is a bit expensive and my Mom's salary was enough to pay rent, but not enough to buy food, school supplies, clothes... I think that was one of the many reasons she and I were ready to leave the city.

So, she quit her job and enrolled me in a school in San Pedro, a town one hundred miles away from Rosario. She got a job in a bar as a chef —she's always been good at cooking, but had never done it as a profession— and with that, we were able to buy a house near the centertown.

A wide smile flickers across my face as I recall all the events that led me to be here right now. I never thought I'd like life outside the city, but I was able to get used to it quickly and I'm having a much better time than before. Of course, there's still the last test, the hardest one: the new school. It terrifies me, but I prefer to think that this could be the beginning of a new chapter in my life. A happier one, perhaps. But I don't want to get my hopes up —even though everything's going strangely well.

The rest of the journey passes in silence; I'm deep in my thoughts while eating my apple and my mom's eyes looking forward focused on the highway. However, I notice her a bit tense, like restless. Something seems to be bothering her; I know her well enough to notice that. My mother's very transparent in that sense —whatever emotion she feels, is manifested in her attitude, her speaking, her gestures, everything. She's like an open book, or better yet, a very easy password to crack.

"Is something wrong, Mom?"

She sighs and shifts uncomfortably in the driver's seat. It's clear that something is wrong with her, yet she answers:

"No, nothing. Everything's fine," she forces an unconvincing smile, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

I frown, but drop the subject. There's no point in insisting that she tell me something I know she's not going to tell me.

Neither of us says anything else for the rest of the journey. And, amidst the silence and the noise of some car coming from outside, we arrive at our destination.

And so, all shaky, anxious and trying to keep my expectations and illusions low, I walk to the door of my new school. Anyway, who knew that simply walking through a wooden door would bring so many changes to my life, right?